Coris had disappeared, but his four noble friends hadn't moved a finger. They stared transfixed at the door as if listening, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to die away out of respect. Finally, they turned their focus to Arinel and Meya, their eyes narrowed in suspicion.
The two girls shared a look. Meya pleaded through her eyes. Sighing, Arinel turned to face her fellow nobles in her stead,
"I believe we haven't had a proper introduction." She offered timidly, her hands wringing.
"Perhaps we can, once we've rid ourselves of these torture devices," said Christopher crossly. Perhaps he would've seemed crosser without clothespins jutting from his ears.
Oh, those.
Meya sprang up, strode to the door and bolted it.
"There, milords and ladies. You'll have ample time to resume your positions before Lord Coris enters."
Four pairs of blinking eyes followed Meya as she headed back to her seat at Coris's desk. Simon was the first to smile.
"We've added a kindred soul to our ranks. Welcome to Hadrian." He said triumphantly as he plucked off the clothespins. Fione nodded as she, too, freed her ears. Clasping her hands in prayer, she gazed dreamily at the ceiling,
"Aw, this would exasperate Coris." She turned to Heloise, who churned her lips in dismay,
"Remember that time on Fool's Week when we locked him out and sling-shot his silk underpants down the garderobe? By Freda, that was some smooth sailing. Wouldn't you agree, Meya?"
Meya blushed at the inkling in Fione's twinkling blue eyes. Until Coris disrobed before her on that First Night, she didn't believe anyone would actually have his jewels wrapped in silk.
Yeah, he definitely had it coming.
"Wonder whose stroke of genius that was." Christopher muttered. Heloise shook her head,
"You could just have us read your letter for you." She gestured at Meya, sending her bracelet swinging on her wrist. Meya marveled at its rainbow gleam until the sunlight glare momentarily blinded her,
"I thought of that, milady, but you know Lord Coris better than I do, and even I know he'll have ways to see if I actually know the words on this thing." She waggled Jezia's letter, then slapped it onto the desk.
"Fair point," Heloise sighed and continued her lines in resignation. Christopher followed suit. Meanwhile, Simon and Fione had drifted off to gather around Meya, admiring her constipated grimace as she struggled to identify an alphabet.
Meya glanced between her letter and a piece of parchment upon which Coris had listed out the letters,
"Er...is this...bah?" She asked, tapping her finger on the letter. Arinel shook her head,
"No, it's hah, like Hild."
With a growl of frustration, Meya smacked her face on the letter, startling Arinel. She mussed up her hair, now tied back in a simple loose ponytail; Haselle wasn't yet called in to weave her plaids.
"How long will it take to read all this? I can't even remember the letters!"
"Long enough for ears to rot from obstruction of the humors," Simon quipped, then hollered at his two glowering friends, "Would you take a break and come help? I don't see this reciting the Scriptures anytime soon."
"I'm sorry. I'm a dungbrained peasant girl." Meya moaned, her voice muffled by the wood of the desk, as Arinel squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. Christopher and Heloise shared a look, then sighed and traipsed over, plucking out their clothespins along the way.
Christopher slid the alphabet table around the pile of Meya's messy hair to himself, his lips pursed in thought,
"My governess used to have me recite this song, learn the letters and geography in one go." He raised a fist to his mouth, cleared his throat, then jabbed his finger at the first letter, "A says ah, Amplevale. B says buh, Bore-"
"...ring." Simon finished for him, shrugging at Christopher's raised eyebrows, "How about...A says ah, Arinel. B says buh, Beau. Rest in peace."
Simon joined his hands in actual prayer, tilting his head at Beau's portrait on the wall. At that moment, the same inspiration struck the holy bells in all their heads. The teens glanced at each other, eyes wide in excitement.
"Ooh, I've got one!" Fione bobbed about, hand outstretched towards the ceiling, "C says cah, Coris. D says duh, Donghead."
"Why must it always be the obscene with you?" Heloise tutted while Simon gave a barking laugh of approval,
"E says eh. That's for Sir Emery Nethan, the seneschal."
"F says fuh, Fione." Fione rested a hand on her heart, unperturbed. Meya nodded vigorously, reciting under her breath as she moved her finger from letter to letter.
