The last hour of first sleep was almost over. So was the feast. Tipsy lords and ladies crowded out the double doors and toddled down the marble steps, skidding on the carpet trail. Some hollered for their snoozing carriage-men to awaken. Some linked arms around each other’s neck, singing praises for attributes of legendary mistresses of the night—before being swatted on the head by their righteously jealous wives.
Kellis threaded his way through laughter and bustle. Coris had accompanied the Hilds back in their first carriage. He’d sent Zier and Arinel back in the second, then packed Sylvia in with the Clardarths, who’d left early to stuff one screaming and kicking Harold into his crib. He’d have to hire a carriage for a copper or walk home.
He pulled his hood over his eyes as he strode toward the gates. Hadrian Red melted into the night. Carriage after carriage trundled past him, unnoticing. Then, he slipped into the circle of glow cast by the torches at the gates. A voice yelled, and the carriage screeched to a halt by his side.
“Kellis!” The voice cried again, a familiar voice. Kellis drew a deep breath and turned. Grimthel Graye and his curtains of white-gold hair hung from the open door of his carriage. Panting through his smile, he nodded to the empty seat across him.
“Come. Ride with me.”
Kellis gritted his teeth as he climbed in. Once he’d settled, the carriage rolled down onto the glinting cobblestones. Reputable folk had long retired. ’Tis the hour of drunkards and women of the golden cloak.
“Where to?” asked Grimthel. A wooden hand mounted on a post sailed past his window, beckoning desperate travelers to the nearest inn. He knew from experience it wasn’t one of Graye’s regular lodgings. And it was less than a sliver-hour away.
“The Lion’s Lodge,” Kellis read it. Grimthel repeated it to his whip. The carriage lurched left at the crossroads, trotting down a better-lit alley with more respectable folk.
Herb-infused silence filled the wooden globe. Kellis kept his eyes on the road as Grimthel stirred his tea. At last, Baron Graye sighed.
“All is not lost, my friend,” he said softly. “You need only break free of the comfortable present—”
“What is the price of your vote?” Kellis cut through the bullcrap. Grimthel blinked, disoriented, then recalled his smile.
“No more, no less than what the king demands.” He lowered his tea to his lap. His deep blue eyes flashing in the streetlamp light, “Bring me The Axel, and Graye’s vote is forever yours to cast.”
He laid bare his hand, and from his sleeve out slid two pentagon plaques onto his palm, both engraved in silver with a peacock. Kellis stared at them.
Trading council votes was a dangerous resort. Once a vote was relinquished, it was no trifling matter reclaiming it. Some were returned as dowries, even.
The king promised the prince to whomever delivered him The Axel. Yet, Graye made no move to reclaim his daughters. Yet, he still coveted The Axel, so much so that he’d give up his vote, allowing his enemy to stay on the Council and prolong the Mining Ban.
It was apparent—he no longer cared. If Persephia’s letter reached him, he would know for certain The Axel possessed true menace behind its veil of hearsay. That with The Axel in his grasp, votes were mere wooden chips. Whoever held The Axel wielded direct power over the three lands. Why would he then settle for Latakia’s throne through his daughter? Why would he—
Kellis’s fists trembled in the gloom as another chilling realization struck him.
Grimthel could also be weighing whether to kill Kyrel to keep The Axel’s secret from the king. If Kellis accepted the vote and remain on the Council, she and Serella live. If he didn’t, they die. And it would seem to all to be his doing.
Kyrel, you fool! Oh, sweet Sorrel, what should your Lord Uncle do?
Time. What else could he do but stall for time?
Kellis regretted choosing the Lion’s Lodge as his stop. Somehow, he must hint that Kyrel didn’t know the truth, without revealing the truth, and make it seem incidental. It may be the only way to save her and her children. He must show he was barely considering her, show Graye how much closer he was to the secret.
“You said you lost your daughters serving an unworthy liege. So, you confess you were behind the heist six years ago?”
