"Meya! Meya, wait!"

Maro scrambled out of his chair, but Meya was much closer to the exit. He'd taken barely two steps when she disappeared with a crash of the door. Knowing Meya and her vindictive temper, he knew it was futile to pursue. Especially when it was about Marin.

"By Fyr, Marin. Now she hates you for life."

Maro collapsed onto his chair, raking a hand through his hair. Before any of his siblings could offer a consolation or a remark, a calm, cool voice pierced the silence,

"It's you, isn't it, Deke Armorheim?"

Everyone spun around to Silvan Joplund, then to the accused farmer boy.

Deke had gone ghastly pale to his trembling lips. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to reappear in Crosset a week earlier. But the truth was evident in his eyes.

"It's you, Deke?" Maro croaked. Deke glanced at him on impulse, then avoided his gaze, bulging eyes darting about. "You've lain with Marin?"

"All this time! Why haven't you fessed up?" Marcus snarled then bolted to his feet, "You left her to deal with all that alone while you're enjoying the Fest here!?"

Marcus slammed his fist on the table so hard his utensils bounced and clanked about in the plate. Deke cowered even lower in his seat. Myron stared, pale and speechless. Morel, on the other hand, looked solemn.

"Is it true, Deke?"

Asked Draken. His voice was steady, yet undercut with spine-chilling, simmering fury. When Deke didn't oblige, he exploded,

"IS IT TRUE, DEKE!?"

"Yes, Dad."

Deke confessed in a passing attempt at mouse talk, his back curled like a babe in its mother's womb, which was probably what he would've dearly loved to turn into right now.

"Of all the things!" Draken bolted up and paced, arms flailing, "What in the three lands were you thinking? Or you weren't?"

Draken whipped around and glowered at his son. Jolting, Deke squeezed himself into the corner of his chair furthest from his father, wincing as Draken jabbed a trembling finger at his face.

"You know what your poor mother went through. What you yourself went through. You're damning Marin and your child to the same fate, and you're running away and cowering like a coward! My son! A coward!"

Draken cried at the ceiling, as if protesting Freda for plaguing him with such a spawn. That unfiltered disgust in his voice finally spurred Deke to explain himself,

"I'm younger than Marin. I've no idea how to provide for a child." Shivering, he looked pleadingly at Draken, his eyes rimmed with red, "And Meya hates Marin! What am I to do, Dad?"

"Only the right thing, Deke!" Draken rolled his eyes at the Heights, "Are you a man enough for that?"

Echoes faded away into silence as father and son locked eyes, freezing rage against paralyzing fear. At last, Draken broke off and turned away,

"You know what you should do."

Deke studied his father's stony profile. Though still shivering, his eyes hardened with resolve for the first time since entering the room—or perhaps, since this ordeal began.

"Here, lad. I'll be right beside you." Jason ambled over with a gentle smile. A warm, firm hand on Deke's shivering back, he and Jezia led the troubled young father on his way to redemption. The door closed behind them with a soft snap.

As if the strings holding him had snapped, Draken plummeted to his chair, head in his hands. Maro rested a hand on his shoulder. A gesture of forgiveness Draken felt he didn't deserve.

"I'm so, so sorry, Maro. I was an irresponsible man. And I raised my son to be just like me." He whispered through brimming tears and jittery fingers.

"It's not your fault, Draken." Maro shook his head, sniffing back tears as well.

Draken clasped his roughened palm over Maro's less weathered hand. All through the exchange, Silvan Joplund kept watch on the fair-haired farmer.

"Now that that has been dealt with, let's cut the pretense and get down to business, shall we, Draken Armorheim?" He steepled his fingers, smiling serenely.

The Crossetians whipped around, eyes bulging, just now fully aware of the three outsiders at the table.

Silvan creaked up a sly smile as his eyes zeroed in on Draken, who had just remembered his initial worry, now that the family feud was out of the way.

"You remember me, I believe?"

His eyes fixed upon his old foe, Draken resigned himself for his last. Drawing a deep breath, he nodded heavily,

"Yes, I do, Lord Coris Hadrian."

A pause, then the room erupted.

"Coris Hadrian?" Marcus cried.

"Th-th-th-the one you kidnapped in the Famine?" stammered Myron as he pointed at Coris with a trembling finger.

"The very same." said Lord Coris. Amid their horrified stares, he flourished his hand towards his companions, "This is my brother Zier, and my betrothed Arinel."