"G says guh, Gretella." Arinel joined in with a small smile as she side-eyed Heloise, who sighed but ultimately floated with the flow,
"H says hah, Heloise."
And on the rhyme went until Arinel ended with,
"Z says zzz, Zier."
Meya's finger skidded to a halt at the last letter. Silence wrapped around the throng, tight as a cloak drawn against the winter cold. They shared no whispered words nor dark looks of knowing, all staring at the name Arinel had flourished under the large, bold letter;
Zier
"Wonder how Zier's doing," mused Fione in a rare moment of seriousness.
"Knowing Coris, much worse than us," said Simon without a snark for once, as the rest nodded.
"I can understand him, though." Heloise shot Arinel a quick, apologetic glance, "Must be heartbreaking watching the woman you love marry your brother."
Arinel blushed. Her lips swallowed, she tore at her tattered dress with fingers adorned by bone-white knuckles. Meya cleared her throat and steered away,
"Right. From the top," Snatching up the parchment with renewed vigor, she recited, "A says ah, Arinel..."
Coris's clepsydra kept time as Meya chanted, interrupted now and then by the nobles correcting her errors. With each attempt, she plodded further down the rhyme before stumbling. When she reached the end without a hiccup, Meya decided it was time she challenged Jezia's letter to a rematch. With a deep breath, she raised the charcoal-smudged paper high and stared it in the eye.
"Meya...we hope this...letter...reaches...you well," She screwed her eyes, piecing together each word one syllable at a time, each syllable one letter at a time,
"Our...caravan...will join...the May Fest in...Hadrian. Maro...Marcus...Myron...Farmer Hild...Deke and Farmer... Armorheim...will be coming with us. We'll be staying at the...Silver Jug Inn. Send word...when and where to meet.
Love, Jezia and Jason.
Postscript...A very...happy...seventeenth...birthday...from all of us."
Sighing, Meya lowered the parchment and glanced around the circle. Simon smirked, then mussed her hair. Arinel beamed as she clutched at her heart. Meya slammed her fist on her palm in triumphant glee, sliding so far down Coris's chair her toes brushed Heloise's dress.
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"Finally! Agh, Freda bless me poor 'eart! Jezia's a-coming! An' Jason! An' Deke! An' the boys an'...Ah, crap."
Meya groaned, her dialect usurped by proper Latakian once more. She pressed her trembling hands on the armrests and pushed herself upright, exhilaration fizzling to pure terror,
"Dad? Aw, Jezia Boszel, why? What have you done? Led Fyr's raft straight to me dock, you have!"
Moaning, Meya stamped Jezia's letter with her face as she imagined Dad's reaction to all that had transpired in the past weeks. Frowning, Christopher picked up the letter he must have read some three dozen times while he waited for Meya to decipher it,
"Who are all these people?" He asked. Meya resurfaced, swaying like a drunken snake, her face smudged with charcoal, eyes crossed and unseeing.
"Maro, Marcus and Myron are me brothers. Jezia and Deke are me best friends. Jason is Jezia's dad. He's a merchant. Sells precious stones and jewelry. Farmer Armorheim is Deke's dad. And Farmer Hild's me dad, of course."
She drawled dully, then heaved a sigh. Shoulders hunched, she retrieved Jezia's letter, folded it until she couldn't, then slotted it into the safekeeping nook between her pillows.
"Anyways, there's no good getting me hopes up...or down, yet. For all we know, Lord Coris mightn't even let me go see them."
As if to answer Meya's prayers, the door jolted on its hinges after a resounding thud, sending the six troublemakers jumping. Whispered swears filtered through the wood in Coris's hoarse voice. Clearly, he'd taken for granted the door to his quarters would open for him without fail.
"Yeah, maybe not lock your lord out of his room the next time you want a day off?" Simon suggested.
"Simon! Fione! You'd better not be poking through my drawers, or I swear to Chione you'll be charcoal by the time I'm done with you!"
Coris roared. Meya rushed to the door's aid as it shuddered. She slid aside the metal bolt and heaved back the door.
"Lord Coris, I'm so sorry, 'twas me. I didnae want no gatecrash."
