Coris's trial was open to the public, which was fortunate as Meya could attend even when she was Baroness Graye no more. However, it wasn't of the sort that would attract the masses. The Axel was only spoken of in hushed tones in the highest circles of power. The common folk didn't go about their day with the legality of surgery weighing on their minds.
Familiar faces filed into the pews on the lefthand side of the court. Lady Jaise brought her husband and all their children. Lady Hyacinth had only her eldest daughter. Lord Christopher sat with his mother, Duchess Merilith. Little Lord Frenix and his mother tried their damnedest not to lose Lord Pearlwater and his favored young heir in the crowd. Lord Hubrus and Lady Selane must have left Harold with the nurse. Baron Kellis and Baroness Sylvia sat at the innermost and forefront, having arrived earlier than any. Lady Arinel sat alone nearby, head hung and eyes closed, meditating.
Meya was shepherded to the pew across, reserved for commoners. They made for a curious mix. Healers of all specialties and their apprentices, even the needle-master who turned Dad's tush into a pincushion was there, and elder nuns she recognized from the hospital. Solemn widows and bereft parents, toting their loved ones' portraits. There were law scholars in flowing black robes, eager to witness a historic trial to overturn centuries of tradition, and there were gossiping housewives drawn here by the mere presence of Baron Graye, looking to catch a glimpse of his new mistress.
The door at the deep end of the room opened. The eight Councilors streamed onto the dais. Meya hung her head and tugged her hood over her face as Baron Graye emerged. Trembling, she watched his white robes flutter as he swept off to take his seat at the far end of the long table, next to the bright round orange that was Lady Kyrel.
She hadn't seen him since she left his mansion that morning, sent his men back with her dress, her carriage and the chests of riches, and a message that their deal was off, and he'd made no attempt to seek her. Not even now. She'd exhausted her use, just as Coris said. As they lay side by side, he'd recounted with haunted eyes how Graye had come to taunt him, drive him to the brink of insanity, how his parents found him with a noose around his neck, and again and again Meya wept and apologized. That must have assured Graye of victory. His utter devastation protected her from further harm.
A row of chairs sat facing the dais. Five old men in flowing robes and oddly-shaped hats filed from the side-door to occupy them. Meya noticed with a jolt the healer in purple-and-gold robes Lady Arinel summoned for Dad. What was he doing down there?
Then, out of the opposite side-door, strode a handsome yet emaciated dark-haired young man, draped in robes of bright red trimmed with silver. Meya's heart lurched. She tugged off her medallion, staring unblinking as he made for his lone chair at the heart of the court.
Coris stared straight ahead, his face blank and cold as he sat. Did he see her? He did, right?
At last, King Alden, Queen Zephyr and little Prince Halcyon emerged. The King claimed the most ornate highbacked chair at the center of the table, while the Queen herded the prince to observe with her on a bench in the back, shrouded by a gold-embroidered veil.
King Alden raised his gavel and knocked it on the wood, commencing court.
"Corien, Lord of Hadrian." Coris stood. "You have requested surgery be performed on your person to retrieve The Axel."
Coris made no objection, thus Alden continued,
"Surgery is forbidden under the laws of this land. It is a radical practice that in its very nature harms and violates the body, inflicting unimaginable torture, with slim chance of success. Even in Nostra, it is often resorted to in the direst of circumstances, when death is certain, and there is everything to salvage but life."
He glared down at Coris. Silence was solid, suffocating.
"You have claimed you are willing to lay down your life if it will serve a purpose," Alden nodded slightly in respect, "and in that I see sacrifice and bravery of a noble heir—but also selfishness and desperation of a man with little left to lose."
Meya shivered as the young king's conviction gripped her like claws of red-hot metal. He was honest, fervent. A man who rose through the ranks from a lowly squire, toppled a tyrant and won the hand of his princess. Who railed against his councilors for change, for progress. Who called for a grand trial simply to ensure he was moral in pursuing said progress, to save the life of one suicidal young man. She hoped she wasn't wrong to put faith in him, in the people he governed.
