Knowing Meya, the absolute last place Coris wanted her to be in this particular situation was unfortunately where she would most likely be in this particular situation.
Coris's heart raced his feet down the hallway to the ajar front doors. He kicked aside the metal bar that had been their last line of defense from the rioters, and slipped through the gap onto the balcony.
The sun blazed into his eyes from a sky bright, pure blue as turquoise, scorching what remained of the unrest. The perfect weather felt like Freda's cruel touch, illuminating every detail of the carnage for him to see. Dusty scraps of clothing. Blood spatters. White cloths falling over corpses, loose corners fluttering in the breeze as weary guardswomen moved on to the next dead. A weeping widower. A lost, disheveled little boy toddling around, sobbing, searching as other mourners watched, none having the heart to tell him he'd been orphaned.
Not a strand of red-gold hair was in sight. Then, he heard a faint sound of retching.
Coris skidded down the sandstone steps then swung himself around the corner. A little way away, he found Meya on all fours, her head stuck halfway into the hedge, jolting and heaving as she emptied her belly onto the flagstones. Arinel knelt beside her, holding her hair and smoothing her hand down her back.
Coris prayed the nausea was because of the child in her womb, not the one back there whose blubbering had become screams. After a deep breath, he crept his way towards the girls.
Arinel turned sharply around. Her eyes narrowed to slits, she rose to her feet and stepped up to shield Meya.
"Please, Arinel." Coris mouthed.
Arinel pursed her trembling lips and stood firm, so Coris pleaded with his eyes until at last, her ice melted. Sighing softly, Arinel gave Meya one last glance, then turned back to him with a glare that promised him the wrath of Freda should he so much as pinch Meya. Coris sealed the deal with a nod. Sighing again, Arinel rested her hand on Meya's shoulder to signal her leave, then swept away.
Once Arinel's blonde tresses had disappeared around the corner, Coris dipped the bucket into the nearby well then knelt down in her place. Meya was no longer retching. She leaned her head against the hedge, her eyes closed, panting. Gently, Coris poured water onto the tiles, washing her sick down the gutter. When Meya made to wipe her soiled face with her sleeve, he cut across her with his cupped hand, filled with clean water.
His telltale clamminess must have alerted her. Meya whipped around, eyes wide, then scrambled to her unsteady feet. Coris caught her as she fell against the palace's wall.
"Meya—" He held her arms as she struggled, his heart breaking as her stifled sobs burst through her lips. He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his lips to her thick hair—
"Meya, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her fists pummeled his chest, burning hot as her tears on his neck. He held her, rocked her as he urged her along, "Let me have it. I deserve it. I'm sorry I hit you. It won't happen again."
Still, her heart wasn't in it. Her blows were feeble, reluctant. She loved him so much, she couldn't bear to bruise his delicate skin. Coris was sure that was her actual revenge, however—the guilt winded him like a ram to his stomach.
Meya calmed. Still, she didn't yield to his embrace as she usually would. He sensed cold fury in her pulse beating against his. Sure she wouldn't flee, he released her and turned to peer at the front courtyard. The orphaned boy had fallen silent.
Meya let out a whimper and a loud sniff. Coris spun around, alarmed, but she'd turned away, busy rubbing her renewed tears and snot off her face. He shook his head,
"You shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't have to see—"
Meya glared at him as if he'd insulted her whole family, prompting Coris to cut his sermon short and leave her to lather her face with mucus in peace. Silence fell, soothing and unobtrusive. Slowly, the resentment in the air ebbed away, until Coris felt safe enough to try and argue his case once more,
"I'm grateful for the times you saved my life, but you're a woman, and you're pregnant. You can't put yourself in harm's way. Least not for me." He trailed away weakly.
"That's not what you said back there." Meya shot back flatly. She still refused to look him in the face. Coris nodded with a sigh of surrender,
"I know. I was the consummate arse. I'm so sorry." Meya didn't respond. Coris took a step closer.
