Even after a long cuddle on the chair, Coris was still groggy, and Meya still lusty. Thus, to the bed they retired, giving no heed to the time of day.

Too exhausted to please his fair maiden, Coris allowed Meya to admire his glorious physique to her heart's fill while he napped. Poor Meya had settled for finger-doodling on Coris's belly when a certain something prodded her loins. A flash of pure bliss rushed up her spine, overwhelming her senses. Strangling back a moan, Meya glared down at Coris, who wiped his face blank in an instant.

"You said you won't be available again 'til tomorrow!"

"Apologies. My middle brother is quite unruly." Coris slurred, eyes still closed. Giggling, Meya patted his cheek affectionately.

"Just rest. I'll take care of wee-Coris. Well, not so wee, actually."

Chuckling, Meya took his hands and leaned down with a kiss which slid its way down his neck, over his heart, past his belly button, to his very core. She awakened him, then sheathed him within. Waves of bliss coursed through him. Meya cried out his name. She tilted her face to the Heights, basking in the light at the pinnacle. She showered him with a stream of warmth so soothing, he finally felt safe to let go.

He laid back as the pulsating river of clouds carried him into Freda's Caldera, then drifted down to earth like an autumn leaf, knowing he'd miss it sorely when his time came.

Meya slumped onto his chest, panting. He raised a feeble arm and caressed her hair. She rubbed her cheek, then her lips against his palm.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice choked with tears. It was the first time she summited the Heights with him. He finally did it. "D'you like it?"

Meya raised her face to his, then her smile fell. His wide, pale eyes stared through her at demons only he saw.

"Thank you, too. I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy you. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm glad I get to feel the Heights before I drown in the Lake."

"Coris, dun say that! You're not going anytime soon. And not to Fyr's Lake, that's for sure!"

"Still, part of me wished I'd never known how it felt. Now I'm even less ready to die."

"Coris! Oh, Freda."

Tears rolled down his cheeks like stars falling to their deaths. Meya eased him into her arms.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. So sorry." He muttered feverishly as he rubbed his flooding eyes on her shoulder. He jolted and bucked, struggling to staunch the leak, but for years the whirlpool had festered under still waters. The dam was doomed to burst.

"I'm just so scared. Every night I go to sleep, I'm scared I won't wake up again. I'm sorry. I don't want to die. Not this soon. Not like this. But I can't tell anyone. I don't want Zier to blame himself. I don't want Mother to cry. I can't let Father down. Maybe it'd be better if I just drop dead than live on and on like this...Pathetic. Invalid. Useless. Waste of resources. Can't even pleasure a fair maiden. Can't even give her a babe. At best, they'd cry once and move on. What's the point of dragging it out? What could I possibly achieve? But I don't want to die. I don't want to melt away in the Lake. I'm scared. So, so scared. How would it feel to not feel anything?"

Meya smoothed her hand down his bony back, passing her own tears trickling down his spine. How should she comfort him? Back in the forest when she'd faced death, it was a different brand of fear; certain, urgent, stark white and black. Not the drawn-out, murky gray in-between.

She had control, the choice of fight or flight. But how would one deal with death when it was out of one's hands? If one's body was his enemy?

Most folk wouldn't remember death until it was blinking on the horizon. By that time, hopefully they'd already be wise enough to deal with it. But for all his wisdom, Coris was a lad barely a year older than Meya. And he'd been living like this since he was Mistral's age. Alone. Terrified.

"Coris, 'tis normal to be scared. Everybody's scared of dying. You dun have to blame yourself."

The Holy Scriptures featured a few verses ruminating on death, but none of the hymns lauding the beauty of the Heights, recounting stoic deaths of Latakian heroes seemed to work to assuage Coris's fears. Perhaps she should simply tell him what she thought, what she knew.

"Zier loves you. Your parents love you. And I need you. You're me lord. Me mentor. Me good friend. Me...whatever it is we have now. Stop saying We still got Zier and I dun want to orphan me babe and all that. You're getting used to it. You shouldn't."

Meya drew back. Coris's eyes stared out of sunken sockets, empty, lost in a pool of tears. She cupped his gaunt cheeks,

"You asked what you could possibly achieve. You're achieving so much every day, Coris. You saved Arinel and her men. You're always thinking up ways to help your people. You're giving me the chance to make something out of me life."