"Whether you live or die, this surgery will become precedent," he stood and planted his hands on the table, looming over Coris. "You're given an end to your pursuit of meaning, while we must deal with the lasting consequences of our decision. If we allow surgery, how many lives we may lose, that could've been saved if we'd only pursued a better treatment? If we don't, how many lives could've been saved, that we lose due to cowardice and ignorance?"
"The questions this court needs answered—Is surgery a legitimate treatment? Can it be done safely and painlessly? Is Latakia ready to perform it to its full potential? Are you fit to be its first candidate?"
The two men locked eyes, then Alden sat down with another hit of his gavel.
"You may present your argument."
Meya clasped her clammy, shaking hands together on her lap. Coris bowed, then straightened.
"To answer whether surgery can be performed without pain, I'd like to call forth as witness, Lady Arinel of Crosset."
Chatter swarmed the hall. Dozens of faces turned as one to Lady Crosset as she rose, resplendent in a dress of pale green, including the Hadrians. She glided down the steps and took her place next to Coris, tense with trepidation as she looked up to her king.
"Arinel of Crosset, at your grace, Your Majesty." She curtsied. "I was born orphaned in the ashes of my mother, torn from her womb as she lay dying in flames."
The King nodded, familiar with her famous birth.
"Erina was an alchemist, but also a young woman." Arinel lowered her eyes to the stones, trembling from grief now rather than fear.
"Her greatest fear was the pain of childbirth. When she fell pregnant, she realized she had months to perfect the cure for it—anesthesia, in the form of sweet oil of vitriol. But, on the verge of breakthrough, she found herself engulfed in flames, and King Devind's Council ruled her death to be the result of accident, of failure."
"A month ago, her treatise surfaced in Jaise, and the court of Jaise uncovered a culprit who smothered Erina with her anesthesia before making away with her papers. The anesthesia was so strong, Erina never flinched even as fire raged about her, even as her belly was cut open and her babe pulled from her. She conquered the pain of childbirth, and she might have lived to tell me how, if only they'd sewn her back, if surgery had been legitimized as treatment."
Arinel gasped and covered her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Coris offered her his handkerchief. To spare the poor girl, King Alden turned to the crowd.
"Is this true, Lady Jaise?" Winterwen stood and curtsied, unperturbed by the sudden call.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I presided over the trial myself."
"And what is your opinion on this anesthesia?"
Winterwen nodded, gathering her thoughts.
"After the trial, I allowed Lady Crosset to continue her mother's research, but the laws limited our options and resources. We have difficulty securing candidates for the experiment, so we only have Erina Chatrise and Lucis Tyberne's cases to learn from. Even so, they've been dead for seventeen years, and we don't have access to their remains, only the rushed testaments from witnesses of that tragic day to go by."
She sighed and shook her head.
"Jaise is abundant in obsidian for the scalpel, sulfur for the vitriol, but I cannot attest to its effectiveness and safety in this state." She caught the eyes of the two youngsters below and dipped her head in regret. "Apologies, Lord Hadrian, Lady Crosset. I must speak truth."
"Not at all, my lady. You have my thanks." Coris bowed, and Arinel murmured her agreement with a curtsy. At his nod, Lady Crosset returned to her seat. Lady Jaise sat down. King Alden turned next to the row of old men.
"Healer Iotas, I believe you've immersed yourself in research these few days. What is your opinion?"
The purple-clad healer sprang to his feet with surprising vigor. He shuffled his notes and read through them one last time, then cleared his throat.
"From my very first days as apprentice, I've been baffled by our ban on dissection, which of course extends to surgery." He strode before the King, gripping his papers to steady himself. "When using blade to cut through skin to learn, to heal, to purge malaise from the body, why should it be considered harm and torture? Why should it be defying nature? Why should it be denying death?"
