"What in the three lands—"

Meya raised her head and cast her eyes about her. Solid darkness. Arinel's cold, sweaty hand was still in hers; she gripped it tighter.

Sounds of violent impact echoed from the hill; body on body, body on blade, body on cudgel, body on earth. Voices human and canine chorused into a chaotic din. Which one person she knew had a fondness for military dogs?

Padded paws scampered towards them. Damp nostrils reeking of rotten meat puffed air on her cheek. The nose withdrew, then the creature barked in earnest. Human feet waded hurriedly through the grass to its call. A clammy, spider-like hand slapped Meya's behind. Meya bit back a scream.

"Ari? Ari, you alright?"

He whispered, his cold, trembling hands patted her up and down, trying to find her face. Meya hardly believed her ears. Relief flooded her, turning her limbs to putty after the intense life-or-death thrill. Her eyes burned; she struggled in vain to staunch them.

He came for her. Didn't think he would but he did.

"Coris! Oh, Freda!" Meya gasped. Coris tugged her into a brief hug. Remembering those she left behind, Meya pulled apart, "I got Meya here, but your family—I'm sorry—I didn't—"

"It's alright. You did well." Coris consoled her, brusque with stress. He ushered a thick leather strip into her hand, "Follow Patch to Christopher. Zier's awake?"

Meya blinked. Perhaps she should save the wondering for later,

"No. I was sawing through his ropes. He didn't budge an inch—"

The words had barely left her mouth when Coris took off like the wind.

"Where are you going!? You can't see a thing!" Meya hollered after him, gripped with cold fear.

"Meya, we're useless here. Let's go get his men." Arinel whispered urgently. Patch tugged on her sleeve. Biting her lips, Meya scrambled up on all fours, crawling after the pull of the leash while Arinel held on to the hem of her dress.

After some agonizing minutes blundering in solid darkness, came the sound of flowing water. Meya's palms slapped onto damp, sloping soil. Something huge extricated itself from the water. A dripping-wet hand grabbed her arm.

"Coris? No—Who's this?" The voice was male and young, not entirely strange but not that familiar either; Sir Christopher.

"It's Arinel. And my maid, Meya." Meya panted. The hand withdrew. The strike of a match rented the air. A lamp sprang to life, its wavering light casting a yellowish-brown glow upon Christopher's handsome face.

Meya blinked, disoriented. Once her sight had settled, she blushed furiously. The circle of light revealed dozens of soldiers wearing their bare skins. They lay on the rocky bed of the shallow rapids, their faces just breaking the surface, concealed behind the riverbank to those on the hill.

Christopher himself crouched behind a large boulder, revealing only his upper half. It wasn't like Meya wanted to see his lower half, though.

The soldiers fidgeted under the water. Some creaked out sheepish, shivering grins at her and Arinel. Meya decided she should focus on Christopher and allow them some privacy.

"My lady, forgive our immodest state. We need to keep our clothes dry or they'll slow our movements." Christopher explained in a rush, "Thank Freda you're safe. Where's Coris? And the Baron? Still asleep?"

The name snapped Meya back to her fretting self,

"Yes. And that dunghead Coris—he just ran off! I'm sorry, I've no idea how to—I shouldn't have let him—" Meya stumbled over her words, shame and desperation burning in her chest.

"Don't blame yourself, my lady. You freed yourself and your maid. That made our job easier."

Even as he reassured her, Christopher frowned in apprehension. He stared off into the emptiness, then up at the sky. The moon had begun to show behind a wispy patch of thinning clouds; solid darkness lightened to dull gray. Craning her neck, Meya peered at the dashing silhouettes on the hill.

"The hounds will free the hostages and keep the bandits occupied. When the moon comes out again, we'll round them up then secure your antidote. You stay hidden here. Please don't worry."

Christopher explained. Meya sensed the note of urgency in his voice. As soon as light returned, the hounds' advantage would be equalized. Her heart pounded.