Coris bit his trembling lips as if willing himself to believe. Meya shook her head, frustrated, then shook his face for attention.

"I know you think your father's sidelining you, and you can't do nothing about that, but you can try talking to Baroness Norena. Maybe she'd help you with the Ban."

Coris pulled away. He reached under the bed for his chamberpot, then emptied the quagmire in his nostrils. Meya poured him a basin of water. He splashed some on his face, poured some on his soiled fingers, then gulped down the rest.

"I doubt it." He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice still thick with nose gunk, "Safyre is neutral on the Ban. It has no resources of its own and champions living in harmony with nature. Its economy is based on tourism and luxury goods."

"But your father said they're still affected by the metal shortage. Maybe you can talk Norena into helping you. You're good at talking."

"I don't know. I don't have Hadrian's sway behind me this time, do I?"

You dun have nothing but dogs during the Heist, neither.

Meya made to argue, but Coris cut across with a sigh. He slumped onto his pillows, an arm on his forehead.

"Remember when I told you, my father is now the only one who knows the whole truth about The Axel?"

Meya nodded slowly, unsure where he was headed.

"When the Baron Hadrian were on his deathbed, he'd pass on Maxus's Memoirs to his heir apparent. It contains all the secrets surrounding The Axel."

Coris opened his eyes, revealing slivers of dull gray.

"The truth we seek is here, in Hadrian." He jabbed his finger into the bed, "And Father's deliberately sending us away from it. To a tourist town with no military significance. No say, no stake on the Ban. I just don't see a way to wring optimism out of this."

His arm flapped lifelessly onto the bed. His jaded eyes bore twin holes in the wooden ceiling of the four-poster. Meya watched him, her eyes narrowed.

"Whenever Lord Crosset slaps down some new law or tax, I dun grumble as I plow the fields or join the folks protesting at the bulletin board. I stay quiet, wait for a loophole, and exploit it. Sometimes I got away with easy gold. Most times I didn't. But that's what I do."

Coris opened his eyes, looking weary. Meya propped her arm on the bed and loomed over him, golden locks trailing onto his sunken, ridged chest.

"If the Baron's word is law, there's bound to be a loophole. Or a way round. If we can't read those Memoirs, we find another way. Safyre's closer to Everglen than Hadrian. We're traveling towards the place where it all started. Where the first Hadrians and Hilds came from. If Norena won't help with the Ban, she can help us get there."

Coris avoided her eyes. Meya leaned down further.

"You're always shutting your door all the way. Why not leave it open a sliver? You need to have some hope."

His eyes slid back to meet her, lifeless and bloodshot. Meya grasped his clammy hand, squeezing those knobbly fingers.

"Hope got me through the Famine, got me to negotiate with Gillian. Tis why I'm still alive. It'll keep you alive much longer than any elixir would."

Coris simply smiled his gentle smile, his chapped lips glistening with tears. Meya wasn't sure if he believed her.

----------------------------------------

The hours that followed saw them alternating between consciousness and slumber, passion and serenity, budding love and ripe lust.

Meya lay sprawled at the foot of the bed. Her half-open eyes widened at the sight of rosewater-colored spots of blood scattered on the linen.

My virgin blood? Coris said he'd take care of it.

Meya dragged her fingers over them, then frowned at Coris. Not that she minded, now that the secret was out. Coris's eyes were also fixed upon the stains.

"They say blood and ink never wash off. Despite man's best efforts." He said. Meya tilted her head, then hitched up a wry smile,

"The laundry maid must have known everything that happened behind our doors, eh." She traced imaginary lines from each minuscule speck to the other, "You probably needed a heavy coin to weigh her tongue down."

"Not all these are yours." Coris laid a pale, tapered fingertip on a spot of stain. Meya's eyes widened in dawning horror, but Coris remained smiling, "I used to have to scramble in the dark for my chamberpot whenever my stomach acts up at night."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Coris propped himself up and edged away, sinking heavily onto his pillow.

"I slept well these past few days, but thanks to Zier, that's probably all the sleep I'd get." He quipped, his eyes closed, looking gaunt in the late afternoon sun, "What in the three lands should I do with him?"

Meya slithered back to her side of the bed, slumping down face-to-face with him.