"Since the birth of Latakia, this irrational fear has stunted progress in the field of medicine. And it's not as if Nostra alone does it. Tyldorn does it. The Isles does it. While we let religion and war hinder science. When we have no way of knowing if that is truly Freda's mandate at all."
His voice grew stronger as he went. He raised a trembling finger in the air.
"Especially when we did it, once. Ancient records exist, dating up until Latakas ascended the throne, of the insides of the human body, of surgery, of experiments on pain relief and blood transfusion, even infection treatment. Yet I noticed something missing—there are no records on Greeneyes."
His revelation sent the hall buzzing again. Meya leaned forth, her heart pounding. So, even this had something to do with Greeneyes? The mining ban wasn't the only relic of dragons in Latakia?
As she sat petrified in dread, Iotas paced, waving his notes as he rambled.
"We know the workings of dogs, cats, boars, horses, snakes, fish, even crawly critters! Why, then, do we not have any curiosity for fellow humans plagued with this malady? We should've been raring to examine them since they landed on our eastern shore in droves! Why do we not study their anatomy, find where our differences begin and end, how to rid them of Chione's curse? My speculation is—we did, but those records have been destroyed. And the ban enacted to ensure no new attempts are ever made, and truth forever buried."
Iotas halted in his tracks. The hall held its breath as he prepared his grand theory. He nodded to himself, finger shaking at his temple, confident in his belief.
"Freda—whoever taught Latakas how to defeat dragons—she must've struck him a deal. He learned something, that day she spoke to him—something dire. My guess is she must've been a Greeneye. She did it to protect her lot from whatever menace lies under their skin—"
"The gall of you, to float such heretic questions of our goddess!" A reedy, strident voice berated. Meya glanced wildly about for the source. Iotas raised his voice,
"—And if my suspicions were correct, then the basis for this ban is not safety, nor Freda's wisdom, and thus should be ignored. For the sake of lifesaving progress!"
"Progress!" the voice spat, then the challenger revealed himself. The thin old man in white robes shot to his feet, glaring daggers at Iotas. "For the primitive urges of madmen, rather!"
"The court recognizes High Priest Regilus," said King Alden wearily, giving Regilus free rein to unleash his sermon, and he did so with melodrama—
"How can you speak with such abandon, when we've just caught wind of the blood market in Jaise? The eye-harvesters in Hyacinth? When every time we thought we'd rid of those abominable Greeneye brothels, more spring up like fungi?"
Regilus spread his hands, bulging eyes darting in all directions, then jabbed a spindly finger crooked from too long clutching the Scriptures at the earth.
"And this is with the ban. Lift the ban, and no grave would be safe. The lengths man would run to escape the Raft. Who knows what we'll have next. Blood farming? Organ swapping? Chimaeras? If even this humble fool can fathom it, then what of Freda, with her boundless wisdom? She must have foreknown the depths humans would sink if left unfettered. She made sure Latakas is forewarned. For the wise knows! When given opportunity, man always fall to the limits of evil!"
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"But if these crimes were committed with the ban in place, then it's clear the ban is no panacea," a third old man stood. He wore deep blue robes, his long hair neatly tied. With the manner of him counting on his fingers, Meya took him for a professor. "The problem lies in inadequate legislation, enforcement, education—"
"What use is education against the greed of man?" scoffed Regilus.
"Then what are laws for, pray tell? Or do you doubt His Majesty's might to enforce them?" argued the fourth old man, bald and sharp-eyed, dressed in black robes. His accusation tipped Regilus over the edge, and he exploded in shrill tirades of his loyalty to the crown and his faith in King Alden, and questioning that of the others, which prompted them to hotly defend themselves.
"Why punish the innocent masses? Deny them the right to live, out of fear for a few corrupted men?" Healer Iotas shouted over the hubbub, not to be distracted. He shook his fist, his finger still pointing.