"Go. Help Coris—Hurry!" She gasped. Christopher nodded once, set down his lamp, then edged to the other side of the boulder to grab his clothes and armor.

The soldiers clambered out of the water with their backs to the ladies and slipped on trousers. Once they were dressed, Christopher climbed onto the riverbank and turned to his men, all dripping wet.

"Weapons at the ready. Move out!"

The earth trembled beneath Meya as thirty pairs of feet thundered into the distance. A wave of fatigue overwhelmed her as if her courage had fled with them. Meya crawled behind the boulder and slumped against it, her legs falling free into the knee-deep water.

The phantom of Coris's embrace lingered; Meya hugged herself as the cold wind gusted past, her head hung, and her eyes shut tight. Patch keened as he nudged his snout against her side. Arinel edged up beside her, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be fine. There's another dog with him. He can find his way," she whispered, tender as her touch. Meya cradled her face,

"I thought he's never coming so I didnae bother with his family. Coward—foul—selfish—"

"Meya, calm down. They didn't blame you, in case you haven't noticed." Arinel shook her shoulder, frustrated. Remembering Dockar's words back at the castle, Meya gritted her teeth in shame, furious with herself more than any other,

"Oh, they will after they heard the whole story. Gillian was playing me the whole time." Heaving a tortured sigh, Meya raised her head and leaned it against the rock. She shook her head with a sardonic grin,

"Dockar's right. Me Dad's right. I dun know anything. I thought I was so smart, but I'm just...Meya."

She concluded with a bitter sigh. It took what was left of her simply to utter that last word. She closed her eyes, exhausted, body and soul.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Arinel's hand twitched on her shoulder as she tried to come up with something to make Meya feel better. The realization lit a flame inside her, comforting her with its warmth. Meya closed her hand over Arinel's in thanks. She flipped around and peeked over the rock, squinting through the darkness at the battlefield. Arinel followed suit.

Christopher's men were halfway up the hill, spread in the outflanking formation, prepared to close in. Meya chewed on her thumbnail, humming to soothe herself.

"What's that?" Arinel interrupted. Meya jolted, almost biting her finger.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"Huh? Nothing, just me little song. Wrote it ages ago." Meya glanced fleetingly at the lady, then returned to the drama unfolding, jesting to cover her embarrassment, "I'm gunna have the bards sing me tale someday. Figured I might as well get started early, but I dun have enough stuff to fill another verse yet."

"Well, Coris must have given you a lot of his stuff last night. Perhaps you should write a verse about that?"

Arinel murmured as she peered through narrowed eyes, trying to see. Meya was leaning to get a better look, and she nearly somersaulted over the rock at that deadpan delivery of the dirtiest thing to ever come out of Lady Arinel's beautiful mouth. Eyes bulging, she swore feverishly,

"Chione's Ninnies! Did you just—"

A gust of roaring wind almost sent them both flying. By the time it trailed off into a feeble breeze, light had returned to the moorland from the full moon hanging bright overhead, now free of clouds.

"Finally! Thank Freda."

Meya exclaimed. She clambered over the rock, then her heart froze to ice at the scene unfolding,

"Oh no."

Sir Christopher and his men had surrounded the bandits, but instead of charging in, they laid down their arms and backed away.

There was no other interpretation.

A hostage at knife-point.

⏳

"...know the demand, Lord Hadrian. The Axel for your brother."

Gillian's calm voice broke the standstill as Meya and Arinel inched on their bellies towards the encirclement. The two girls froze and shared a look of wide-eyed horror.

Coris failed to round up the bandits and seize the antidote. To make matters worse, Gillian had managed to grab hold of Zier and was using him as a bargaining chip.

Meya swallowed a sudden surge of fear and crept forward. Even as every fiber of her being screamed for her to stay where she was, she wanted to see what was going on. Arinel, Haselle, Gretella, Jerald and everyone's lives depended on that antidote.

"What about the antidote?"