"I was scared I'd lose you. I was just too embarrassed to say it in front of them—"
Meya snorted, then pulled a face when she tasted the gunk she'd inhaled down her throat.
"Very well, that and my pride was wounded."
Muttered Coris shamefacedly. Meya sneaked a glance out of the corner of her eye. His head was bowed and his face cast in shadow, his hands tucked behind him as they usually were, but his fidgety toes were no longer shielded by warm boots, naked in the Hyacinth sandals. The sight softened Meya just a bit.
"I'm sorry, too." Sighing, she looked down at her middle, cradling it with nervous fingers. Tremors spread up her arms and shoulders to her throat, flooding her eyes, infecting her voice, "You're right. I could've killed our babe. The situation was delicate—I shouldn't have butted in. This is all my—"
"No. Don't." Coris swept her into his arms, and her restraint crumbled to dust. He held her tight as she cried, combing his fingers through her hair, "I almost died in Jaise. It's only natural. And I came up with the plan. My father allowed it. Amoriah used those followers like pawns—"
"But still—"
Coris waited for her to finish, but Meya didn't know how. It didn't matter who the plan belonged to, or how many people approved of it—the fact remained that Coris wouldn't have gone through with it if Meya hadn't agreed. Coris was right, wasn't he? She was tainted. She lost hope. She chose the easier way out. And this was Freda's punishment.
As if he'd heard her thoughts, Coris pressed his forehead against hers.
"Each man in that courtyard adds a drop of chaos to our plan. These things...they just happen, Meya...when we're up against people."
He breathed, his voice strangled with sobs. His cold skin rubbed against hers as he shook his head,
"But if we let it stop us here, this will be the end. I'll not say the good will be worth the sacrifice. Nothing can justify the lives we lost. But at least...if we keep...walking..."
Coris hammered out, swallowing and gasping. Meya had never heard him struggling so hard to speak. He shivered as his tears slid down and mingled with hers on her cheeks. Meya couldn't bear to see him face his nightmare again, over and over, worse and worse. Just to satisfy her selfish dreams.
"But what if more people die? What if we fail again?" She whispered as she burrowed her face into his chest, "The brothel's freed. We got Hasif's eye. We just sort things out with Lord Crosset then we go home to Hadrian. Let them old folks go on if they want to. Freda knows they should be the ones doing this. Not some stupid peasant girl."
Coris didn't speak for a long moment, simply caressing her hair. When he did, his voice was steady,
"In every minute of our lives lies a choice. To do nothing, or do something."
Meya froze, eyes bulging, reminded of her own words she'd forgotten.
"There's always risk when you choose the uncertain, but also hope for a better tomorrow. It takes bravery to walk knowing you can only try but never know. You taught me that, and I believe it."
Coris pulled apart, tipping her head back so their eyes met. His gray eyes were overbright, yet they never wavered from her.
"You've been brave enough, Meya." He unfurled a heartbreaking little smile as he trailed his finger down her face, "For all the times you chose to act. I won't think any less of you if you choose to stop here. You've more than earned your rest from a battle that isn't your duty to fight."
He cupped her face and leaned close, staring deep into her eyes, "But it is mine, so I'll see it through. I must."
Meya delved into his eyes in kind, and her breath left her at the sheer strength of will she found in there. From the first day, it was always like this. Either he was a knight so true, or the consummate arse who always knew exactly just what to say to bend her to his will. And she hated it—
"Ow! Meya!" Coris yowled in pain.
"You bastard, you know I won't let you leave me behind again!" snapped Meya at the whimpering, petulant Coris. Cradling the sore spot on his arm, he muttered grumpily to himself ("Serves you right taking courting advice from the likes of your idiot cousin"), shooting dirty looks at her.