"I've seen instances, harrowing instances. Days ago I pronounced a man incurable but for surgery. Next thing I know, his poor daughter prostituted herself to a rich man, hoping to give him respite from suffering—we all know of whom I speak!" He spat at the group of scolds who froze mid-gossip. In her corner, Meya shrunk like a wilting flower.
"This is the common folk we swore to serve. This is life or death for them. Now we have a brave young man of noble birth, offering himself as subject. Now is our chance!"
"Exactly!" brayed the fifth old man, an airy, unkempt philosopher cloaked in a simple brown tunic cinched with a rope. "Knowledge is power. Power itself is not evil. Not all those who wield the blade kill. Do you have no trust in our people? That poor girl could've been saved from such fate, with just a little optimism and effort!"
As the hall was entralled by the battle before them, Coris turned to Meya in her nook at the back row. For the first time, his silvery eyes wavered with fear, fear for her and the future of her kind, asking if she still wished to proceed, after all she had witnessed, all she had heard, arguments for both sides of the coin.
But Iotas was right. Surgery was banned so Latakia would never discover the true nature of Greeneyes. It likely was one of the vows Mirra demanded of Latakas, but Latakia deserved truth. This reign of secrecy had cost them enough. Greeneyes, humans, his family, her family. The ban on mining, the ban on surgery, the ban on knowledge—chains binding their races in eternal divide. As tears filled her eyes, she nodded. She'd chosen. Once and for all.
"So it's fine to kill the boy if he asked for it?" Regilus jabbed his finger at Coris. "To use his life for our gain? How can you encourage such cruelty! In view of his poor mother, no less!"
"The Axel can be safely retrieved!" Iotas insisted.
"ORDER!" King Alden reached his limit. With a bang of his gavel, peace returned. The squabbling men whirled around and bowed. Alden shook his head.
"Healer—High Priest—I believe you've exhausted your arguments at this stage. Gentlemen, you'll have your turn, so don't hasten to speak. Now, Lord Hadrian, do you have anything to add on this subject?"
Coris lingered, pleading for her to falter. King Alden followed his gaze. Meya pressed her medallion to her chest and rubbed her back against the wall, praying he'd miss her.
Look away. Look away, you danged donghead! What're you doing?
"Lord Hadrian?" King Alden called. Coris jolted to his senses. He turned back, trembling, as Meya held her breath.
"Yes, just one."
He lowered his eyes, hands clenching to fists at his sides. Finally, he raised his head high.
"I am here today, because Latakia is owed truth."
Across the hall, Baron Kellis and Baroness Sylvia shared startled looks. Was Gillian also lurking somewhere in the throng, seething in suspicion? King Alden leaned forth, his frown deepening. Meya steeled herself. Any moment now. This is it.
"I call forth as witness, Meya Hild of Crosset."
Meya stood. King Alden found her instantly. The audience took a little longer. Meya was only vaguely aware of their scrutiny, however, as she toddled down the steps, focused solely on Coris. She took the spot he vacated for her, then faced the king. Aldenbarely blinked as he scoured her face, a gleam of recognition in his eyes.
"Isn't she—?" he blurted, then a wry grin twisted his lips. He shot an accusing look at Coris. "So, she isn't poor Haselle who lost her sweetheart and her mind, after all?"
Meya shivered. Coris stepped up to shield her.
"No, Your Majesty, she is my ward," he confessed simply. "I must lie to protect her from prosecution."
Alden fell against his chair, rubbing his chin.
"Fair," he finally nodded. Meya breathed free, then her blood froze when his blue eyes honed in on her. "So, Meya Hild, what are you supposed to have witnessed?"
Meya gulped, her throat dry and numb as her lips. Three months ago, what would she have given, to stand before the King like this? What would she have dreamed of doing here? And now that she'd risked it all, made it where scores of thousands would never be, what would she choose to do with this chance?
Lexi, I'm scared.
She met Coris's eyes. They conveyed his fear, but also that by her side he'd always remain.