Marcus and Myron blinked at the now brown-haired Lady Arinel, then exchanged swift looks. Maro had more sense of priority, however,

"Does Meya know, my lord? Has she summoned us here on your orders?" He laid his clenched fist on the table, wide brown eyes and brown freckles standing out on his pale cheeks.

"Yes and no." Coris leaned back in his chair, "I believe she does know about our history, but isn't counting on me recognizing Draken, and vice versa."

Draken shook his head, eyes wide.

"What is going on, my lord? How have you come to know Meya?"

"It's a complicated and astonishing tale. One that makes me secretly glad Farmer Hild couldn't join us this evening." Coris replied,

"Arinel's entourage was held hostage by Nostran Greeneye mercenaries looking for a certain Hadrian treasure. Meya assumed Arinel's identity and wed me in her place to spy on me, but she had a change of heart, alerted me of the plan, and together we drove the mercenaries away. Yet, I'm sure this is far from over, so I have Meya remain in the masquerade to assist me."

"She—she wed you, my lord?" Maro squeaked, an incredulous look on his face. Coris blew a soft sigh of brewing annoyance,

"Yes."

"And did she—I mean, did you two—" Morel pointed one finger at the door, then another at Coris. Coris sighed again,

"Yes, we did. Multiple times." He added. Ignoring their flabbergasted reactions, he closed his eyes, tamped down his fit of pique, and turned to Draken, "You've guessed why I'm here, I presume?"

Draken clenched his shivering hands. As the children watched with bated breath, he touched his forehead to the tabletop.

"My lord. If it is my life you want, I am willing. All I ask is safe passage for Jason and the young ones, and that you spare those under my command that night."

"Draken, no!" Maro gasped. He grasped Draken's shoulder, but his eyes were on Coris, wide and scared as those of his siblings.

Coris observed their fear as they stood in solidarity with their good friend. Seven years ago, he would have proudly basked in it, but thanks to what happened in Crosset that day, it now suffocated him. He welcomed the sensation.

"Farmer Armorheim. Draken." He willed his voice to be tender, his gaze to be sincere. He leaned in. Draken flinched back. It was a mark of how repulsive a creature he'd been, that a man who kept a dragon hidden for seven years was intimidated by him.

"If I had intended to take revenge, I would have done so the moment I reached safety seven years ago." Coris hitched up a bitter grin at the memory,

"Yes. The old me would have done that, but I knew I was never in actual harm. Even if I were, you were doing it under your bailiff's command, with your family's survival on the line. When I understood that, I forgave you."

Draken gawked. Maro's hand on his shoulder relaxed. None of them seemed inclined to respond just yet.

"That is the reason I am here." Coris tapped a long, pale finger on the wood, eyes locked with Draken's, "You are saved by the same peasant girl who saved me. I made a pact with her that night. You and your men's lives, and bread for her brothers and sisters, in exchange for safe passage to Truncale."

He drew back and fell against his chair, looking suddenly grim and withered,

"I resolved to find her and reward her, but my memory has betrayed me." Coris's eyes wandered the thin air, as if watching his lifeline eroding away before him, sliver by sliver. "I don't have much time left. When I saw your name in Jezia's letter, I knew this could be my last lead."

At the sight of those weary silvery eyes, Draken felt a lone drop of trust blossoming in his whirlpool of terror, dissipating it to reveal his lingering shame.

He bore no ill will towards the boy. He'd been ready to accept his punishment, since that night he reluctantly offered to lead the kidnapping party, as Friar Tumney implored him to, lest the task landed upon hotheaded Grogan Krulstaff, who might inflict more damage than was necessary. And though young Lord Coris had shown sympathy, a famine did not excuse threatening an innocent child.

Still conflicted, Draken gazed on as his former captive rested a corpse-like hand upon his heart.

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"I swear by the honor of Hadrian that no harm will come to anyone involved." Coris pledged, his voice grave, "To show good faith, I shall tell you what I remember first."

Coris's eyes traveled as he rifled through his shattered memories. He saw the flickering flame of the candle on the table. He saw the past through flickering eyes, glancing between Draken and Krulstaff occupied with their altercation, and the feeble lamp in Draken's hand. He felt the noose burning against his neck loosen in Krulstaff's hand. Should he seize it before making his escape?