Grimthel raised his eyebrows, then sighed with a smile as if chiding a child, shaking his head.
“You must understand, Kellis, how foolish it is to have a lake of iron before the Gap of Galwerth, yet insist on sourcing it from Everglen—”
“So, for the better half of five years, you poisoned my sons against me. Set your daughters to spy on them for the lesser half, in exchange for the prince’s hand?” Kellis snapped, eyes flaring, rejoicing inside as Graye appeared to fall for the bait,
“Spare me your heroics, Grimthel. You only turned against Devind after your sister mysteriously vanished shortly into her service to Freda. And you’ve envied Alden for the throne since.”
“And what better chance for you, old friend?” Grimthel smiled ever wider, unfazed, “To have a king whose vote lies in your palm? A king who shares in your secret, the way it always have been?”
He paused, then cocked his head as he stirred his tea.
“Or, you could wait for Amplevale’s army to sack Hadrian’s keep, while Alden tortures the truth out of poor Coris and Zier.”
As Grimthel raised his cup to his lips, Kellis breathed an internal sigh of relief. He succeeded. Grimthel’s eyes were back upon his boys, and he was no closer to the truth.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Grimthel leaned outside. The swinging sign bore the words Lion’s Lodge.
“Pity. I had a longer negotiation in mind.” He retreated, sighing down his teacup, then nodded with his ever-present smile.“Still, there is no need to rush. The Council reconvenes next sundown. Until then, my offer stays.”
Kellis pretended to fumble with his cloak until Graye’s carriage vanished around the bend, before trudging back up the avenue to the Dragon’s Crossing, dreading the reaction of his wife and children to his decision.
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The room’s occupants stirred when Kellis hobbled through the door, with the exception of Gillian and his four fellow dragons. In the shadows outside the hearth’s halo they lingered, emerald eyes aglow, awake and in wait. They’d spied on the Council meeting, making sure he did not spill their secrets.
Sylvia rose drowsily from her pillow, but her eyes flew wide open when she noticed his state.
“You’re frozen. Did you walk?” She rushed over to peel his damp cloak off his stiff shoulders. Kellis shivered, staggering to the fireplace.
“Grimthel Graye offered me a ride.”
Sylvia blinked as she filled in the rest. Her face fell.
“And you turned him down?” She wailed.
“He musta had an offer for you!” On the long chair, Meya bolted upright from Coris’s lap. He hastily caught her by the arms to keep her toppling over in her eagerness.
“His vote. For The Axel.” Kellis trained a sharp eye on the girl, eyebrows raised. “Would you have me take it, Meya Hild?”
Meya swallowed, looking sheepish. She glanced apologetically at Zier, who kept his eyes on the carpet. Persephia shot Agnes a look of triumph as if she was proven right. Coris squeezed Meya’s arms in reassurance and reprimand, then rose to meet him.
“Gillian brought us up to speed.” He spared the lurking dragons a glimpse. “So, tomorrow will be your last day on the Council?”
Kellis met his son’s eyes—wide, pale and fearful of the unknown horrors this change would inflict upon them. He filled his lungs, mustering his courage.
“I’m afraid so, son.” He closed his eyes to open them with fire anew, “I’ve only realized—it’s best for Hadrian, for Latakia, for the far western lands under Nostra’s shadow. Humans, dragons and those in between. For the Hadrian men to relinquish our noble duties, free ourselves to pursue the quest we believe to be just. Devote our protection to those who need it most, as common men.”
He cast his eyes at the dragons, then the Greeneyes. Gillian’s head rose like a serpent catching movement of prey. Vyrgil sighed and hung his head, while his two comrades consulted one another through looks of disbelief. Meya simply gawked.
Kellis returned to Coris, still draped in the colors he must soon shed. The Baron caressed the crimson hem of his silken tunic with unfeeling fingers, forced a smile he shone to his two sons. He foresaw they have foreseen his words.