Dad, is this what you want? Is this right?
She whispered in her heart, even as he wouldn't hear her, but somehow, his gruff voice replied,
May-beetle, there ain't no war I'd be prouder to die in.
She retreated, as the King watched, and Coris dreaded. She closed her eyes and tipped her face to the Heights, recalled the night it all began.
Hot, blinding light engulfed her as she rose into the air. Boiling metal flooded her face, her limbs, hardened into armor. Restless wings burst free and tasted wind. She mustered a cry, but her voice like birdsong had become a roaring keen, unearthly, unholy.
She opened her eyes. The King stood rooted, eyes bulging, mouth agape. The crowd mirrored him, save for the few faces of those in the know that were twisted in shock, anger, terror.
What now?
She looked to Coris. His was the only face with joy and longing, and fear for her, not of her. He reached up to her, and his movement broke the spell.
Screams rent the air, then the crowd panicked. The pew to the right emptied in a blink as folks raced to pound themselves against the double doors, but they wouldn't yield. A river of metal had flooded every nook and gap, filling the keyhole, sealing the door to its frame.
Gillian!
Meya whirled to the left. Lady Hyacinth and her daughter brandished their war picks. Lord Hubrus screamed for Selane to run as he unsheathed his sword alongside fellow noblemen. Lady Arinel scrambled up the aisles, arms flailing, screaming she was harmless, and the Jaise couple joined her. Christopher fought his hysterical mother who kept pushing him to flee. So did Frenix, for his father and brother seemed to have hightailed it.
"CORIS!" Baron Hadrian barreled down the steps.
"LEXI, GET OUT OF THERE! GET OUT!" screamed Baroness Sylvia. Meya raised her gaze, and her blood chilled to ice. Armored knights poured through the side-doors onto the topmost pew, crossbows raised and loaded, pointed down to her and Coris. She whipped to the front. Guards whisked the five wise men up the dais, behind the Councilors' table, through the doorway alongside Lady Kyrel. King Alden ushered his wife and child after them, slammed the door shut then swung himself over the table, sword drawn. He advanced, flanked by his seven dukes. One word from him, and all hell would rain upon them.
"LEXI, GET OUT! LEXI!" Sylvia screeched and kicked and fought, as guards restrained her and her husband.
"UNHAND ME! THAT'S MY SON! MY SON!" Kellis howled.
Amid the chaos, Coris shook his head as he retreated to Meya's side, his arms outstretched, turning wildly, pleading for any soul to listen.
"NO! PLEASE!" he yelled. "SHE WON'T HARM YOU! PLEASE! LET HER SPEAK! SHE'S HARMLESS! SHE COMES IN PEACE! SHE—"
Meya heard the bolt before she saw it. She dove and slammed Coris to the ground, covering every last sliver of him with her limbs. The Baroness shrieked. A dull blow glanced off her wing. Dozens more pierced through the air, battering her. If only one of them was tipped with Lattis, it was over for them—all of them.
"NO, MEYA, NO!" Coris screamed and struggled in her grasp. "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT, I'M ORDERING YOU! LET ME—YOU STUPID DRAGON—ARGH—!"
Meya curled tighter over him. The hail of arrows still rained, but it would end. It must. Then, they could finally talk. They would finally listen—
Bolts of steel pummeled her like blows from a ram, denting her scales, bruising her flesh. Coris's roars of fury dissolved into sobs of despair. He pleaded instead to the King—
"PLEASE! HAVE MERCY! SHE'S PREGNANT! PLEASE! PLEASE, DON'T HURT HER! SHE WON'T HURT YOU! CAN'T YOU SEE SHE HASN'T HURT YOU?! SHE'S ONE OF US! PLEASE, SHE'S PREGNANT!"
A bolt pierced through a loose scale on her waist, sunk its head under her skin. Meya shrieked in pain. Coris felt her jolt, feared the worst—
"MEYA!"
"Stop—STOP!"
