"So—we can transform into dragons?" said Atmund Herzin, his voice shrill, his back ramrod straight and taut as a wire. Coris and Meya nodded for the fifth time. Yet, Frenix Pearlwater was still wary.

"And we can fly? And shoot fireballs? And our limbs grow back? And our eyes keep our memories?"

Meya rolled her eyes. Ever patient, Coris nodded again,

"How does that make you feel?"

Atmund teetered as if caught unaware by a gust of wind. He grasped the edge of Coris's desk,

"Lightheaded—but that could have been the blood loss." He froze, then continued glumly, "If I'd known all this sooner, I could've told Dad whenever I didn't feel like selling blood."

The older teens gulped, unnerved by the dark tale relayed in such a bland, unassuming tone.

"These blood sellers get pricked with metal needles every fortnight. Why has nobody ever transformed? There's bound to be some Lattis in those needles." Fione deftly steered the topic away.

"Dineira reckoned Jaise's court officials are behind the blood traders. They've probably been told not to mix Lattis with Greeneye blood."

Arinel suggested. Yet, Lady Crosset seemed occupied elsewhere. Her eyes stared out from her ashen face, wide and unseeing, as if her body was reacting in the present but her mind was reeling from the past. Meya narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe the amount of Lattis also isn't enough for our bodies to react. Took a whole arrowhead for me, according to Coris." She tilted her head at Coris, who nodded.

"What about you, Frenix?" He turned to young Lord Pearlwater. Frenix churned his lips, then blew a sigh at his shuffling feet.

"Honestly, if I gotta choose between ruler of Pearlwater and dragon, I think dragon's more fun." He said levelly, then surfaced with a wry grin, "But I shouldn't have to choose, should I?"

"What d'you mean?" Meya asked. Frenix turned to her, then went on in that same dull, morose tone,

"I'm the firstborn—the Pearlwater seat should've been mine next, but Father said he'd give it to my little brother because I'm a Greeneye and I wouldn't find a lady to marry me. Then he sent me all the way here to train." He shrugged at Coris, "Now I know why. I could torch the whole castle if I really wanted the birthright."

Frenix left off in a manner just as chillingly innocent as Atmund, who nodded in agreement. Abandoning all effort to liven the air of bleakness, Coris sighed and weaved his steepled fingers together.

"Though it galls me, I'd have to agree." He straightened, his sharp stare piercing the three Greeneyes lined up before the desk in turn, "You all must learn to harness your power. Though I'd always be thankful for the rescue, it was fortunate you simply burned down half of Lord Crosset's forest, and that Draken and his men escaped unscathed."

Coris eyed Meya, drawing all eyes in the room to her as well. Meya shifted in her seat at the unpleasant reminder.

"Yeah. Could've been worse." She threw the ungrateful prick a glower, then studied her fellow Greeneyes in confusion and awe, "You three are receiving it much better than I did. Why, you didnae seem fettered at all, Lady Heloise?"

Heloise jumped. She hadn't been allowed to speak, and didn't seem inclined to protest, either. From her fidgeting hands and restless rocking on the balls of her feet, she seemed more desperate to be freed from the conversation.

"Perhaps I need time for it to sink in. Ever since I saw you take out your eye, I've begun to realize we're not exactly human, but I hadn't imagined we'd be something different altogether." She forced a smile, fingering her bracelet,

"It could also be that you're still deciding whether to believe it." Coris suggested sagely. At Meya's questioning look, he explained, "When I told you the truth, I had solid proof. You've also actually transformed. You remembered inconsistencies in your past, and you were able to connect the dots. It was irrefutable. Once these three have experienced their dragon forms, the truth would impact them at full force."

Frenix gawked at Coris, then at Atmund, who shuddered and shook his head vigorously, then back to Coris, his eyes sparkling.

"Are you saying we'll have to transform like her, too?" He pointed at Meya.

"Unfortunately, yes." Coris shone him an affectionate grin. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his hand on Meya's rigid arm as she gaped at him, his reassuring pressure focused on the scar.

"Of course, our means of transformation wouldn't involve pain like living death. I'll meet with Lady Jaise tomorrow to glean whatever information she has on dragon transformation."

Coris reached for a loose roll of parchment on the desk then smoothed it out, revealing a map of Latakia. As his subjects crowded around him, he traced a spindly finger on the dotted line of a trade route leading to the eastern duchies, pausing to tap at large dots indicating landmarks and towns,

"The following day, we set off for Hyacinth. If we're lucky, we'll have five days in the Sands of Caesonai to train in relative privacy. After replenishing supplies in Hyacinth, we'll leave behind most of the entourage and pass through the valley of the Blue Mountains. That should give us three more days of training before we enter Safyre."