“Yes. We’re going to Everglen, boys.”
Silence smothered the room. Kellis allowed them a moment to reel from the impact.
“I leave the seat of Hadrian to Kyrel in my absence, and return Lady Noxx to her kinsmen.”
He pleaded with Sylvia, with her unblinking, welling eyes for forgiveness. This duty was in his blood, but she had no part in this ancient feud, none to gain and all to lose from this quest. He caught a tear on her cheek with his thumb, then her quivering lips in his, as sweet and tinged with bitter as the first night he took her.
“We must be prepared to lose what is easy, what is dear.” He murmured as they parted. Time for this father to practice what he preached. As Syl crumpled in his arms, he peered over her trembling form at Coris, “I’m sorry for deciding alone—there was no time. And I trust in Freda’s sign, and your heart.”
Coris remained speechless. His eyes flared wide as the pallor of sinking realization crowded blood from his taut cheeks. Kellis reached out and clasped his shoulder.
“Am I correct, Coris? Is this what you expect of me? Is this what you desire?” He shook him, eyes locked with his wavering gray. Coris woke from his stupor, his breath quickening.
“Yes—Yes, Father!” He cried, back to his fiery self. Then fear gripped him. His eyes strayed to Zier, “—but, what will we do? Soon as Aunt Kyrel speaks, the king will arrest me and cut me open, then they’ll turn to Zier—”
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“For Freda’s sake, focus on your guts!” Zier sprang to his feet. Coris rounded on him, but as the brothers bared fangs, on the brink of a tussle, a new voice cut through the tension—
“I’ll break him out.”
All eyes turned to the piece of shadow that had detached from the rest and molded into Gillian, but the dragon-man kept his glowing eyes solely on Baron Hadrian as he ventured into the firelight.
“All my seventy years, I watched your kind. Small. Scaleless. Flightless. Fire-less. Short-lifed. Yet somehow, you have always overcome us. I realized that dragons are lone. We fight for our lone self. You are many, with the ability to fight as one for the sake of your kind.”
He stopped before the bewildered family. Kellis gathered Sylvia to his chest, but to comfort rather than guard.
“Some humans went further. They fought for a kind they did not belong to, did not have reason to die for. Their blood remain in you. Until now, I believed it had dried.”
Gillian’s voice petered into a whisper, his eyes dimmed with emotion, shaken as none here had seen before. None here would’ve expected this from Baron Hadrian, from any nobility—a ruler abandoning his power, his sons’ birthright, to fight for the future of countless others.
“Two hundred years ago, a band of humans and Hybrideans almost succeeded. It failed because they did not trust their might was enough. They let benevolent Edward Wynn snare them with prizes—names, territory and a flock to rule!” Gillian spat in disgust, then locked his blazing eyes with Kellis.
“Return to where they left. Bring back the Fellowship. This time with dragons on your side.”
Kellis nodded. They were of the same mind. And he was filled with pride to see his sons also understood without more need for words. They couldn’t save all the lands, all the peoples when bound by oath as knights to serve the interests of one. Instead of waiting to act once all had united (which may never happen), they must trust in the few they could and lead the charge, so that more would follow in their example.
Coris glanced at Zier, then bore down on Gillian.
“You’ll guard my brother from harm?” He demanded solemnly.
“You’ll help my brother escape?” Zier growled, usurping his brother’s command.
Gillian surveyed the siblings in turn, then nodded once. Coris sighed in relief, then turned to Baroness Sylvia.
“Mother?”
Sylvia extricated herself from Kellis. Her gray eyes glinting with tears roved over her children, from the tips of their hair to the point of their boots, taking in their height, their breadth. She understood then the agony all mothers must bear as they saw their sons to war, their daughters to wifehood. She reached up and cradled their cheeks.
“You’re men now. You must do what you believe is right,” she choked out. Zier rubbed his nose against her palm, breathing her perfume. Coris held her hand to his cheek, his eyes staid on hers.