A new voice roared. The barrage slowed but did not die. Clattering footsteps rushed towards her, and the arrows stopped.
"Your Majesty!" Murmurs swept the hall. Clinks and thuds of crossbows and swords hastily cast onto stone. Muffled cries of Prince Halcyon, calling for his father, as the sobbing queen held him. Praying it wouldn't be pierced blind, Meya creaked open an eye.
King Alden stood before her, breathing heavy, drenched in sweat. He raised his sword, released it from his grasp, let it fall with a clatter. His blue eyes stared unblinking into hers.
"He'll be safe. You may return," he said. Meya glanced about her. Every man had kneeled, bare hands raised above their heads. They couldn't aim their weapon at the King. Coris was safe.
Meya closed her eyes. She willed her wings back under her skin, shrunk down to earth. Coris caught her as she collapsed, his hand pressed over her wound. She'd absorbed the metal head, and the shaft had fallen off, leaving a tiny, spilling hole.
"Meya—hold still—"
"I'm alright. I'm sealing it. Dun touch—"
She batted away his bloodied hand as hot, silvery liquid oozed from the opening and coagulated, closing the shallow wound. It had barely hardened when Coris smothered her in his embrace, kissed her from forehead to chin, cursing feverishly as he went.
"You lied again, young Corien," a voice interrupted, jolting them back to the present. Meya whipped around. King Alden narrowed his eyes at Coris. "She isn't your ward."
Coris didn't face him. Sniffling, he wrapped Meya in his arms, planted a kiss on her crown.
"No, she's my wife. In all but name," he rasped. King Alden nodded, then turned to Meya, his expression vacant, impenetrable.
"I seem to recall dragons can breathe fire?" He raised an eyebrow. Meya frowned and looked to Coris. He was just as puzzled. She turned back and nodded gingerly.
"Yes, me liege." Her voice came out a squeak. Did she imagine it, or did Alden stifle a laugh? He cocked his head, his mouth twitching.
"Yet, you haven't incinerated us."
Meya cast her eyes to the bare stone around her, littered with arrows—the motley crowd crammed behind the wall of knights, frozen and shivering with fear. Faint bruises peppered the naked skin of her sides. Tears burned her eyes. She'd just appreciated the direness of what she'd done, what they'd done.
"You cannae plead for mercy from ash, me liege."
She crumpled in Coris's arms. Torrents of latent fear poured from her. He combed his hand through her hair as she sobbed, his voice thick with tears as he reassured her the worst was over, how brave she'd been, how sorry he was.
Footsteps echoed in the quiet. Coris begged his parents' forgiveness as they berated and cursed his recklessness. Frenix led his mother down to join them. Arinel draped her cloak over Meya's shoulders. Christopher glared at his brother, up on the dais. At last, Lady Jaise stepped forth. King Alden watched it unfold in bewilderment.
"So, this is the truth? Greeneyes are dragons in disguise?" he breathed. All eyes turned to Meya, so she gathered her courage. She mustered a smile for Coris, then gently parted from him, toddled forth on unsteady feet, faced the king with hands bared and eyes unwavering.
"Our ancestors crossed the sea when the mountain flooded Everglen with rivers of fire. We abandoned our wings and fire and hid in plain sight, while our cousins who made it to Nostra offered them in service to the emperor. We only needed respite, but our island never healed, and Latakia became our home."
"So we betrayed our secret to your first king, fought alongside you against Nostra. All Freda asked in return is for Latakas to take the knowledge to his grave, never to be wielded twice. All Maxus demanded of Philip was that the mines be forever sealed."
"And what is your secret?" whispered Alden. Claws of ice clamped over her wrist, and for a breath she hesitated, but the King—He'd stormed through a hail of arrows to reach her, and still he stood, unarmed, defenseless, surrounded. She clasped her hand over his, and placed her wager.