Meya indulged herself in ignoring him. A pause of silence, then Coris continued,
"Whenever I doubt myself, you'll remind me of the good I've done. The lives I saved. You saved so many lives yourself, Meya." He rested his hand on her shoulder, caressing gently with his thumb, as he smiled at her wide-eyed surprise,
"Me. Zier. Arinel. Atmund. Agnes. Persephia. Lors. Cleygar. Your fellow Crossetians. Those poor brothel Greeneyes. Those one-eyed followers. We're all alive and free now because you chose to do something. Your people back in Crosset might insist you're a curse, but I'd say you're a blessing to the rest of us."
Coris left off with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling as he gazed fondly at her. Meya closed her hand over his and tried her best to return his smile.
"I know, Coris. I'll keep trying. I will..." She nodded, her voice squeaky and trembling. Her eyes burned, and so she rested her weary head against their joined hands to hide the tears soon to fall, "It's just so much harder than ever today."
The weight of his cold hand pressed tenderly down on her crown, and Meya caved as if she were made of matchsticks. Meya cried her heart out as Coris held her, shielded in his arms from the scorching heat, the unforgiving Hyacinth sun.
She'd keep walking into the uncertain, fighting this battle. She just needed a little rest.
⏳
Despite their recent heartfelt talk, Arinel still didn't trust her future brother-in-law. The instant she rounded the corner of the palace, she flattened herself against the wall and strained her ears as far as she dared. Flowing water. The scuffling of feet on stone and rustling clothes. She braved a peek. Coris held a struggling Meya to his chest, braving her punishing blows.
Arinel watched until her friend calmed, then let out a long sigh of relief. She turned to leave, only to find a familiar, unexpected face hurrying up to her.
"Sir Bayne?" breathed Arinel in disbelief as the panting, sweaty, windswept Jerald surveyed her from head to toe, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword.
"My lady, you're supposed to stay inside!" scolded Jerald. Arinel blinked. Affronted, she thrust out her chin and stretched to full height.
"And aren't you supposed to be at the stables?" She suggested imperiously. Her displeasure had always worked to discipline Jerald. This time, however, his frown deepened as his blue eyes flashed in exasperation. He raised a trembling hand, pointing at the great double doors behind them,
"With all due respect, your grace, there were two doors between you and a hoard of crazed cultists. I didn't follow you across the Sands to watch from a safe distance!"
His restrained voice swelled to a blast of fury, but it was more the fear and guilt behind his fire that humbled Arinel. She lowered her gaze, taking in the state of his dusty, crumpled tunic, then heaved a small sigh.
"You're right, Sir Bayne. I'm so sorry." She took a step towards him, held his wavering eyes as she held his calloused hand, "Thank you for coming to help. And thank Freda you're safe."
Having come to his senses, Jerald avoided her gaze in shame.
"Not at all, my lady. Please forgive my outburst. I gave your grandmother my word. I hope you'll understand." Arinel rolled her eyes at the futile lie. Jerald must have sensed she was no fool—he cocked his head at the doors with an abrupt change of topic,
"The messenger's just arrived. He might have word from your father."
In spite of his transparent attempt, Arinel couldn't resist her curiosity. Together, they hurried back inside. Jerald had reached out towards the doors to the Great Hall when Lady Hyacinth's barking voice leaked through the sliver between the unbarred doors, stopping him,
"We counted fifteen dead. Mostly Greeneyes."
Jerald shared a glance with Arinel, hesitant. Lips pursed, Arinel crept forward as Jerald shifted aside to make way. He rested his hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she lined her eye with the gap and peered inside. Lady Hyacinth was pacing at the front of the hall before the dias, just beyond the line of eyeless Greeneyes. Baron Hadrian stood to the side with his wife.
"And their eyes? Have they been stolen?" He asked coolly. Amoriah halted in her tracks. She spun around after a pause. There was an iciness, a deadness in her eyes Arinel hadn't seen before. She clomped towards Baron Hadrian. Slow, heavy steps which sent ripples through her bare breasts and ample belly.
"Those sponsors are the lifeblood of Hyacinth, Kellis. Merchants. Landlords. Officials. Scholars." She hissed, her arm thick as logs raised and pointed towards the back of the hall, "Their daughters will carry our future. How can they if they can't see it?"
