Harp song trickled through the gap under the doorframe and greeted Arinel as she approached the guest quarters. Lady Crosset heaved a deep sigh, curled her finger then tapped her knuckle thrice on the wood. The soothing tune died, replaced by the rustle of hurried footsteps on carpet. The door fell gingerly back, the sunlit sliver occupied by Zier's bright blue eye.

"Quietly—they've just drifted off to sleep." He whispered.

"They?"

She stepped around Zier into the room, and her question was answered. Coris was spread-eagled on the bed, snoring, his blanket reduced to a rumpled heap beside a mop of curly golden hair, which trailed down the side of the four-poster in a fraying ponytail.

Zier rearranged his brother's limbs and spread the blanket over him, as Arinel tucked the cloak Zier had draped over Meya's shoulders more snugly around her.

"Poor fool." She tutted as she propped her hands on her hips and admired her work, "Must have been up all night watching him."

Zier shook his head then beckoned her to follow him on tiptoe over to the study desk. He sighed as he slumped onto Coris's chair,

"She's been swooning and retching since morn. I'm guessing it's the heat or the Hythean cuisine—"

"—Or she could be pregnant." Arinel bolted up from the seat she hadn't sat down upon. Zier froze with his fingers on the strings of his harp. He gawked at her, then shook his head in desperate denial,

"Can't be. If she's using the Silfum we gave her—which I'm sure she is."

"Silfum isn't foolproof." Arinel reminded him, pale and rigid as stone safe for her lips. Zier gripped his harp, eyes wide and fearful looking to her for reassurance,

"Is there a way to know for sure?"

Arinel fumbled at her chair with numb, shivering fingers and dragged it back.

"There are many telltale signs, but the surest is the menses." She lowered herself into it with a sigh, then answered Zier's quivering gaze, "If she hasn't bled in two moons, then it's likely."

Pale swaths of color returned to Zier's cheeks. He straightened up, his countenance brightening with optimism.

"Hasn't even been a moon since they first lay together."

Somehow, that made the matter more worrisome for Arinel. She blew out an exasperated breath and cradled her head in her hands.

"Meya, you fool." She growled through gritted teeth as Zier blinked, astonished, "We warned her this could happen, and she just kept on sleeping with him! And I won't be there to see for sure if she's pregnant!"

"You won't?" Zier latched on to the slip, bringing her tirade to a jolting halt. Arinel bit down hard on her tongue, steeling herself for the fallout.

"So, you've decided to stay behind in Jaise?"

Arinel lowered her hands and clenched them on the tabletop. She kept her unseeing eyes glued to her lap as the heat of Zier's lingering stare enveloped her. She hadn't meant to declare her intent. Not yet. Not like this.

Silence suffocated them as Zier struggled for words to dissuade. At last, he managed to sputter,

"But—we're going all the way to Everglen, Ari. And what about Klythe? You won't regret it?"

Arinel sighed. She could guess what he was thinking, and she must set him straight.

"I'm not staying just for my mother's sake." She met his gaze firmly, enunciating each beat with soft raps on the tabletop, "I want to do this. I want to practice alchemy. And I want to support their cause in the way I can." She tilted her head towards the slumbering couple.

Zier avoided her eyes, his shadowed face downcast. She grasped his hands, both beseeching and consoling.

"We could travel Latakia together. In a better time." She shook their joined hands to rouse him. Zier met her gaze with a dejected pout, and she pleaded through her eyes.

"These are urgent matters I must deal with. And I know I can trust you with Klythe. Please, Zier. I have to do this."

Zier's eyes widened in surprise, then deserted hers in shame as he withdrew his hands and lowered his face. Perhaps he had sensed her puzzled look—he mumbled,

"I—I haven't apologized."

Arinel blinked as Zier's anguished face flashed by before her eyes, and his bellowing voice echoed in her ears. With all that had been going on, she had just remembered what he had said to her and had not atoned for. As anger clicked in, she straightened and turned aside, giving him unparalleled view of her icy shoulder,

"And you only thought to bring it up now?"

She didn't need to raise her voice to send Zier flinching as if lashed. Yet, his mischievous grin returned just as soon,

"You didn't seem furious with me, I guess." He shrugged and cocked his head, "That or you always seem furious with me for something or other, anyway, so I couldn't tell."

Any other time, that would have been enough to elicit a weary sigh of surrender. This time, Arinel wasn't inclined to be so lenient. Zier had taken many steps too far, and that could have been partly her fault for spoiling him for all these years.

After a strained pause, Zier heaved a sigh and gingerly took her hands.

"Ari, I'm sorry."

Tension dissipated from her taut shoulders as she blew out her resentment in a soft sigh. Arinel turned back and met his pleading eyes in a gesture of forgiveness, sealed with her hand upon his,

"You must think of the consequences of your actions, Zier." She scolded, then pinned him with her solemn glare, "Freda has been clear with her warning this time, but I doubt she would hold back again."