"Lattis is our only poison. One bolt is enough to pierce our scales, rot us from within. Nostra built an antidote to it, sealed the knowledge within The Axel. They'd burn Latakia to the ground to make way for themselves. So Maxus and the fellowship stole it. They hoped to sail to Everglen with it, give the dragons back their home."
Meya glanced at Coris, then his father. She hung her head in mourning.
"But Philip slaughtered them all but Maxus. And his descendants inherited his will, and his grudge. They'll fulfill their duty, even if they must journey alone. When you stripped him of his seat, Baron Hadrian had meant to surrender his titles, take The Axel to Everglen alongside Nostran dragons who'd tire of war and slavery. And Lord Corien was to follow him, but I convinced him to give Latakia a second chance."
Meya turned once more to hold his beautiful gray. Coris sighed then urged her into his arms.
"And what do you plan to do, if Latakia fails you again?" asked Alden. This time, Coris faced him.
"We sail for Everglen, Your Majesty, and return her to beauty," he declared, his hand cradling Meya's middle. "My child could be Greeneye. I must give him a home where he could fly free."
King Alden nodded. His eyes set upon each of the ragtag band on the court, then traveled to the throng huddled before the grand doors, his knights and noblemen and women on the pews, his councilors flanking him. Acid-green eyes glowed among them. Few, yet bright. A door behind creaked. He spun around to his approaching queen and prince, gathered them close. He shared a long, hard look with Zephyr, then returned to Meya.
"My grandfather was a Greeneye," he confessed, then gulped. "We lost a baby before Halcyon. He was a Greeneye, too."
Meya's eyes widened. He nodded and studied his waiting subjects once more, sighed then glanced between Meya and Coris.
"It will not be simple." He shook his head. "It will not be swift. But the two of you have shown it is possible. Now that we are armed with truth, we can strive to not repeat the wrongs of the past."
He straightened, projected his voice to the far reaches of the hall, then turned to his sworn enemy. Baron Hadrian's narrowed eyes were unblinking, every morsel of him tense with paranoia, but Alden understood.
"Will you help us, Kellis?" he beseeched, then raised his face and called out, "And you, dragon."
Meya blinked. She whipped around, following his gaze to the double doors. The crowd slowly retreated, revealing a burly man with straggly black hair spilling from the hood of his raggedy black cloak, and blazing green eyes. His face was cold and empty, but his jaw was clenched, and he kept his hand glued to the door. Tendrils of silvery metal spread from beneath it. Should the worst came to pass, he'd meant to turn the hall into a furnace, bring down the palace, seal their secret in this fiery grave forever.
Man and dragon locked eyes. Meya prayed with bated breath as Coris wrapped her tighter against him. At last, Gillian's taut shoulders unwound. Metal receded into his palm. Once he'd absorbed every last drop, he straightened, then dipped his head once.
Frenix roared in triumph as Arinel swept Meya into a suffocating hug. Lady Jaise smiled at Coris as Christopher clapped his shoulder. Baroness Sylvia wailed and threw herself at Baron Kellis, sobbing. The two-hundred-year secret was no more, the two-hundred-year curse of solitude and fear had ended. Her sons were freed, so were generations of Hadrians to come.
And Meya hugged and leaped and cried and laughed and apologized to all of them, and through it all she glimpsed the various faces of those around them. Disbelief, confusion, concern, curiosity, skepticism, pessimism. All those would fade with time, heal with patience and goodwill.
However, one in particular was twisted with malice. Cast in shadow, his lips slashed a line of vengeful fury down his flawless face, as he watched the young Hadrian heir celebrating. Then, it morped into a cunning smile, before he turned and vanished in a flutter of his white cloak.
Meya glared after him, but she would worry about him another day. She was afraid, but she was not without courage. She loved, and was loved. She had those she'd protect, who'd protect her in turn. No matter how dark the night, long as she held out hope, its light would fall upon a path to a new dawn.
And Coris Hadrian would be the first to walk with her, every step of the way.
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