"Maybe you spewing blood is your body's way of telling you there's something inside that needs to come out." She drew soothing circles on his sunken belly, coaxing it to behave. Coris raised his eyebrows. She stared straight back, undaunted.

"You're always smiling, Lord Coris. Maybe the reason you slept well these few nights is because you cried—and talked. With me."

Coris froze. His cheeks tinged pink, he averted his eyes.

"I don't have the right to complain. Born rich and noble and all." He muttered. Meya blinked. She churned her lips as she pondered it, then surfaced with a wry smirk.

"Well, we're liars by nature. We have fathers who are near impossible to please. And our mothers dun really help. I'm jealous of me big sister. Your little brother is jealous of you."

Coris blushed deeper. Her point proven, Meya gestured at the plate of still-toppling pile of waffles on the bedside cabinet.

"We got a mountain of waffles to munch through. We can swap tales of our fathers, and I can help you be a better big brother for Zier. How's that, milord?"

Meya served Coris a toothy grin. He looked unsure, like a shy tyke faced with a stranger. He creaked up a small, tired smile,

"Lexi's fine."

He muttered, his cheeks faint pink. Meya blinked. A wave of warmth enveloped her heart. Coris propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes wandered, staring through her to memories both fresh and long past.

"You're right, actually. About leaving the door open." He flicked away bits of candlewax stuck to the sheets. Probably from late-night readings.

"Father said I'm always assuming the worst of everyone and everything. Not that I want to, but I'm a Hadrian. My duty is hiding The Axel. I learned to lie and conceal and manipulate. I've trained myself to predict the worst-case scenario in every situation. The one time I didn't, I lost a friend and my own future."

Once the spot of wax had disintegrated into dust, Coris plopped back onto the bed,

"I know privilege comes with responsibility. And I've never known another life outside this one. But sometimes, they're so heavy. All these secrets." He sighed, his eyes drooping close, "Why must I be born a Hadrian?"

Meya slid a soothing hand down his arm.

"I'm sure Zier's thinking the same thing. He dun know any more than you do why you two must do the thing you're supposed to be doing. But he's not as patient as you. So he did what he thought was right. And he might actually be right, once the truth unfolds. We never know, do we?"

She cocked her head, then leaned down with a whisper,

"Tell him what you just told me. Let him know 'tis hard for you, too. Might make him feel better if he knows you think the dung well you're standing in stinks as much as he does."

Meya led a stray sheaf of his dark hair across his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Coris pored deep into her eyes, then dipped his head with a sigh,

"My parents have always told me to set an example." He chuckled sheepishly, recalling the spectacle he'd made in Father's study, "This must be the first time he saw me yell at Father."

"And you should let him see more of that you!" Meya shook his arm in earnest. Coris raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she hastily added, "Not saying you should yell more at your father, though. He might send us even further than Safyre next time. Though I think he kind of deserves it. And I do want to see more of Latakia."

Coris's laughter broke Meya off mid-ramble. At the sight of those silvery eyes flickering in amusement, her heart skipped several beats.

"D'you know why I resent Marin so much? She makes everything seem easy. She never complains. Not even once."

She ran her hand down the ridges that were Coris's ribs pushing out from under his skin,

"Seeing you now, I reckon it couldn't have been easy for her, neither. Being Dad's daughter." She mumbled, her impassive face betraying a glimpse of shame.

"Maybe Zier will understand you more, if you let him know 'tis not easy for you too. Let him see some Crazy Coris. Not-so-perfect Coris. Silly Coris—Perverted Coris. Hey, stop it!"

Coris was flicking her nipple, looking gloomy. Giggling, Meya sat up and batted his hand away. She studied him as she laid down and snuggled into her pillow, then shrugged with a smile,

"You're too...good, sometimes. I'd definitely hate you too, if you were me big brother."

"You would?" Coris's smile widened, revealing a sliver of uneven, yellowed teeth. Meya snorted,

"Yeah. You and your oh-so-righteous guts."

They shared a laugh. Meya found her hand straying towards the bloodstains again.

"Bloodstains. Tears. Scars. Thoughts and feelings. We're not meant to hide or erase them." She muttered, "Maybe that's why blood and ink dun wash off. Freda made them that way, so they're meant to be seen."

Silence fell as Meya busied herself drawing constellations with the bloodstains, then Coris spoke,

"And your voice. It's also meant to be heard."