“Take care of your brother.”
Coris nodded, his eyes like diamonds in the firelight. Her courage spent, Sylvia retreated to mourn her last moments in Kellis’s arms. Zier whirled to the sound of rustling lace and silk, facing Arinel who rose to her feet.
“Ari?” He begged, his blue eyes brimming with guilt. Arinel clapped her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Failing, she threw her arms around his neck with a weak cry,
“Oh, Zee!”
Zier swung her gently as if it were their last dance. Emboldened, Coris spun to Meya with eyes sparkling with hope,
“Meya—”
His smile sagged, the fire in his eyes doused to death by the cold in her glowing green. She hadn’t moved. She sat with her back taut and ramrod straight, her face pale and stony, clawlike, white-knuckled fingers gouging into the cushions.
“Meya?”
Meya uncrossed her legs and stood, her face empty but for a slight frown Coris knew from long experience heralded the worst of arguments.
“So—you’ll step down from the Council. And Hadrian. And when the king arrests you, you’ll have Gillian bust you outta prison then run for Everglen. As commoners. Possibly traitors.” She said, slow and flat, then raised an eyebrow, “and you only thought to ask your mother, your wife who’s pregnant, on second thought?”
Coris faltered as he realized his misstep. He took her hands in his, his voice soft with sorrow,
“Meya, I’m sorry. We have no other choice—”
“Yes, you have!” snapped Meya as she shook herself free, her finger jabbing out the window, “Baron Graye! Your aunt! The king—”
“I thought we agreed the first two are out of the question—” Coris narrowed his eyes, his voice now cool and clipped.
“Did Gillian mention Alden would have Greeneyes slated for Everglen mine in Latakia instead?” Baron Hadrian interrupted. Meya whipped around. His blue eyes were weary as he shook his head.
“Alden has a good heart, but with Latakia in such a state, he doesn’t have the capacity for generosity. He’ll sacrifice the minority for the greater good. That’s why we must first heal Latakia. Bring back the ore ships and stop the creeping drought. We’ll prove our honor with our actions. No more rhetoric.”
Meya’s head spun at the successive blows. Even the king wouldn’t willingly help her kind? But the Baron’s alternative was also insanity. A ragtag band of men and dragons, fleeing a king’s might to the eastern shores, crossing the sea to a distant island to build a contraption out of metal and blood, then hopefully finding and returning atop ships loaded with ore to clear their name? When dealing with the suspicious King Alden, the cunning Baron Graye or spiteful Lady Kyrel would be far easier?
“But just imagine what you’re about to do, milord! Can we ever succeed? Can we ever return?”
“We?” Coris repeated. He frowned slightly, laughing hollowly at her look of confusion. “What can you possibly mean by we, Meya? You’re pregnant.”
Meya’s heart sank at the sight of his silvery eyes. Time seemed to have momentarily stopped for her, trapping her alone in a void of suffocating silence. She glanced at the faces surrounding her. They all bore the same incredulous expression, as if she were the only one out of the inner joke.
She wasn’t going with them? Coris was leaving her behind? Possibly for ever?
Meya shook her head as she staggered away, her fevered breaths quickening, echoing against her pounding eardrums.
“But—then—what am I supposed to do if I’m not going with you?” She argued hoarsely, clinging to a last shred of hope to overturn his verdict. Yet all her beloved had for her was a wry grin of frustration.
“Do?” Coris moaned. He pinned her arms and her eyes as he shook her, demanding obedience— “Go home to Crosset and deliver my babe is what you’ll do! Leave the quest to me. If the king learns about our affair, he might try to hold you and your family hostage to force us back. You must stay hidden. Change your face if you must—Arinel, can you keep them safe?”
He whipped around to the sniffling Lady Crosset. Arinel jolted, straightened, then nodded vigorously.
“On Crosset’s honor. To the limit of our might.”