Zier's hand shuddered under hers. She caressed it comfortingly, her voice gentler now,

"Your brother has his limit, too. Don't test it so daringly."

Zier dipped his head in repentance, then turned to scrutinize his brother and his mistress with a worried frown,

"What would we do with the babe, if she turns out pregnant?"

A dull pang of pain gripped her heart in vice-like claws. Arinel closed her eyes and shook her head.

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"That's solely their decision to make. Our opinions don't matter."

"Coris's always said he doesn't want children. What if he forces her to end it?"

Despite herself, Arinel gave the slumbering Lord Hadrian a long look of appraisal.

"You're his brother. Could you see him doing that to Meya?"

Zier froze, then sighed and shook his head, sheepish.

"No."

"Neither do I."

"So, it depends on Meya, does it?"

Arinel's eyes strayed to her good friend. As a child born to a reluctant mother herself, it pained her to consider the obvious solution. Yet, it was the only way. And there was nothing she could do, or should do. Whether the babe lived or die was not her choice to make, nor her burden to bear.

"A dying nobleman and a peasant dragoness." Zier quipped, then shook his head with a hopeless sigh, "To be frank, I doubt even Coris could conjure up a solution for this. I pity the babe already. If there were one."

Arinel managed a listless nod. Zier's hand fidgeted against her palm as he cast about for a way to liven up the air, then jolted as he remembered,

"Of course! How was the trial? What's the verdict?"

Oh, perfect. Here we go.

Arinel pulled her hand away from Zier's before he would notice it trembling. Faced with the daunting task of deciding life or death for her mother's killer, half of her would rather continue fretting about Meya's sexual escapades instead. Yet, she had no choice but to shake her head,

"There isn't a verdict. Not yet." She corrected with a sigh, "As I understood it, I am the judge."

"Ah. I see." Zier raised a knowing brow, "Right of the Bereft, is it?"

"You knew?" Arinel frowned as she leaned forth, intrigued. Zier hitched up a quirked, mirthless grin as he shrugged.

"Marquess Fratengarde." He revealed, then elaborated at the sight of her raised eyebrows, "Few drinks in and he'd grace us with nuggets of Hythean wisdom. For instance, you can take any woman in the three lands—"

"—Rape, you mean." Arinel cut in, cold yet sizzling with disgust.

"Yes. My apologies." Zier dipped his head, then duly corrected, "You can rape any woman, except a Jaisian woman or a woman in Jaise."

Arinel's fist was clenched so tight, it had turned numb to the pain of her fingernails drilling into her palm.

"I finally succumbed to curiosity at twelve. Asked Coris what it meant. Somewhat wish I hadn't." Zier echoed her contempt in his dead, sardonic retelling, then cleared his throat and straightened up. His eyes flicked back to meet her blazing gaze,

"Since Winterwen took the Jaise seat after her father, the court has a one-woman majority. The highest sentence possible is always castration."

Arinel blinked, unsure whether she should be awed or repulsed by the Jaisian brand of justice. Not that she was in any position to judge—having hailed from the clan that invented the Ice Pillory and that had chained, bridled and flogged a ten-year-old girl at the town square simply for working in the fields.

As she dithered, Zier cocked his head and went on, his expression deadpan,

"Most victims simply sent the rapists for a spell in the man-brothels of Hyacinth. Give them a drawn-out taste of their own medicine. Hard to say if that's mercy, though."

He ended with a shrug, leaving Arinel with even more moral quandaries to battle. There were clear parallels between those women and her. So, what should she choose? Swift, violent retribution? Slow, torturous payback? Or forgiveness?

The first two instances were only natural. She wondered if there were also women who were satisfied with simply genuine remorse, who had not chosen revenge when they very well could.

"Let me guess: the highest sentence for Dineira is death. And you're torn?"

Zier's tone was gentle as the touch of his hand upon hers. Arinel lowered her face in shameful confession. Zier gave her hand a light squeeze, his sigh loud in the stillness of late noon.

"You could always see humanity in the wicked, Ari. I've always admired you for that."

Arinel shook her head, a sardonic smile creeping onto her lips.

"I just don't have a spine, that's all." She spat, disgusted with herself. Zier's hand tightened around hers in anguish and rebuke, and she let loose, her voice choked with tears,

"That night, I decided I'd live by my own will—But then I see her parents—And when she confessed—turns out it was an accident—But then there's Grandmother—and Sir Bayne. They'd want justice, obviously—" She broke off, resting her burning forehead on Zier's hand.

"Do they? Or did you just assume they do, again?" He challenged wearily, as the weight of his hand pressed down on her fleecy hair. Arinel froze in shame. She could imagine Zier shaking his head as his sigh blew down on hers, "What did they say, Ari?"