"Me voice?"

Coris's eyes narrowed into slits.

"You've been faking your voice, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Meya forced out a laugh, cold sweat beading along her hairline.

"You sounded different. Back there—on my desk." Coris glanced insinuatingly towards said desk. Her face burning, Meya slammed her fist against the sore spot on Coris's arm. Once he was done yowling bloody murder, Coris continued seriously,

"Your voice was higher. Sweeter. Now that think I about it, it fits you more."

"No, it dun't!" Meya's blurted out in her real voice. She shared a blink of surprise with Coris, then spun away and sat up, annoyed,

"Tis too dainty. All this weird ringing, too. I can't say fart, crap, dung, or dong without folks giving me the weird eye. Now you're doing it."

Meya whipped back and glowered. Jolting, Coris averted his eyes.

"Apologies. That was unbecoming." He rubbed an awkward finger on his cheek, then resurfaced looking serious, "It's not good for your voice, you know. You could lose your Song."

Scowling, Meya propped up her pillow, gave it a vicious slug then flattened it behind her back, as if it were the physical embodiment of her Song.

"Good riddance. I won't have to hide it no longer."

"Why so?" Coris asked innocently, a shrewd glint in his sharp eyes, "It's a beautiful voice. Must be excruciating suppressing it."

It's your song, now, Meya. And if you don't let it define you, it won't. So why are you so afraid?

Arinel's blue eyes pierced into the depths of Meya's heart, as her voice rang in her ears. Meya hadn't hidden her voice just because it didn't fit her character. Mainly, it was because it resembled Mum's old voice. It was a dead giveaway.

Meya had never heard Mum's undamaged voice, of course. But she felt familiar with her voice. Mum might have sung to her while she was pregnant, a hand caressing her bump, assuming within was a beautiful baby boy with her ice-blue eyes.

The thought pained her, but was it really anyone's fault? Was it something she should fear so much? Was seventeen years long enough, far too long, or already too late to set it free?

As she dithered, Coris sat up by her side.

"Zier plays the harp, you know." He wrapped the blanket around them, gazing dreamily into space, "Imagine him strumming Corien's Harp to your Song of May Day. Must be music from the Heights."

Meya glanced at his wistful face. Perhaps the silence was becoming too overwhelming, confining, but just like that, the Song flowed out of her,

"I'm here to sing a song I own.

I wish to hear the world sing along."

Coris froze as something stirred deep in his repressed memories. He stared, wide-eyed, as Meya's song built up in courage and vigor with every syllable,

"I'll sing my heart for all who'll heed.

So lend your ears to the wind as it blows."

"I'm Meya, Me—"

"—ya. I'm born on May's Eve. As my father grieve... for my mother's Song."

Meya spun around, eyes wide as saucers. Coris was staring back, his cheeks bloodless, his eyes clouded with resurrected memories. He turned away, his lips moving hesitantly as he stammered out the lyrics he for some reason knew—remembered...

"Oh Meya, they say...what good...is a lass. As unruly and poor...as Me..ya...Hild."

Silence drifted in to replace the last echoes of his cracked, dissonant voice. It was out of tune, vaguely recreated. Yet, there was no mistaking it. It was her Song.

Trembles spread through her body. Meya fell limp against the headboard, gaping at the frail young man,

"No way." The words left her lips in a hoarse rasp. "H-how?"

"I've heard this song before." said Coris, his voice strangled, his eyes unblinking, "Three years ago. In Crosset."

His faraway eyes returned to Meya. For a breath, it was as if the whole world had fallen out of existence. Shattered memories coagulated into flashes of sharp images and distinct voices.

"Emerald-Stone Boy?" The words barely left her lips.

"What?"

Coris blinked, eyebrows raised. Meya scrambled off the bed. Her toe snagged in the silk blanket, and she almost tumbled face-first to the floor. Coris watched as she sped to the adjoined Solar, still in her birthday suit.

The door hadn't even stopped swinging when Meya came hurtling back through it, clutching something to her chest. She skidded to her knees by the bed and stretched out her arms. In her hands was a lump of dark gray stone beset with glinting shards of green crystal.

"You gave me this. Remember?" She panted, shaking her hands.