Another blow on Meya’s battered heart. Even Arinel had agreed, rendering the sentence ever more final. She saw but didn’t feel Coris’s hand on her face. He caressed the curve of her cheek to her jaw. His longing eyes held her glowing green as his hand left to cradle her belly.
“I won’t leave you destitute.” He vowed, shaking his head. “Sell all my possessions. That should last you a while—”
“—How long?” Meya cried. Coris pursed his lips and averted his eyes. Meya shook his arms. “Me family can’t change their faces. What if they’re found? I’m not noble like the rest of them! I need your protection—!”
“Meya, I’ll protect you and your family—!” Arinel stepped in. Meya laughed shrilly.
“Like you protected your entourage?” Arinel stumbled at the reminder.
“Don’t you dare—!” Zier swung his frozen lady behind him.
“Meya!” Coris snapped.
“Zier, no!” Arinel threw herself on Zier, dragging him back with all her might as Coris cast himself between the two, shouting at Meya behind him.
“Maelaith Hild, you apologize this instant!”
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME!” Meya screeched through her tears, struggling in Coris’s restraining embrace,
“Meya—Meya, please—”
“Marin’s having a baby, too, remember!” Meya wrangled his collar, shaking him senseless as she reminded him. “We’re gunna have two babies in the house—two nursing mothers eating the pantry bare. Dad’s getting old. Mum’s sick all the time. Morel’s all the way in Hadrian. Myron’s apprenticing. Marcus’s about to join the caravan, and I’d die before I see Mistral toiling in the fields or thrown in the gaols!”
Meya shoved Coris aside then pelted to the door, disappearing with a slam.
“Meya!” Coris called, but footsteps clattering down the corridor were all he received in reply. He glanced around the room at the stunned faces, his parents’ included. They’d never seen Meya’s fury. Even he himself was utterly blindsided. She’d be safe and well-fed under Arinel’s care. Why was she so terrified?
He spied at his brother and his beloved out of the corner of his eye as he caught his breath. Arinel’s obedience and unified front with Zier shamed him. Would it always be this way with him and Meya? Why were they only fighting lately?
Now, what should he do? He couldn’t ignore Meya, yet he couldn’t let his private affairs affect their mission. Striding to the door, he gestured hastily at the gathering.
“Please, continue.”
The door closed again behind Coris. Zier’s hand trembled as he smoothed it down the sobbing Arinel’s back. He’d make sure Meya give his poor Ari her most sincere apology on both knees, but for now he must focus on the mission in his brother’s place.
“So, what’s the overall plan?”
“Two of us and the Blood Druids will leave with you first light tomorrow,” Gillian replied serenely as if he’d somehow hibernated all through the spectacle. His dragons were just as unperturbed. Being the lone creatures they were, the weight of these uniquely human concerns would no doubt be lost on them.
“I will stay behind. Lord Coris will be our decoy to the king, give you as far of a head-start as possible. Two will leave for the Blue Mountains, Jaise and Hyacinth to alert the rest of us. We rendezvous in Easthaven, then cross to Tyldorn. There, we’ll have time for the surgery and for you to recover. Then, we make for Everglen.”
Zier nodded along, hurriedly painting each stage of their flight in his mind. Father turned to Arinel, his gaze sorrowful and his voice gentle.
“Lady Arinel, my entourage is at your disposal. Please, keep them safe. Make sure they are happy and quiet to the best of your ability, but no retribution should come to them should they speak of what they know. It is their right to do what they believe is best. This will be my last command as Baron Hadrian.”
Arinel wiped her tears and swallowed her hiccups, nodding bravely as Zier tightened his embrace.
“I will, my lord.”
Father smiled amid his pain. He reached out and led an unruly curl of gold away from Arinel’s eyes.
“Hadrian is in your debt.”
Arinel shook her head in reassurance, glancing at the Graye twins, who were now in her responsibility. Vyrgil was next to approach her on bent knee.