She demanded in poisonous whisper, her flaring eyes inches from Baron Hadrian. He glared back, his expression of pure disgust.
"And that gives them the right to see through stolen eyes?" Kellis's lips curved into a sardonic grin lined with gritted teeth. Scoffing, Amoriah stalked away. He called after her back, "You've filled your brothels with Jaisian men. Is it any wonder why the rich are cursed with all these eyeless children? Rather than build a city where the blind can prosper, you rob from the poor—"
"Word of advice, O honorable lord of Hadrian." Amoriah turned back, her cold voice trembling with tempered fury, "If you plan to question how your host came upon her means, speak before you've gorged yourselves on the bread she so generously provided!"
Snarled the Lady Hyacinth. Baron Hadrian pursed his lips in grudging defeat. Gratified, Amoriah lumbered back with a devious smirk over her three-tiered chin.
"Which brings us to the issue of my compensation." Arinel shivered—Amoriah's voice had become dangerously low and soft as she advanced on the seething Baron Hadrian,
"I saved your starving heir from the Sands. Hosted his entourage, tolerated his antics and demands. Out of respect for our alliance, and for the chance to hear your offer."
Amoriah's smile widened. She threw open her arms, shaking her head,
"Well, I've heard it. And I'm not satisfied. My advisor is dead. My sponsors are in an uproar. The place I EAT—" She suddenly screeched, jabbing a shaking finger at the ground, then at Baron Hadrian's throat, "turned to a MORGUE! So either you pay for my misery in food or seed, or carry your pasty arses and your precious Greeneyes out of my palace, before I cast you to the Sands!—And the girl STAYS!"
Having sprayed spit in the Baron's face with one last scream, Lady Hyacinth whirled around and flounced away.
"Mother—" A timid voice interrupted.
"WHAT?" Amoriah spun back with a roar, eyes bulging, nostrils flaring. Arinel didn't blame Amoriah's unseen daughter for taking a few seconds to gather herself before answering,
"Word's arrived from Lord Crosset just now." The daughter tried her best to restrain the tremors in her voice, "He'd like to alter the deal. He no longer wants the Hild girl. He'll trade the fifty men for his long-lost heir, Sir Jerald Crosset."
"Jerald Crosset?" Lady Hyacinth's incredulous voice echoed as if from the exit of a cave, as a sweeping numbness froze Arinel whole. On her shoulder, Jerald's hand trembled like never before. "What's this malarkey?"
"I'll have the Spiders investigate immediately, Mother. Also—" A rustling of parchment as the daughter consulted the second letter, "Marquess Fratengarde died yesterday. We should send our condolences to Hythe and the Queen. Her Majesty is very fond of him—"
"Perfect! More expenses!" Amoriah rolled her eyes and threw up her arms in exasperation. She stormed away, waving dismissively at her unseen daughters and subjects, "Get out of my sight, the lot of you—And I expect your answer by midday, Kellis!"
She paused just long enough to point and scream some more at her hated nemesis, then resumed stomping towards the smaller door beside her throne. Once she'd disappeared behind it with a shattering slam, Arinel turned gingerly to Jerald. Her collarbones felt as if they'd been welded together by ice.
"Sir Bayne, you don't suppose—"
Jerald's haunted eyes answered hers, killing Arinel's words in her throat, where they suffocated her.
It couldn't have been mere coincidence, that Father finally decided to reinstate Jerald as the Crosset heir the very same day Marquess Fratengarde died, when he'd tried his damnedest to hide Jerald's existence from his father for almost four decades. No, the only reason he was suddenly forthcoming would have been because the father could no longer interfere. And if the man was powerful enough to silence the once great Marquess Crosset, it would only make sense if he was someone of the might of Xavius Fratengarde—the respected uncle of Queen Zephyr herself.
Yes, it could only mean one thing. The man who had taken Arinel's late aunt Arynea against her will and impregnated her—was Marquess Fratengarde. Jerald had found his father at last.
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