The sound of flapping wings drifted further, then trailed away into silence. Gillian and his bandits had summoned their dragons and fled, likely to the western empire Nostra whence they hailed, and with them left her once-in-a-lifetime chance of joining the Greeneye folk.
However, when Coris's men lit torches, and light flooded the area, Meya realized her guess might not have been entirely correct.
Not the Nostra part. The summoned their dragons part.
Scraps of torn clothes were strewn all over the hilltop where Gillian, Dockar and their twenty comrades used to stand. Of course, Meya had heard tales of how the Nostran dragon riders hailed fireballs from over Neverend Heights to quell Latakia's rebellion. Still, the bards had never mentioned those riders were butt-naked.
Even if they were, how could they have torn their clothes to these many shreds in a flash (no pun intended) like that?
The other witnesses seemed to have arrived at the same puzzling conclusion. Simon gawked at Gillian and Dockar's torn clothes on the grass. Christopher knelt to examine what appeared to be the hind half of someone's linen underpants, then held it for a beagle to sniff.
Coris and Zier picked themselves to their feet. Now that the bandits trying to kill them had scrammed, the Hadrian brothers were killing each other instead;
"All this time you've been awake! Why didn't you run?"
Coris bellowed as he shoved Zier's hands off him. Meya had never seen the genial, soft-spoken prodigy so livid. He snatched Zier's collar, his eyes flashing, his nostrils flaring and Zier, a head taller and twice as broad, was scared crapless.
"I—but—I don't—" He sputtered, eyes wide and pleading, "You heard them. If they know I'm awake, they'll know The Axel's—"
"—And I could've silenced them all if it weren't for your idiotic lollygagging stunt!"
Coris drowned out the rest of Zier's excuses. Zier cowered, arms held over his face as his brother shook him by the neck.
"At least I could've captured them for questioning. You risked the lives of everyone involved then left me to clean it all up for when Father arrives. Six years, Zier! Have you learned nothing? How many more graves do I have to dig to get air through your skull? Haven't you taken enough of my life?"
"Coris! Enough!"
Christopher shouted. Coris flung Zier off, and Simon pranced forth to catch him. Zier stood pale and rigid, staring straight ahead. Catching himself, Coris crumpled onto the grass, head in his hands, trembling with sobs.
Meya rose and stumbled towards them, hardly feeling the grass crunch under her feet.
So, Coris had lied again. The Axel was neither inside him nor hidden in the castle. It had been inside Zier all this time, and Coris had played Meya like a traveling bard's puppet show. What for? That stupid Axel? Again?
Meya clenched her hands into fists. The yeomen drew apart as she strode in, gawking at her in alarm.
As she approached his wretched form, Meya drew back her arm, poised to let fly. Heavy footsteps rushed to her side. A rough hand grasped her wrist.
Meya started and spun around; Sir Jarl, the Marshal, master of the stables and kennels. His hand was firm, but his eyes were pleading. Meya's breath left her when she saw the broken figure he carried in his other arm.
A white greyhound, his coat drenched in dark red. She would've called his name, but someone else beat her to it,
"Beau!"
Coris's scream was more terrible a sound than a knife sinking in a flesh heart. He scrambled to Sir Jarl as he knelt and laid Beau on the grass. He skidded to his knees and cradled up his old buddy, who hung limply from his arms.
"Stubborn old fool! I told you to stay home!"
Beau stirred, his chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. His weary eyes opened and settled on his master's tear-streaked face.
"We're heading home now. Get some rest. You'll be fine."
Coris whispered, his voice shaking. However, Beau seemed to have foreseen the fate his master couldn't yet accept. He nudged Coris with his nose, then his slobbery pink tongue slithered out and caressed his gaunt cheek for one last time, lapping up the tears now tumbling free before going limp and still.
For an ominous moment, Coris simply sat there, uncomprehending, then reality sank in. With a howl of grief, he threw himself over Beau. Patch scampered past Meya to nudge at his master's back, keening, along with a few hounds that could still walk.
Christopher and Simon patted Coris's shoulder. Sir Jarl gave a silent bow to the fallen four-legged old-timer, then retreated to his scattered men, directing them to clean up the battlefield.
Zier gazed at the spectacle, his face unreadable, then traipsed towards Meya. She caught his eye, and he hitched a wry, bitter grin.
He winked at Meya, confirming he'd heard everything between her and Arinel. Before Meya could decide how to react, he turned back to his brother, whispering in a low, lifeless voice,
"It does make one wonder, doesn't it, if he would cry this much for his brother, too."
With that, he strode towards Arinel, who was just getting up. Meya glanced between the two brothers, one still sobbing uncontrollably, and blinked at Zier in disbelief and anger. Coris might have been too harsh with him, but how could he say such things when his brother had just lost a dear friend? One that gave his life for Zier himself?
Before she could decide whether she should sock Zier first, a quiet voice spoke beside her,
"Do not judge him so harshly. Least not before you've seen what pains him."
Meya turned and found herself looking into Simon Amplevale's sorrowful blue eyes.
"Zier swallowed The Axel." He sighed heavily as he gazed upon his younger cousin, who was offering Arinel the antidote vial. "When it comes to governing, the Baron's always favored strategy over sword. Same applies to his sons."
Meya's eyes widened. The Baron had seemed so exacting of Coris, and Zier had seemed so boyish and merry. It was difficult to imagine things had once been the opposite.
"Coris relished being the favorite. He loved tormenting Zier. Freda served him comeuppance in Crosset, and he came home filled with remorse too late to revive a dead heart. I imagine Baron Graye offered Zier a father's love in exchange for The Axel."
Silence fell save for Coris sobbing. Meya guessed the truth.