She tumbled over her words in both haste and fear; Coris was livid, his eyes wide and blazing silver. Zier was loitering just behind. Clearly, there was something on his mind other than flying underpants.
"Is something the matter, milord? You're spitting fire."
Coris cursed Meya to stone with a look she privately dubbed the "You think?" Look, for lack of a better name.
"Ask him." He snarled through gritted teeth, motioning at Zier and calling all eyes to him. Gulping, Zier raised his hands,
"I...uh..." He stammered, eyes flicking between Coris and Meya, then offered a sheepish grin,
"I may or may not have landed you an indefinite honeymoon in the most coveted country house in Latakia."
Meya raised her eyebrows. Zier's grin widened as cold sweat trickled down the side of his face,
"Villa Lapis, in Safyre."
----------------------------------------
As the seemingly contrite Zier gave a disapproving Arinel and the four attendants a debrief of what he'd done to displease dear old Brother, Coris soothed himself with lukewarm honey ginger tea as he read Jezia's letter, retrieved from Meya's generous chest compartment.
Meya followed his stormy eyes as they glided across the paper. He paused and peered as if he'd stumbled upon traces of a second, invisible letter, such that Meya itched to poke her fingers at his narrowed eyes and trace a sightline to the object of his intrigue. Yet, she had a vague idea of what it might be.
Armorheim.
Farmer Armorheim kidnapped Coris in the Famine. Had Coris recognized his name? Would he punish Draken and the rest of the party?
Though the thought of Krulstaff, Brodel and Yorfus getting a stint under the drawbridge didn't bother Meya much (that demented butcher did suggest lobbing her hands off), she didn't want them to get the gallows or the block for doing what they must for their families. Farmer Armorheim, on the other hand, had always been kind to Meya. And then there's Deke. What would he do without his father?
Dang it, Jezia. I'd rather it was just you and us young folk. Why d'you have to go and bring the adults, too?
Coris smoothed the letter on the desk. His eyes lingered, but he was no longer reading it; he was calculating, planning. At last, he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands, his eyes sweeping over his arguing friends.
Zier stopped spouting sorry excuses, leaving Arinel hanging halfway through her sermon. Meanwhile, Simon, Christopher, Fione and Heloise stood to attention.
"You've decided, Coris?" asked Christopher. Coris nodded, then turned to Meya,
"Meya, you can go see your family and friends. However," Meya didn't have time to decide whether to be thrilled or terrified before Coris raised the conditional finger of doom, "I shall be accompanying you. Under a disguise, of course."
Their eyes met. A chill rushed down her spine. Meya clenched her fists, struggling and failing to remain civil,
"Why, milord? Dun you have no pressing matters to attend to?" She spited.
"No, I don't." Coris shot back, his expression sour as spoiled milk, "Need I remind you that Father wishes for us to, to put it mildly, stay in this room and copulate as frequently as possible, which we agreed we won't?"
Coris raised his eyebrows, daring her to contradict. Meya chewed her lips and imagined they were his neck sinews.
"Jason Boszel's a merchant trading in precious stones, is he not? I'd like to talk to him about the shortage."
"Then I won't go." Meya crossed her arms over her puffed-out chest. Coris blinked, affronted. "I risked me neck for you twice, milord. It galls me that you dun trust me to stray beyond your sight."
"I've just said, Meya, I simply want to talk to the merchant. I won't be there to keep an eye on you," said Coris impatiently. Meya gave a barking laugh,
"Simply talk, me stinky foot!"
"So you accuse me of not trusting you when you don't trust me yourself?"
Coris retorted, eyebrows raised. Meya gritted her teeth in begrudging surrender. His eyes bore into hers, stern but also understanding. Meya avoided his probe, scratching her head.
"Calm down, and think long and hard, Meya." Coris returned to his gentle voice, "After the May Fest, it's off to Safyre we go. This might be the last chance you'll get to see them in a long time. If you have nothing to hide, why must you be so flustered?"
Meya's heart jolted painfully at the reminder. She turned pointedly away, her breath quickening in desperation. As blood pounded in her ears, she glanced at Coris. He seemed sincere.
He might just want to talk to Jason like he'd insisted, hear things straight from the people instead of through the bailiff. Still, would he remember Draken's face? Would Draken give himself away? Would he pardon Draken if she implored him to...or coerced him to?