Coris asked as if he had read her mind. Meya was mere feet behind Christopher's men now. She peered through the forest of tall grass and legs. Coris stood to the right, flanked by a dozen growling, bristling dogs.

Gillian, Dockar and five bandits stood facing him from across the clearing, their guard uniforms torn and bloody. A nasty gash on Gillian's arm wept as he brandished a strange cutlass that curved back like a crescent to Zier's neck. The no-man's-land between them was strewn with the barely stirring forms of twenty hounds of various breeds and a dozen moaning men.

Meya scanned Zier for an opening and found none. The arc of Gillian's blade fitted the curve of Zier's neck so snugly it was unnerving. But Zier wasn't particularly perturbed; his head lolled to the side, the whites of his eyes peeked out under his half-shut eyelids. His mouth had fallen ajar. His arms hung limp at his sides as his bent legs dragged on the soil. Gillian's muscular arm strained visibly as he pinned the young man to him and held him upright.

Forget escaping; they couldn't even rescue Zier in time. Coris would be forced to choose between his brother and her. Didn't take a genius to figure out who he'd choose.

"Very amusing, Lord Hadrian. You're not expecting us to adhere to the conditions after what happened here, are you? No. It's your brother or the antidote. Your choice."

Gillian retorted, seething. Meya gritted her teeth to rein in the shivers.

"Surely there must be something else you want besides The Axel? That I could trade for the antidote?"

As Meya hung her head, Coris continued negotiating, hands held high and bare. Though his face remained calm and undaunted, his eyes flickered between his brother and the man holding him hostage.

"I'm afraid there isn't. At least not something you can provide." Gillian smiled mirthlessly as he shrugged, uninterested. Coris cocked his head, still full of camaraderie,

"Perhaps I could once I learn more about you. Why did you believe The Axel isn't in the castle?"

"We have our methods of making sure."

"I assumed you were our old guest, but your accent isn't Latakian." Coris smiled. A spasm of fear crossed Gillian's stricken face.

"What would Nostra want with The Axel? For over two centuries it has been in Hadrian. Where have you been all this time?"

"Believe whatever you want," said Gillian icily, his knife twitching, "Enough with your futile attempts to keep me humored. Your brother isn't waking up! You know as well as I do why!"

Coris drained a shade paler. His eyes grew wide, his hands trembled as he stared at Gillian, for once speechless. Gillian narrowed his eyes as he pressed his knife to Zier's neck, still wary.

"The Axel is made of Lattis. Lattis emits invisible energy pulses that restore natural balance in the human body. Those close to it will be immune to the effects of sleeping draughts and poison. The purer it is, the more powerful its energy."

Meya's eyes bulged at that new sliver of information. The human body, he said? So, if Lattis protected humans, did that mean Greeneyes like her...weren't human?

A chill traveled down her spine.

Mum and Dad are humans. Maro, Marin, Morel, Marcus, Myron and Mistral are all humans.

How come I'm a Greeneye? Why am I the only Greeneye in my whole town?

Am I even born from Mum and Dad?

Am I even born in this country?

Is this why Dad hates me so?

Frantic voices chorused into a din in her head. Gillian's voice flowed through her ears, tinny as if carried by the wind from afar.

"On the small chance your brother is faking, we'll know soon enough." He hitched Zier up and angled his wrist, ready for the kill. Coris stiffened. Dockar strode up, a glinting glass bottle filled with clear red liquid in his hand.

"I'll slice through his neck one sinew at a time, and Dockar will empty the vial one drop at a time, until you make up your mind. It will be wise to make your decision swift."

Dockar uncorked the vial and tilted it. The red liquid inched towards the vial's beak. As Coris watched helplessly in horror, Gillian moved the tip of his knife to the far side of Zier's neck, then pressed it—

"I give up! I GIVE UP!"

Coris yelled, his voice cracking and choked with sobs. Gillian relaxed his grip on the knife. Dockar flicked the bottle upright. They stared at Coris, who had crumpled to his knees, panting, arms thrown high in surrender. His eyes were red and damp, his voice trembling,

"I'll give you The Axel. Give me my brother. Please."