A moment of charged silence, before Arinel deflated with a long, tortured sigh of defeat,

"Not a word from Sir Bayne, of course. And Grandmother left the decision to me." She resurfaced, but her eyes remained downcast. "She said she at least had nineteen years with my mother. I had none."

She shook her head, her gaze distant as she recalled her grandmother's tearful nod of confirmation, then burrowed her face into their clasped hands once more, her tear-choked voice muffled,

"But I know what she'd want! And I'm afraid I'd let her down!"

"And you don't have to be. She lets you decide. She wants you to choose what you think is best." Zier argued.

"But, still..."

Zier heaved a heavy sigh at her feeble protest. He adjusted his hand to fit more snugly around hers.

"Erina is in the Heights, Ari." He began in a voice gentle as the warmth of his hand as it embraced hers, and Arinel trembled at the truth in his words,

"I'm sure she's at peace, and Freda is treating her well. Your happiness is what matters to her, and Gretella and Jerald above all. They all love you dearly. You don't have to worry about disappointing them—or the public's thirst for vengeance, for that matter."

Zier added wryly. Arinel jolted. He saw through her when she hadn't realized she had something to hide. Zier squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"You're not spineless for not wanting retribution, Ari." He reiterated, his voice solemn. She could feel his heat looming over her hunched, piteous form as he leaned close, coaxing, "Talk to me. Why don't you want to execute her?"

For all his flaws, Zier was never once judgmental. A rare quality she could only guess he developed unintentionally—or perhaps intentionally—from being misunderstood for all his life. It eradicated her constant, irrational fears, and Arinel had always felt safe to voice her true thoughts to him, knowing he would always listen and understand.

"I guess it's in part because she didn't mean to kill Mother, and she shows remorse." She straightened up once more with a sigh, as Dineira's blubbering voice echoed in the back of her mind,

"She hasn't claimed the treatise as her own—hasn't so much as touched it for all this time. She must have tried her best to bury the guilt."

"Also, nothing would come out of killing her. This began with two deaths. Adding another death wouldn't bring my mother or Bishop Tyberne back to life. All it would bring is more suffering. Diamat is a kind and respectable man. I don't want to hurt him and his wife."

Zier nodded deeply, accepting, waiting as Arinel scoured through the haze in the deepest depths of her heart for the truth, and made sense of it. At long last, she resumed,

"And...no matter how much she despised Mother as she lived, a piece of Mother's memory lives in her still." She confessed, her voice so soft that her words seemed to be dissipating in her throat before they could be uttered, as her watering eyes stared but did not see at the white high noon sky,

"I want her to live, if only so that memory could live on, and she could convey it to me in some way. A dragon eye, perhaps."

Her gaze returned to Zier, whose eyebrow was raised in surprise at her scheme. He tilted his head, his eyes wandering as he nodded to himself,

"She took your mother away from you. Not to mention Tyberne from his parents, too. She must live to atone, not die and be redeemed. You spare her life, providing she will live it to your benefit."

He attempted a summary. The young couple met eyes, then a sly grin graced his lips,

"It's not spineless mercy at all, Ari. Cold retribution, more like." He said with a laugh as he leaned back in his chair, retrieved his oft-interrupted harp, then began strumming randomly,

"I say go ahead and let her live. It won't tarnish the name of the ruthless Crossets."

Arinel couldn't stop her lips as they relaxed into her first genuine smile in days, sighing in affection as the simple, familiar sight of the boy and his harp filled her sightline and rejuvenated her senses.

"Thanks, Zee."

Zier started, blinking in dawning realization, then settled with a smirk,

"And he's back." He drawled, raising a wry, knowing eyebrow as he side-eyed her, "You haven't really forgiven me up until now, have you?"

Arinel cast her eyes about the room, striving to remain cavalier.

"I'm surprised you've only just noticed." She couldn't resist a quip, even topping it with a punchline, "Or rather, I'm not."

She turned back, flaunting her dainty smile of victory as Zier ran his tongue over his bared teeth in annoyance. That was when their eyes met, and all movement ceased. And the world seemed to have fallen into the stupor of night, even as the day blazed down upon it.

There was no need for words as they both leaned forth, their lips meeting at the perfect middle, pressing harder against each other as the seconds ticked by. She had no right to scold Meya, Arinel realized. She also couldn't resist the charms of a Hadrian brother.

Even with duty and propriety at stake, she would risk it all just to taste paradise for one last time, before the long farewell that could very well become permanent. If the ocean proved impossible to traverse even with dragons on their side.

Everglen.

How she hated the name.

Arinel tightened her embrace around Zier, knowing she would have to let go once her beloved had given his vow that he would return.