"You were having an argument with Grogan Krulstaff. The butcher, Brodel, was about to clobber me when we heard movement in the trees. You readied your crossbows, then Krulstaff shot."

Coris frowned, hesitating as his stream of recollections stuttered,

"Then, there was—a scream. A girl's. You ran off to see to her, but a gust of wind knocked you back."

The room had fallen so silent, one could hear the draft teasing the candlelight. The Hild siblings glanced back and forth between Coris and Draken. All the times they'd nagged Draken to retell his kidnapping mission, Draken had glossed over exactly how Coris escaped.

"There was a flash of bright light, then everything fell dark. Then there was a—roar." Coris struggled for the right word. He shook his head, dissatisfied with his choice, "It was unlike any animal I've known. There was fire everywhere. Then I saw it."

Coris stared at the empty air above their heads, where it had been. His breathing quickened,

"It had silvery scales, and two enormous leather wings. Sharp metal claws. A long snout lined with metal fangs. Like the creature on the wall paintings of the Chapel. The one that carried my ancestor over the sea. A dragon."

Myron shivered in Marcus's arms. Arinel and Zier sat frozen in their seats. Though Coris's kidnapping was known throughout Meriton, his wondrous escape was credited to his prodigy. No-one knew the specifics of how he did it. Coris had been elusive about the details, and folks assumed he was ashamed of being taken hostage.

"The dragon grabbed me, flew me high above the forest to the mountains. Krulstaff's arrow was buried in its front leg. It kept screaming because the leg was rotting slowly. It couldn't get the arrowhead out with me in one claw. It was falling unconscious. I pulled the arrow out for it. We crash-landed in a cave, and I fainted from the impact."

"When I woke again, there was a little girl beside me. She was naked, and there was a rotting wound on her arm."

"Her arm?" Maro mouthed, his sweaty hand on Draken's shoulder trembling. Coris nodded, his eyes setting upon each Hild sibling in turn,

"She had glowing acid-green eyes. Exactly like the dragon."

Morel's cheeks lost whatever color remained. The only moving parts of Marcus were his blinking eyelids. Myron's stayed folded up.

"The rot was spreading fast. I tried the tourniquet, but it was little help. Then I noticed the arrow was melted where it touched her blood. And it was attracted to my ruby brooch, which held a Lattis razor. I hovered the arrow over her wound to pull the melted particles in place, then sucked the poisoned blood out with my mouth."

"We huddled under my cloak through the night. She sang lullabies to comfort me. Her body heat kept me from freezing to death. Next morning, we went down the mountain. She blew on snow and melted it so we could drink, gathered acorns to sustain us for the trek to Truncale."

"She stayed behind in the woods while I walked to the immigration outpost. I showed the yeomen my insignia and asked them to leave a sack of food near the forest's entrance, then I collapsed of exhaustion and woke up two days later on the way to Hadrian. By that time, I could no longer remember her face. Up until seven years later."

"The day before my marriage, I met Meya, disguised as Arinel. When we lie together, I noticed she had a large scar on her left arm. The exact spot the dragon was hit by the arrow."

Coris slithered his hand under his cloak,

"I noticed the medallion she wore was made from the same metal as Krulstaff's arrow."

He reached across the table and deposited the bloodstained, broken arrowhead on the wood. The Hilds leaned in. The Krulstaff insignia, a scepter mounted with a sun, looked distorted when touched by the candle's glow.

"One morning while Meya was asleep, I took it out for a closer look. She felt it and opened her eyes. They were glowing green."

Coris glanced at each of the Hilds, then paused at Draken,

"I need to be sure. There could be other Greeneyes." He whispered, pleading.

Draken pursed his lips, his tense jaw and throbbing temple vein betraying his inner turmoil. At last, he sighed and nodded.

"There is no other, my Lord." He shook his head, "This seventeen years, she's the only Greeneye in Crosset."

Even as he'd anticipated it, the revelation threw Coris like a dead weight against his chair. Draken's hairy arms shivered on the tabletop,

"Your memories are accurate. You have my word, and the words of my men who witnessed it that night. You weren't hallucinating. That was a dragon that rescued you. And it was Meya that Grogan shot."

Draken sighed. He seemed disturbed but also relieved. The weight of the secret, once borne alone, was finally shared. Tapping his fist on the wood, he licked his dry lips,

"Her father and I are close. Close as Deke and Meya are now. I heard her voice when she screamed. I saw her eyes on that dragon."