Meya's eyes widened at the sudden inspiration.
"If you betray me, I'll tell everyone where The Axel is, putting Lord Zier in grave danger."
Always ask for something binding when you strike a deal.
Meya finally understood his advice.
Coris said he abhorred killing. It didn't seem like him to hold grudges, and he was merciful even when he had suspected from the start that Meya was an impostor. Meya longed to believe in his kind heart, but she still held The Axel's secret over him on the slight chance she was wrong about him.
It pained Meya to play twisted games with Coris, but she had no choice. Not meeting her folk would appear suspicious, drawing even more attention to Draken. And she was longing to see her brothers and friends, of course.
"I-I just—I don't want you to see Dad bury me alive," Meya steered away, the lie bitter as poison on her tongue.
"Then all the more reason I should go with you," argued Coris, "Should the need arise, I'll reveal myself and explain it all to him."
Meya doubted her ears. The unexpected offer surprised her as much as it scared her. Would Dad approve of her deeds? Even Coris's promise to vouch for her couldn't reassure her. The passing memory of Dad's cold brown eyes sapped Meya of whatever newfound confidence she had gained. She felt like she usually did back in Crosset, a failure. Her created excuse had become genuine.
Coris leaned in and grasped her arm, his gray eyes poring deep into hers.
"He would be proud of what you did, Meya. And you should be, as well." He consoled her, "You lost your virginity, true. You also saved two dozen people from certain death. Any decent father would know to prioritize."
Meya wasn't so sure. The cold of his hand seeped through the thin silk of her sleeve. She shivered as she braced for the worst,
"What if he wants me home straight away? What if he dun't want me to work here anymore?"
"He would, Meya," said the long-silent Arinel. Meya spun around with a frown. The sheer ice glazed over her eyes gave way to sorrow as their eyes met, "My father was planning to exile you, didn't you know?"
Exile? Meya mouthed, eyes bulging in horror. Exile. Oh, Freda. That can't be true, can it?
Arinel avoided her eyes in shame,
"Your father begged him to put you in my entourage instead. He said you'd fit better in Hadrian. He offered to work to pay for your place. Father took pity on him for your mother's past services to Crosset, so he relented."
"Services?" Heloise repeated.
"Her mother is Alanna of Noxx." Arinel replied.
"By Freda!" Simon gawked between the girls, "The Song of May Day? Her mother?"
"You should've said something! I've always wanted to hear her Song!" Fione cried, both indignant and excited.
"So you actually sang that night? We thought the wind played tricks on our ears." Christopher joined the uproar. Zier looked intrigued. Only Coris seemed indifferent, as if he'd already known.
Meya didn't register any of it, lost in a maelstrom of emotion.
Dad wasn't selling me off? Dad was saving me from exile? Is Arinel telling the truth? Why did Dad lie?
"Mirram cares about you, Meya. And he'll prove it to you when you need it most."
The memory of Jason whispered words that, for seventeen years, she'd longed to believe in someday. Yet, now that she was confronted with proof, it was all she could do not to flee.
Shivers spread to her legs. She clung to the desk to stay on her feet, digging her fingers into the wood, hoping the pain would douse the fire searing her eyes.
Dad had cared? Enough to kneel and beg before the lord of their lives, to risk his wrath to save her from exile? It was something out of someone else's life, someone like Marin or Mistral, and definitely not Meya.
"Dad never said nothing of the sort," Meya finally managed, her voice thick and strangled, "He said the Lord just wanted me out of Crosset for good, said he'd give him me fine back."
Arinel shook her head,
"Father didn't give him a single copper, Meya. He probably lied so as not to scare you. I thought you'd known. You're free to stay, Meya, but I'll vouch for your return if you so wish."
Meya met her eyes. She wished she could believe it, but she couldn't until she'd seen the truth in Dad's eyes and heard it from his lips. She couldn't bear to lift her hopes only to see them fall to the dark. Sixteen lonely May Days were already far too many.
Coris squeezed her arm, and his clammy cold roused Meya from her reverie. She answered him with eyes rimmed in red. He tilted his head with a smile,
"Your choice, Meya?"