Luminous

109 - Aynor

Warmth flooded her chest, having nothing to do with his arm now draped protectively around her. Meya pressed her lips to his palm. The icy taste of his skin had faded greatly.

The raft rocked to the river's rhythm. Coris's fingers fell again and again through her hair. She was drifting away, then a voice dragged her back to her aching body,

"Psst, Meya—" Frenix popped his head over the lid of a nearby barrel, "Hey, Meya!"

Coris huffed in annoyance. His hand left her hair to hook her closer jealously.

"Can't you see she's exhausted?"

"Won't take long!" Frenix whined, then whipped back to Meya, "Make me a dragon."

His demand left the three nobles deep in thought, probably picturing the dragon Meya's utter lack of artistic flair would give birth to. Meya was torn between her desire to be of use and harsh reality.

"Dragon? Ain't that quite tall of an order?" Rolling her eyes, she peeled herself from Coris's sweaty lap and swayed upright. "Fine, but you're gunna have to use your imagination a fair bit, milord."

As Frenix watched in excitement, and Coris, Zier and Arinel in slight trepidation, Meya wormed her hand deep into her money-pouch, catching the copper faces scuttling about the bottom in her fist. She withdrew and, after a deep breath, unfurled her fingers. A pool of metal, warm rust-brown with swirls of glittering silver. So deep was her concentration, she hardly noticed her audience had fallen deathly silent.

"Meya, what are you doing?" Coris whispered, his voice sharp.

"'Tis fine, Coris. I'll turn 'em back when he's done with it."

Meya hummed as she shaped the coagulating liquid into what she hoped was a passing lizard with her finger. Coris froze to stone at her reply, shaking his head in terror.

"No, you can't!"

He lunged, his long, pale fingers throttling Meya's wrist. Molten bronze sloshed from her palm, splashing onto the wooden floorboard, where it froze solid in moments.

"Fyr's Bollocks—"

Scrambling to her knees, Meya slammed her hand over the puddle as she would an irksome gnat, drinking it back in.

"Why would you do that? 'Tis me money you're spilling!" She rounded on Coris. He glared back, unrepentant.

"Because what you were about to do is akin to coining, Meya," hissed Arinel, adding at Meya's wide-eyed stare of incredulity, "It's high treason!"

High treason? For melting and recrafting a handful of coins? Meya shook her head in disbelief, eyebrows knotted at the utter insanity.

"But—" She opened her mouth, but Coris cut across her with his bony arm.

"Here," He fished his journal and charcoal pencil from the folds of his cloak, handing them to Frenix alongside a stern command, "Outside of this immediate party, this never happened, understood?"

His sharp, blazing gray eyes swept the company. Even Zier nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. Frenix glanced between them, eyes wide, his grip slack around Coris's journal. Huffing, Meya leaned in with a protest,

"Coris, I can turn them back—"

"Can you? Do you remember precisely how much of which metals were in those coins? Do you even remember how many coins there were?" Coris raised his eyebrows, his long nose inches from hers. Meya gritted her teeth, trembling in grudging defeat. Coris narrowed his eyes, his voice icier with every word,