Oh no. Poor, poor Arinel.

Meya spun around to Arinel. The Lady trembled. Her eyes were downcast but dry, striving to die with dignity. She answered Meya's gaze. The lack of blame in her sorrowful eyes left Meya lost for words.

Would things have turned out differently if she hadn't switched places with her? Was there anything else she could've done? Was there still hope at all?

With a forlorn sigh, Arinel rested her hands on Meya's. They were cold as ice.

I hope you use it well.

A voice whispered inside her ears. Perhaps that was also the lady's last command for her.

"No," Meya shook her head, her words tumbling out in shivery gasps, "No. We'll find Old Angus. He'll have more antidote on hand. You'll be alright."

Arinel forced out a sad little smile. Meya pulled Arinel into her arms. Silent tears seeped onto her shoulder.

No. It can't end like this. This isn't right. Either we all die together, or we all live together. How can I be the only one to live? What will I say to their families? I'm a Greeneye. Everyone else dies, but I don't? How can I live on with myself?

Coris stumbled towards Gillian, slapping his hand on his sunken middle.

"It's with me." He shouted, "It's been inside me all this time."

Meya whirled around. Fury writhed in her belly as her hands curled into fists.

So The Axel never came out of Coris? He was lying? What exactly happened back then? Was there even a heist? Was he even poisoned? What in the three lands was even the truth anymore!?

The instant before Meya jumped up, sprinted over, wrung Coris's neck and rattled the innards out of him until he spat it all out, the sickening sound of metal gouging flesh rented the silence. Dark blood splattered against the backdrop of moonlight. Dockar screamed,

"Gillian!"

Meya whipped around. Gillian staggered back, his hand clamped over his bleeding neck. His supposedly asleep hostage broke free from his hold. Zier rounded on Dockar. He took advantage of his split-second shock and kicked the vial out of his hand. It spun through the air towards Coris. He dove to catch it.

Zier launched himself at Dockar, brandishing his bare fist, then the gleam of a tiny blade flashed in the moonlight. Meya's little brooch knife had dropped straight into his hand.

"Lattis! Look out!"

Gillian bellowed, still clutching his neck, his face twisted in pain. Too late; with a vicious slash, blood sprayed from Dockar's chest.

The thumbnail blade was too small to inflict a severe wound on anyone, much less two full-grown, muscular, battle-hardened men. Yet, Gillian and Dockar seemed to be burning alive from inside out. They thrashed and bucked, howling and screaming like demented beasts, scrabbling at their wounds.

Zier sprinted back to Coris and urged him to his feet. Both brothers gaped at the terror unfolding. Gillian's standing men retreated towards their leader, swords raised to ward off enemies. One raised a metallic tube on a leather cord to his lips. A shrill, lifeless cry pierced the air, followed by blinding flashes of pure white light.

A chorus of animalistic roars shook the ground. By the time they shook away dancing spots in their eyes, solid darkness had descended. A cloud had blocked out the moon again. The only lights came from twenty pairs of glowing green eyes suspended in thin air.

Disjointed memories flitted past his eyes. An arrow shooting into the gloom—a young girl's shriek—a flash of blinding light—a gust of wind—heat from a narrowing ring of fire—icy talons heaving him over treetops into the night sky—crash-landing into a mountain cave—a girl with glowing, acid green eyes, naked but her mane of red-gold hair, singing him to slumber with a voice like birds of the Heights as he trembled in her burning embrace.

"Over the peaks of Neverend Heights,

Where birds of a feather they circle up high..."

"Get down!"

Zier's yell wrenched Coris back to the present. He flattened himself on the grass. Gusts of night wind lambasted them from leathery wings beating in tandem, raining chunks of torn grass and dirt as the creatures tore into the air. Icy talons grazed Coris's back as they shot away into the night towards the west.