"Coris knew the fall will be softer for him, so he took the blame for Zier, but he hadn't expected the Baron would turn against her."
"Agnesia Graye?" Meya whispered. Simon nodded.
"His future. His health. His beloved. The ultimate sacrifice to convince Zier. Or so I like to believe."
Meya spun around. Simon met her gaze, smiling mirthlessly.
"When it comes to The Axel, one can never fathom the true face of a Hadrian."
⏳
It was no easy feat separating Coris from Beau's lifeless body. By the time Christopher and Simon hauled him away with their combined strength, the front of his Hadrian Red tunic was soaked through with greyhound blood.
"So, what do we tell the guests once they're awake? And your parents?"
As the procession of man and dog departed for the forest, Simon mentioned the pressing issue everyone was putting off thinking about. He was carrying Baroness Sylvia in a bridal hold.
Christopher and Zier, who supported Baron Kellis between them, turned to Simon, then all three boys turned as one to Coris. He was limping along, supported by Meya, with Arinel keeping up the rear.
Coris's pale face was blotchy, and his swollen eyes gleamed with moisture, but he'd regained his signature calm.
"Let's tell them the chambermaids accidentally poured my laudanum into the aroma lamps instead of Hadrian Rose oil." He sniffed, his voice thick due to his snot-flooded nostrils, "It was a hectic day, after all. Mistakes are bound to happen."
Meya blinked, silently marveling at his brainpower. How could he have come up with that so fast? Simon frowned, then cocked his head.
"Sounds convincing. And what do we do with their drinks? And the stew? How did you manage to delay the food, by the way?"
He craned his neck at Arinel, calling all eyes to the lady-turned-maid. Arinel faltered as she blushed. She avoided their eyes, muttering,
"We had Head Cook Apollon taste the spiked drinks, my lord. He ended up tasting all of them before he finally succumbed."
The four boys blinked in bewilderment. Meya stifled her laughter as she pictured hulking, copper-bellied Head Cook Apollon growing tipsier and tipsier but still managing to stay on his feet as Arinel and company grew desperate.
"You really do know your herbs, don't you." Simon managed a comment. Arinel replied with a dainty smile and bowed.
"My mother was an alchemist's assistant, sir."
Simon nodded. The solemn Christopher unfurled a rare smile as he studied Arinel, a curious look in his brown eyes.
"One of our priests, Bishop Riddell, is also our resident alchemist," He returned his focus to the road, "He's looking for assistants to help out in his workshop. I can put a word in for you, if you're interested."
"Exactly. Would be a waste for one of your skill to drudge away in the scullery. You've done Hadrian a great service. Consider it your reward," Simon agreed.
Arinel looked as if Miracle Fest had arrived three years early. She beamed at Christopher and Simon, her blue eyes gleaming with tears, faint and speechless with joy. It wasn't that she hated the scullery, more that she was raring to practice alchemy, Meya reckoned.
Meya grinned at Arinel. Then she remembered something,
"Say, what would you need laudanum for?" She turned to Coris, frowning.
"When my bowels act up at night." Coris gave her a small, sad smile. At her bulging eyes, he chuckled, "Can't sleep otherwise."
Meya bit her lips, worried. Coris didn't linger on the topic; he cleared his throat and raised his voice to address the troops.
"We'll go first to the Great Hall to deposit my parents. After that, Chris, you go with Meya here to the scullery." He glanced at Christopher and Arinel, who straightened up, alert.
"Get rid of the stew and the spiked drinks, wake Head Cook Apollon, give him the true story, and dispense the antidote to the Crossetian maids."
After both had nodded, Coris turned to Simon,
"Simon, take the boys back to the stables and have Bishop Riddell tend to them." He cocked his head at the two dozen dogs trotting alongside the yeomen. His gaze set next upon Beau's corpse in Sir Jarl's arms, covered in his cloak. He swallowed, his voice choked with tears,
"Sir Jarl, prepare the fallen ones for burial. I'll go with you."
Coris trembled in her arms, so Meya hitched him close. She glanced at the bloodstained bundles in some of the yeomen's arms. They lost no man tonight. Fyr was satisfied with just six hounds.
Good boys. You're braver and stronger than any of us here. There'll be miles of green fields to run around and roll about on Neverend Heights. So sleep for now.
Meya beamed them her silent prayers, then turned around at Coris's voice, calling to his (not-so-) little brother this time,
"Zier, you pacify the guests."
Zier stopped dead in his tracks, bulging blue eyes gawking at Coris's serious expression.
"What? But—you know I—" He stammered.
"Zier, when you become Baron, most of your speaking will be to a gathering. If you're uncomfortable, best start your training early." Coris cut across, his narrowed eyes warning of danger.
"But, just this once, can't you do it?" Zier seemed more terrified of lying to a crowd of nobles than his brother's fury. Coris swore under his breath and then exploded,
"I'm supposed to be sick in bed, Zier! For Freda's sake, will you use your head, just this once? And in case you haven't noticed, I'm covered in blood! It has to be you!"
Zier pursed his lips, eyes wide and defiant, barely hiding a smidgen of fear. When Coris turned away to address the yeomen, he hung his head. Arinel silently took his hand, squeezing it in encouragement.
"Guards, you have done well tonight. As soon as the celebrations are over and the guests have left, I'll have Father reward you accordingly—"
At long last, they reached the neck of the forest. The shadow of the canopy fell upon their faces. Meya studied Arinel and Zier out of the corner of her eye as she held Coris upright. Zier clasped his hand around Arinel's in return.
Goodly Freda, they're in love with each other? Zier must have known from the start I'm not the real Arinel. Why didn't he say anything?
Meya could only keep her questions to herself; scent hounds pranced up to take the lead, beckoning them into the wall of trees, and darkness swallowed her once more.
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