"After you escaped, we ran for our lives from the fire. We managed to find our way back to the village. After we'd contained the fire, we went back in to find Meya. For days we searched in vain, surviving on squirreled acorns and snow, until we were found by Truncale's search party. They found you, but not Meya."

"Soon as we were freed, I fetched Grogan and headed to Mirram's house to tell him the bad news. He was searching for Meya, then, you see. The villagers were raring to lynch her for the famine, so she'd fled into the woods. I found him and Maro home. And Meya inside. Unconscious but alive."

Draken turned to Maro, who nodded stiffly.

"Dad and I had just returned home the night before, when we heard a knock at the door. Mum answered it, then she shrieked the house down. It was Meya. She wore nothing but a crimson cloak, and she was covered with blood. She dragged a sack full of food behind her. She was clutching her arm. Then she looked at Morel and said—"

He glanced at his sister across the table. Morel stared transfixed at some point above Maro's shoulder, wide blue eyes unseeing.

"Tisn't growin' back, Morrie." She whispered, her accent thick, "Then she fell onto me. Her skin was even hotter than usual."

"We fetched the healer." Maro continued, "She carved out a swathe of flesh around the wound because it was dead, but luckily it didn't go too deep, so we could save her arm. Next day, Draken and Grogan came to see Dad."

Maro shot a reproachful look at Draken, his fists clenched.

"Grogan said he thought Meya was a wild hog. That's why he shot. Said she just happened to be hiding around there. But she was trying to help Lord Coris escape, wasn't she? She must have been following you. She thought the famine was her fault. It was so like her to do that!"

Maro exploded. Draken hung his head.

"Mirram is my best friend," He confessed to Coris with a sigh, cocking his head at the youngsters, "And I've known these kids since they were in their mother's womb. But I had no idea what I should tell them. I decided to leave out the dragon part. Wasn't sure if I believed it myself. Especially when Meya woke up and remembered nothing. She didn't even notice the days in between had been lost. Her memories betrayed her, just like yours."

Draken fell silent for a moment, mulling his turbulent past, then looked to the boy who shared it.

"What should we tell her, my lord?"

Coris sat petrified, lost in thought.

"I—I have no idea, as well." He wrung his hands, cocking his head at Arinel and Zier.

"We've encountered other Greeneyes who could transform into dragons when struck by Lattis. So, I think it's safe to assume this to be a proven fact. Of course, Meya deserves the truth, but I don't think I have the right to tell her."

"If not you, then who, my lord?" Draken argued. Coris still seemed unconvinced. "You're the only witness of the full events. You must be the one to tell her!"

Coris closed his eyes, sagging under the weight of the secret,

"How could I convince her when she remembers nothing?" He dragged a hand through his fringe, clutching at his temple.

"My lord, so, to conclude, you're telling us—" Maro interrupted, his head finally wrapping around the whole notion. He stared at Coris, begging him to deny, "My sister—my little sister—is a dragon?"

"Not just your sister, Marovel." Arinel whispered, her face pale and faint, "Every Greeneye in Latakia, it seems."

Maro turned pointedly away, shaking his head, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"No, it can't be. It just can't." He muttered feverishly.

Coris shot Draken a weary look as if to prove his point. Morel reached behind her neck. She detached the fine silver chain tarnished by sweat and grime, coiled it up in her palm, then slid it to Coris.

"I believe you should have this. Might give you a clue about what my sister is made of."

She flipped her hand over. Underneath lay a quaint handmade amulet. A distorted crescent curl of iridescent metal embraced another piece of thin, tapering, curiously shaped metal with a dark gray sheen, forming a passable M.

"What's that?" Myron asked.

"Meya's fingertip. The old one she chopped off when she was nine. The healer told me to chuck it in Yorfus's furnace so I'd get a nice Greeneye bone amulet."

"And you did? You're sick, Morel!" Marcus flinched, not bothering to hide the scandalized look on his face. Morel started, evidently hurt, then went crimson with rage.

"Oh, I'm sick, aren't I?" She rounded on Marcus, "She was thrashing and screaming and bleeding all over the place, and I wrapped her hand in this apron—" She yanked up her bloodstained pinafore and shoved it at Marcus's nose, "—then rushed her across the village to get help. Mum came home from the bazaar with Marin, found a bloody knife, and she was ready to bury me alive when we got back. Thought we were fighting and I used the knife on Meya. And Meya defended me."