“In the Baron and Lords Hadrian’s absence, the Blood Druids are yours to command, my lady. We will show you how to contact them.” He raised his face and met her eyes solemnly. “We can alter faces, create new names and lives for those in danger. Spirit them away entirely if needed. We shall assist you with the Hilds.”
“Thank you, Vyrgil.” Arinel whispered, slightly more relieved. Vyrgil bowed, then turned at the Baron’s weary voice,
“I’m afraid the Order of the Blood Druids must endure a little longer. I apologize.”
Vyrgil straightened. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closed with a soft sigh.
“You’ve finally chosen, my lord. At least now, I see an end to our struggle.”
Kellis clapped a heavy hand on his broad shoulder, peering deep into his melancholic gaze.
“The secret will end when the time is right. We will bring that time.”
Vyrgil nodded as he drew a deep breath of prayer. It was then that Bishop Riddell, who had been silently witnessing the exchange from the start, stepped forth also and bowed to the Baron.
“My lord, I will accompany you also.”
“Tenorus—” Kellis protested, but the towering alchemist cut across him with another bow.
“You tasked me with parting The Axel from Lord Hadrian.” His voice trembled with suppressed guilt, then stilled with resolve. “I will see it done, my lord.”
Kellis pursed his lips against grief, nodding with a heavy heart. After the Heist, Tenorus had been the sole healer adamant that only surgery, not emetic, would be able to safely retrieve The Axel from Coris. He’d always advocated for the study of Nostra’s advanced medicine, long reviled by Latakians as unholy, unnatural arts of the enemy.
“Very well. You may leave first with Zier’s party. I trust you with my son.”
With Bishop Riddell’s fate decided and Meya absent, the last remnants of dissent in the air settled into agreement. The men must proceed to map out the specific logistics of Zier’s escape. If she didn’t speak now, she would speak never.
Her fists clenched in light of the decision of her life, Arinel raised her voice,
“Before we move forward, I’d like to say my farewells—and my vows.”
The men gawked at her, yet Arinel didn’t flinch. Zier paled at the blaze of her blue eyes, shaking his head even as he knew it was futile to sway her.
“Ari—!”
Like so, Zier Hadrian and Arinel Crosset were secretly wedded. Coris returned in time to witness his brother’s marriage. Meya wasn’t with him.
Baroness Sylvia took off the ruby band Kellis had gifted her sixteen years prior when she bore him his second son, and gave it to Zier to place on his betrothed’s finger.
Arinel had no ancestral ring to give in exchange. She took Zier’s hand, coiled a curl of her hair round his finger, then cut the strand from her head. It held firm in their joined hands as Bishop Riddell read out their vows.
Once the men and dragons had left to survey their escape route, the women for the adjoining servants’ room to debrief the remaining Greeneyes, Zier unclothed Arinel and laid her before the hearth, admiring her naked body bathed in its glow. He leaned down and caught her nipple between his lips, her sigh of pleasure blowing onto his head as he suckled. Her hand found his, led him downward and deep within, beckoning him to satisfy her hunger.
He swept in and claimed her like a flood tide from a rain-swollen river, over and over. On her finger amid their woven hands, Hadrian’s ruby glinted like a drop of virgin blood, sealing them ’til death as man and wife.
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Sylvia pressed her ear to the door again. Arinel’s cries of bliss had long quieted. She led the Graye sisters back inside, bearing witness to the consummation.
The hearth’s fuel was spent. Chill and shadow crept forth as the flames ran low. Persephia gently fed new kindling to the pile and tended to the gurgling newborn fire. Sylvia dropped a blanket over the entwined, slumbering couple, and slid a cushion under their heads. She bent to kiss their hair, and folded their scattered clothes.
She traipsed to her four-poster and lay on her side, sleepless, watching over the pair, as Agnesia spread the curtains around her, dreading the last night she would also soon share with her husband.
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