From childhood, Arinel had despised her days cooped inside a wagon during her family's annual pilgrimage to Icemeet. However, she'd never felt more relieved slumping down atop the cushioned seats in her carriage. All it would have taken Lady Crosset for a private conversation would have been going to her guest quarters, but as she was currently not Lady Crosset, this would have to suffice.

Jerald shuttered the windows, muffling the huffs and neighs of grazing horses in the nearby stables, then settled down across Arinel and Gretella.

Arinel tugged off her mask. The cold, stale air was a welcome sensation on her cheeks. A plump hand rested upon hers. She turned to find Gretella's unmasked face stricken with confusion and concern.

"My Lady, what's the matter? You're dreadfully pale."

Arinel flailed against the numbing fog in her head for the slightest clue on how to begin. She'd never known her mother, and here was the woman who birthed her, raised her, outlived her.

How should she tell her? Should she unearth the grief and loss that had long been put to rest, douse them with the acid of truth? However cruel and untimely Mother's death had been, Grandmother had made peace with Fyr. Wouldn't it simply cause her unnecessary suffering to learn Erina's death was not destined but planned?

Mother was up in the Heights. Did she ever learn from Freda how she died? Would she yearn for justice? Had she willed that floorboard to shift? Whose sake should Arinel prioritize? Mother? Grandmother? Herself?

Arinel turned to Jerald. He gave her a heavy nod. Perhaps he believed Grandmother deserved the truth, or he'd resigned himself to the fact that secrets were not bound to last. They couldn't continue Tyberne and Erina's work without revealing how they'd found it in the first place.

Arinel nodded back. After a deep breath, Jerald extracted the treatise from the inside of his cloak and handed it to Gretella, then quietly recounted what they'd learned.

Gretella recognized her daughter's handwriting instantly. As she listened to Jerald, her expression morphed from bewildered nostalgia to petrified horror. Her grip slackened and trembled as her arms fell onto her lap.

Jerald wrapped up his story and dipped his head. Gretella's frozen eyes stared through empty air to an altered past. When she finally stirred, it was as if waking from a decade-long slumber.

"So, that apprentice girl killed her." She croaked, her trembling hands gripping the once long-lost treatise,

"Out of spite. For a few pieces of parchment. And Erina had done nothing to deserve it?"

An ominous premonition paralyzed Arinel. She glanced at Jerald and saw the same fear splayed across his face. A moment of hesitation, and it was already too late. Gretella's howl of grief rose slow, as if dragged out of her throat by a mighty hand. Shrill and chilling as the tortured keen of a dying wolf.

Like a branch broken on its back, she collapsed onto her lap, crumpling the yellowed parchment against her bosom, rocking with sobs. Rapids of thick tears flooded her wrinkled face.

"You want to see Dineira punished, Grandmother?" Arinel whispered with all the breath she could muster, "You want me to bring the case before Lady Jaise?"

Gretella shook her head, pressing the papers flush to her chest,

"That hateful wench could burn a hundred times if it would bring me some joy of revenge, but it wouldn't bring Erina back." She spat, stroking the dry, rough parchment as if it were Erina's shining hair. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she closed her eyes against the bitter present.

"All I ever want is for her to finish what she'd set off to do. See her work bettering Latakia. See her name down in history. Get the life she deserves. That's the best I could do for her. And it's still not nearly enough. Nothing would ever be enough!"

Gretella crumpled back to the heap she'd just gathered herself from. A page of the treatise escaped her embrace. Jerald caught it before it touched the floor.

"This branch of study would remain banned so long as the Royal Council believes Tyberne killed himself and his maid in a failed experiment." He said quietly, his eyes fixed upon the paper's contents yet not taking in a word. He turned to Arinel, a tortured look in his eyes,

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"We must bring the truth to light. That would mean exposing Dineira. I've no doubt it would end her career for good. Perhaps even her life. And—"

"—Her research on Greeneyes."

Realization hit Arinel like a ball of lead to her middle. For a flash, Meya's face flooded the forefront of her mind.

This was no longer about her alone. Although it galled Arinel to compromise with her mother's killer, it now seemed just as selfish to put justice for her mother above the wellbeing of a whole race of half-dragon people. But surely, there must be another way? A justification? Anything?

"Why? Is she the only soul in these three lands who could study Greeneyes?" Gretella snapped through her haze of indecision. Arinel tensed with guilt. They were weighing the value of Erina's forever lost potential against a half-baked treatise written by her murderer. Yet, she had no choice but to be fair, rational and magnanimous. Like the Lady Crosset she was supposed to be,

"I understand, Grandmother, but it would slow our progress at best or set us back decades at worst. Dineira holds the knowledge both in her hands and her head. She'd only be useful to us willing and alive."