The surrounding audience nodded and murmured their yes, my lords, lifting their hands from the margins of the map, which curled back to roughly its earlier tightness. Coris eyed Frenix and Atmund as he twisted the map into a rod-thin roll,

"That would be all for now for you two." He deposited the map at the foot of a pile of books, then met the boys' blinking eyes with a tender smile, "I believe little Amara expects you for playtime? Better not keep your lady waiting, my fellow knights."

"I'm a knight?" Atmund breathed.

"Can we tell her we're dragons?" asked Frenix.

"I'll leave the decision to you." Coris quickly recovered his smile after a jolt, "Though I'm afraid impressing her with your dragon physique will have to wait until we're well in the Sands."

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Frenix smirked. He roused the ogling Atmund with an elbow jab, then sprinted towards the door, the masked boy in tow. Now that he was to venture outside his hometown, Atmund would have to tolerate the sight of the naked face. He was allowed to keep his face private for as long as he preferred, though.

The door swung close with a shattering slam. Christopher whipped around to his charge, a streak of white-hot fury highlighting his pale cheeks.

"What are we training them for, exactly, Coris?" It was obvious from his strained voice he was trying his utmost to sound plainly curious. Failing dismally, he let loose, "I know you're infatuated with your new mistress, and you'd like to further her cause, but shouldn't our priority be the mining crisis? The crop failings in the west?"

"Chris!" Fione cried. Simon grasped his arm, echoing her in an imploring hiss. Christopher shook him off, his handsome features twisted by disgust,

"Amplevale is heading fast towards a famine. Your aunt is pregnant, and she's worried her baby won't come out right!"

"I told you, Mother's being her hysterical old self. Lord Uncle's sent over provisions. They'd be fine," said Simon wearily, but he was determinedly looking anywhere but Coris.

Silence reigned but for Christopher panting. Coris stared serenely back at him, waiting for the remnants of his outburst to ebb away,

"I'm training them for our voyage to Everglen."

Meya could almost see the name scrawled out across Christopher's wide-eyed, pallid countenance, as well as those of Simon, Fione and Heloise. Not surprisingly, as their post covered only so much ground as Safyre. As far as they were concerned, Coris was demanding half a country, across a sea and beyond the horizon further than their duty.

"I have no intention of pleasuring my wife in Safyre while Latakia is being drained of its lifeblood from both the eastern and the western front," Coris continued coldly,

"Lady Jaise will ramp up supply of mineral-rich water to the most affected settlements in Meriton. All manors will coordinate to ration food. We will also dispatch spies into Nostra and investigate their movements. Meanwhile, I will mount a mission to Everglen and bring back those missing ore ships."

"You suspect Nostra?" Christopher frowned, incredulous.

"The crop failings began in Amplevale and spread eastward. Common sense would dictate it originated in Chione's Lair and traveled through the Zarel Pass."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"We know that, genius! But how could Nostra cause a famine? Even dragons couldn't have sucked nutrients out of our soil, not with the whole Neverend Heights in the way!"

"They may very well could, Simon." Coris argued, "We can assume dragon research has progressed much further in Nostra. They may have discovered a strategic use of the dragons' ability to absorb nutrients from the soil. We can't afford the benefit of the doubt."

Coris's gray eyes seemed to momentarily blaze white. His four friends drew back and shared looks, digesting the astounding revelations and selecting the more delectable morsels upon which to plan their next move.

Meya narrowed her eyes at Coris. He'd glanced her way before countering Simon, his eyes wide with fear. The same fear he betrayed when reunited with his old, bloodstained cloak. Was he hiding something from her, again?

Coris straightened.

"Our old friend Gillian is a dragon from Nostra." The mention of their old enemy jolted his audience out of their thoughts like the snap of a finger. Meya grudgingly set aside her suspicions,

"This famine, perhaps even the missing ships, could be an attack on Latakia from the Nostran Emperor. A move to claim Everglen. But providing he's alive, it could also be Gillian's plan to hold Hadrian hostage."

Coris paused. So did his sweeping gaze, with Zier on the receiving end, pale and faint, bracing for the worst which didn't spare him.

"In exchange for The Axel."

Air seemed to have frozen solid even with the windows opened wide, as the brothers locked eyes. Zier broke away and stared at his feet, a twisted grin on his lips,

"I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up."