Morel's fingers trembled as she pinched up the tiny bone. She tapped it compulsively on the table, as if its icy chill calmed her.

"This thing. It's gross. But it was a part of my sister. Meya didn't ask about it, so I just kept it. Because it reminds me of the one time we were actually sisters. Am I sick for holding on to that?"

Morel whipped back to Marcus. There were tears in her eyes. All his life, the only sister Marcus had ever seen so much as sniffle was Mistral. He didn't know if that was good or not.

"Sorry, Morel." He blanched in shame, scratching at his head, "It just—it doesn't seem like you. Don't cry—"

Marcus tugged at her raggedy sleeve, pleading with his round, brown eyes. Morel breathed deeply, lips pursed and eyes sealed as she willed her tears back. She turned back to Coris, and laid a scarred finger on the twirl of metal hugging the silver phalanx.

"This is the ring I was wearing that day. It's melted through."

Coris held the twisted metal up to his eyes. It gleamed rainbow in the candlelight as Morel's necklace trailed down from it.

"Lattis." He breathed. Morel nodded.

"Like her collar. Took me a while, but I pieced it together. I knew it was more than just her eyes."

Morel turned to Maro, her fists clenched,

"Think about it. Her body radiates heat like a furnace. Her bones are metal. Her blood can melt Lattis. Her limbs regenerate. Like those lizards when we tried to snatch their tails. And our clan's insignia is an honest-to-Freda dragon!"

"But why aren't we dragons, too, then? Why's Meya the only Greeneye in our family? In our whole manor?" Myron argued. Coris could only shake his head.

"We don't know any more than you do." He admitted with a sigh as he slung Morel's amulet around his neck, "All we have is a hunch that this has something to do with the metal shortage we're having. And we're hoping Meya could help us get to the bottom of this."

Coris leaned across the table to Maro, who was cradling his head in his hands.

"Once this is over, I will see to it that Meya returns safely to Crosset." He laid a soothing hand on his forearm, "Your family will be rewarded greatly for her service to Latakia. I understand. It's a great risk, but we'd be grateful if you let her stay for a while longer."

Maro's fingers slid down from his face, revealing tortured brown eyes.

"You're her family. You have the right to decide."

Maro resolutely shook his head.

"No, I can only guide her. Not decide for her."

He cocked his head at Coris's puzzled, yet admiring look. In Latakian tradition, the father or eldest son usually had the final say over family affairs.

"The choice is up to Meya. No matter how it turns out, she won't have it any other way. Neither will I. Same goes for all my sisters."

He declared, then sighed and dropped his head back onto his palms, massaging his worn-out brain.

"But how in the three lands would I explain all this to her? Fyr, I feel like a coward."

"Join the club." Zier commented in his first reaction of the day. He tilted his head at his brother, who looked just as deep in a dilemma. Draken studied the tormented children, then cleared his throat.

"Lord Coris. If I may," He said. Coris met his gaze,

"I've seen Meya since she was a wee babe. She was—is—a lonely, wretched thing. Mirram's a good man, but he isn't good at showing his daughters the love they need to see. It's the same with Marin and Morel. Turned them against him—and each other."

He nodded sadly at Morel, who was trying and failing to sob without a sound, her shoulders in Marcus's hands.

"So poor lass poured her heart out to them scoundrels what showered her with affection. They betrayed her, exploited her trust, left her to bleed out and harden on the wayside."

Coris dipped his head in shame, remembering their altercation two days ago. He understood now, somewhat, Meya's chagrin at his secretive, deceitful ways. He must have reminded her of the men who had charmed her with their benign facade, only to reveal their impure intentions. But what was it about himself that was different? Why had she chosen to stay by his side? Was there more than naivety that had driven her to trust him and Gillian, like he'd reprimanded her for? Meya was half-dragon, after all. Was it—instinct?

"I believe she has a good reason for giving you her virginity. Even as she knew you might not live long. Or ever be destined for her. She must have sensed something in you that feels familiar, but different from them men before you. Could be your pure intentions, my lord."

Coris blinked, astonished. The old farmer creaked out a melancholic, hopeful little smile, then bowed his head,

"You possess a virtuous soul, a sharp intellect. I believe you'll find a way to retrieve her lost memories, and help her to accept them. I implore you, my lord. Please, guide her to the truth."