Arinel pressed her fingers to the throbbing veins in her forehead, shaking her head.

"I can't be the one to decide. Least not the only one."

Silence descended. Gretella shifted to face her full. Arinel strived to remain still as fear engulfed her.

"Arinel," said Gretella coldly. Arinel huddled tighter.

Grandmother had only addressed her by name twice. First time was last year, when she had spotted the visiting Zier leaving her room and entered in a rush to find Arinel sprawled in bed, fast asleep, naked but for the marks of illicit passion. The second was mere weeks ago, when Grandmother had confronted Arinel, in private, about her decision to die in the forest.

Both times, it was as if Grandmother had echoed the scream of Erina's blood inside her, the half that had been an ambitious peasant girl. Reminding her that while she was Crosset, she was also Arinel. She had the right to treasure herself and to speak. That she loved the brother of the boy she was supposed to wed. That she wanted to live even if it would taint whatever remained of her family's honor.

However, this time, it was more than honor and duty that held Arinel back. And she struggled to throttle the echoes of her darkest doubts, as Gretella's words pierced her like a hail of arrows,

"This is your mother. The mother you've never known and never will know. And it's all—because—of that—wench!" Gretella snarled, jabbing her finger towards Dineira's lab, "And you're putting the needs of others above your own? Again?"

"Because I've never known her, Grandmother!" Arinel exploded, her outburst flinging Gretella back against her cushions. She spun around, cheeks blotchy with blood and tears and twisted by her sneer, "And she'd never known me, either!"

Gretella's cheeks lost whatever color they had left. Jerald stared like a child caught in the path of a hurtling wagon, knowing what was to come and that there was no escape.

The sight cemented Arinel's worst fears. To protect her, both of them had kept the entire existence of Dineira from her. Freda knew how much more they'd been hiding from her.

"She mightn't have given a damn about me, might have hated me, even." The venom in her festering, long hidden words sizzled on her lips. She couldn't hold them in any longer. They'd been eating at her, hollowing her to little more than a husk, a name, a title,

"And I don't blame her—Father had her delivered to his bedchambers like meat on a platter. I was the shackles that chained her to him, the could-be heir of Crosset! For all we know, she might have been saved that night, but they chose me over her!"

Silence echoed her cry back to her. Arinel crumbled to her knees on the cold floorboards. Her cheeks were on fire, her arms were cold. Her disgust for Father's blood was such that she dug her fingernails into the wood rather than rub feeling into her limbs—she might tear out her flesh to drain it.

"Would she want Dineira to work on and help Greeneyes? Or would she want justice for herself and her findings first. I don't know. I've never known her." Arinel hung her head, "I couldn't decide on her behalf. And I don't think she'd ever want me to."

Gretella and Jerald knelt beside her. The shivering warmth of their hands hovered unsurely over her head and shoulders. Arinel was relieved they'd refrained from lulling her back with lies of her perfect, loving, nurturing, forgiving mother.

More than ever, she longed for Zier, for someone who'd treat her as an equal. For a voice of bitter truth, of honesty. Someone who wouldn't deny but share and confirm her suffering.

The need pushed her to her unsteady feet, and Arinel stumbled out into the late afternoon sunshine, hardly caring if they would pursue or stop her.

She took off on the soft grass, sprinting blindly towards the castle. The soles of her hay slippers slammed against flagstones, then something collided bodily with her, throwing her to the sun-dried lawn. Swaying on her feet, Arinel looked up to find a mask of black glass emblazoned with the white peacock of Graye.

"Arinel!" Agnes panted, exasperated. She snatched Arinel's wrists in her scarred hands, rambling, "Finally! I've been looking everywhere! Aren't you supposed to be at the alchemist's?"

Arinel hastily scoured her numb brain for a sound excuse, forcing up what she hoped was a dainty smile,

"The sulfur fumes gave Grandmother a headache, so I took her for some fresh air by the stables."

Agnes cocked her head, her sharp intuition stirring as it caught the scent of deception. Gretella wasn't scheduled to be visiting the Sameris along with them. She settled on a grudging nod,

"Coris's summoned us to his quarters. He's probably made shocking discoveries in the Library."

More shocking discoveries? Thank Freda.

As much as she longed to throw herself into Zier's embrace, Arinel was grateful to have the urgent troubles of others to lose herself in rather than her own, a state of comforting distractedness she perpetually indulged in. She straightened with a sniff and a stiff nod then led the way back to the black fortress.

"Very well, let's not prolong Lord Hadrian's fretting, then."