Coris studied the twinkling pebble. Flashes of strange yet somehow familiar surroundings. Snippets of voices and the warmth of spring. He knelt before the simple carpet stall of a portly Tyldornian merchant and his daughter, selecting raw ore stones as souvenirs for Zier.

Large, acid-green eyes shimmering with tears glowed in the descending dusk, as he entrusted the emerald stone in her hands.

Coris looked up and found the dragoness's eyes waiting for him, similar to the last dewdrop of bitter joy clinging to her eyelashes. His frown made way for a faint smile of remembrance. Meya catapulted herself from the floor straight into his arms.

"Meya!"

Coris found himself sprawled on his back as Meya ironed the air out of his lungs. It wasn't her vigor that had caught him off guard, but the boiling tears seeping onto his shoulder.

"Oh, Freda." Meya tightened her arms, her voice thick with tears and breathy with joy, "You have...no idea...how long I've been waiting...for you to come by again."

As the new, old memories settled in his head, Coris ran his hand down her wiry back. Tremors traveled from her body to his as she sobbed out her tale,

"Every bazaar day, I went looking for you at every spice stall. Asked every merchant I came across if they knew Simon of Hadrian. But no one ever heard of you. You looked so ill back then, I thought you must've died. You lying—fishbrained—donghead!"

Meya landed a thump so resounding on his chest, his ribcage wobbled. She crumpled into his arms, her sobs muffled by his shoulder, her skin hot iron on his.

"Why didn't we recognize each other?" Meya drew back. She scoured him up and down with red-rimmed eyes, shaking her head with a frustrated frown, "You haven't changed. Not that much."

"Same goes for you, too." Coris unfurled a gentle grin which turned sly as he poked one of Meya's breasts squashed against his meatless chest, "I'm feeling substantial growth and springiness here, though. Ow!"

Coris yelped and cupped his forearm, glowering in mock petulance at Meya. She flounced away, arms crossed and her back to him. Smiling, Coris crept towards his fuming paramour, a pale finger traveling down a light golden curl, unraveling it to its full length.

"Your hair's different."

Meya picked up a lock of hair and tugged absentmindedly on it. Its coarseness chafed against her rough palm. The bleach, the dye, the curling potions had sapped the moisture and scraped away the luster of her hair, merciless as blazing sunlight, leaving it brittle, frizzled and dry.

"Tis for the disguise." She muttered, struggling to fill the melancholic silence. Coris sighed sadly in her place.

"Pity. It was such a rare shade." He combed his long, icy fingers through her tangled curls. Meya closed her eyes sleepily as his soothing voice trickled down the curve of her back, "Rich, lustrous rose gold. Wish I'd live long enough to see it grow back out."

Meya's eyes snapped open.

"Of course you will!" She spun around, glaring at the startled Coris, "You just got yourself one more reason to, haven't you?"

Coris avoided her eyes and scratched at his cheek. Frustrated, Meya hooked a finger around his chin and turned his face to hers, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"I know what you've been doing. You avoid trying out new things because you're afraid you'll like them, and you'll miss them when your time comes."

Coris tensed, eyes wide and scared, but didn't shy away. Meya leaned close, her voice gentler now,

"But we're all going to die someday anyway, Lexi. But, we're all going about doing the things we want to." Her eyes wandered as she pondered, "Now that I think about it, it might be better to regret doing something than regret not doing it."

Meya's finger slid off his chin, leaving a patch of heat like candlelight. She hung her head, sorrowful eyes staring unseeing at the sheets.

"You're right." She admitted, her sweet yet rueful voice leaving a bitter taste in his ears, as the trembling glow of her acid-green eyes focused on his, "I was lying. I love me Song. I love to sing. I love this voice. Tis torture hiding it. Every single breath of it."

Coris reached a pale hand towards her. His knobbly thumb tracing her lips, he repeated his words from years past that had solaced the embittered May Queen of Crosset.

"Then please, let me hear your Song."

And so Meya sang. As the young lord rested his head on her lap, with one hand caressing his hair, she sang the tales and lullabies of Latakia. She sang of war and peace. Hatred and love. Winter and spring. Death and birth. Sorrow and joy. Pain and perseverance. Despair and hope.

From high noon til sundown, for the first time in seventeen years, the Song of May Day echoed within the solemn stones, carrying on the gentle spring wind throughout the castle's hill.

And, for the first time in seventeen years, Meya Hild felt free.