Coris closed his eyes and sighed deeply, his long fingers locking together.

"I have no choice but to. Now that we know its importance, we must bring it out. For your own safety."

Zier burst out a barking laugh, jolting Coris awake.

"My safety?" He spat, "You'll cut me open and churn through my innards for a dragon eye. You'll sacrifice me so the dragons can build a new Rota. At least have the decency to say it like it is!"

Zier slammed his fist on the desk. Heloise shrank back. Arinel glanced between the brothers, hands grasping her chest. Fione stood rigid and blinking. Simon and Christopher shared worried looks. Meya found herself back in the infuriating dilemma of not knowing which brother she should thwack first.

Coris closed his eyes, not out of exhaustion but grim determination. His jaw was set. His cheekbones shone white as his knuckles. He opened his eyes, but his pale silver soft and warm as moonbeam had darkened to iced steel. His voice was void of emotion,

"Yes, I'm asking you to undergo surgery to save the humans and dragons of Latakia."

Zier staggered as if lightning had torn the ground before him, his once brazen blue eyes now fearful and pleading.

"Surgery?" He gawked at his brother's cold, blank face, "But—it's hardly ever been done. And most of the test subjects died—they died, Brother! The Council banned it for a reason!"

"I know it's a great risk, Zier. I know you're scared." Coris's words rang hollow as the depths of his pupils. A crease folded between his eyebrows,

"But we're in Jaise, the town known for crafting the sharpest blades known to man—obsidian. With Lady Jaise's support, we have alchemists at our disposal. We can carry out research on blood transfusion, sleeping draughts, infection treatment. We can make it safe and painless."

"You know sleeping draughts don't work on me!" Zier snapped, "Do you plan to draw my entrails alive?"

"That's because you've only ever swallowed them." A quiet, lifeless voice interrupted.

The feuding brothers spun around. Arinel stood frozen, eyes crossed, shocked by her own decision, but soldiered on against her will, like stuttering clockwork unwinding,

"Healers have proposed that the nose is a more direct path to the brain than the stomach. If we could create a potent sleeping draught that could be inhaled like incense, it wouldn't have to pass The Axel in your stomach before reaching your head."

Morsel by morsel, Arinel thawed. She turned to Zier, tears of guilt quivering in her eyes,

"My mother and her master were experimenting on this, the day they died. They were distilling sweet oil of vitriol for use in surgery when their lab exploded."

She covered her face with her hands, her voice muffled,

"A copy of their unfinished treatise survived the fire. Dineira...showed it to me today. She was Tyberne's apprentice. The research has been banned, but with Lady Jaise's support, we might be able to continue it without the Council's knowledge."

A dreadful silence descended. Zier shook his head and hobbled away from his beloved.

"I can't believe you, Ari." He croaked, pale with disbelief. Tears dripped from Arinel's chin. Zier pointed a trembling finger at his brother, shouting, "You're actually helping him kill me in my sleep!?"

"Haven't you been listening, Zier?" Coris slammed his hands on the desk and sprang to his feet, "We'll improve the procedure! We're not blindly drugging you then carving you up with a rusted knife." He conducted each beat with a slam, "We will do—whatever it takes—to ensure—you're—safe!"

"Then kill those dragons attacking our ships and draining our soil!" Zier yelled, jabbing his finger wildly at the window,

"Two hundred years this blithering Axel's been stolen, and they only showed up now to claim it? What if it turned out The Axel wasn't what they wanted? The bumbling spare died in vain for the prodigious heir's misled cause! A befitting end! Oh, no, the heir is dying! Who'd continue the Hadrian line now?"

Zier swept the throng with wide, crazed eyes, his arms thrown wide, then spun back to Coris. His brother hadn't flinched a muscle.

"This metal ball," He gouged at his stomach then tore at his cloak, "and this Hadrian blood are the only parts of me you—or anyone—has ever cared about!"

Coris waited out the tirade as if he were an empty dam, an unfeeling wall—the tempest, fanning the flames with his calm. Zier faltered, shaking his head, disbelief and disgust masking his pain,

"You haven't changed. You don't give a damn how many pawns you'd have to lose if it would win you the Heist. Agnes. Ari. Beau. Me! Everything you've ever done is for duty. For that cursed Hadrian seat! You don't know love. You don't know fear. You don't know mercy. You're a coldblooded monster, like your beloved half-breed mistress! And I was a danged fool to think you could ever be my brother!"

With that, Zier swept from the room, slamming the door behind his billowing, blood-red cloak.