The fountain's bell-jar-shaped water curtain cascaded into the rippling pool below, its deafening roar backdropped by the hum of the crowd, interspersed by the whimsical plonks of bowls, mugs and buckets plunging through the water, as masked tourists jostled for a gulp or more of the blessed water.
As the heat from her brimming cup warmed her chilly fingers, Meya's burnished reflection gazed back at her from the copper sign mounted on a ramrod-thin pole. Line upon line of black text rolled across her forehead and cheeks. Alchemy-ish names in block letters preceded advertisements of their healing properties, which ranged from promoting smoother skin and blood circulation to curtailing foot odor.
As reading practice, and for extra caution, Meya read the whole passage through twice. There was no mention of Lattis as one of the beneficial minerals in the water. Regardless, she should pass her coin over her cup, as Coris had advised. Just in case there were traces of Lattis lurking unnoticed that could be siphoned out.
Then again, how much difference would it make, though? If Lattis were everywhere in Latakia, then Meya had lived seventeen years eating, drinking, wearing, breathing invisible Lattis particles. If Lattis were poison, as Gillian put it, how many years had already been docked off her dragon lifespan?
Meya's lips were parching up fast. She licked and chewed on the flaking skin as she scrutinized the drink in her cup. It appeared innocuous, but she was hesitant to take a sip. Come to think of it, these daily intake of trace amounts of Lattis might be the reason Greeneyes lived about as long as normal humans, despite not being made of the same stuff.
So this was why dragons from Everglen struggled to cross into Nostra. Even before being unearthed and refined into weapons, Lattis could still harm Greeneyes. Meya felt as if it was Freda's signal to them, that they don't belong in this land.
A wave of lonesome, bone-chilling cold rushed up Meya's arm from her fingertips, even as the cup remained warm. Still, she couldn't repress the defiant little voice in her head, its whispered plea glancing off the uncaring, rigid back of the goddess.
But I was born on this land.
"If we find that dowry, then we could be anywhere you want to be. Latakia. Nostra. Everglen. Take your pick."
Gillian's voice echoed, unbidden. Meya nodded slowly to herself. So, this must be why Gillian came after The Axel. He must have been tired of dragons being confined to Nostra and under the emperor's service, or withering away in Latakia, sapped of life day by day by unseen demons.
But what in the three lands could something so tiny it could fit in young Zier's gullet do to a Latakia-sized lode of poisonous Lattis ore? If only they had captured Gillian, they would have secured the answers long since. Drat Zier for ruining it all.
With a heaving sigh, Meya focused on her untouched drink. As she dithered on the best destination she should direct it to, down her throat, back in the fountain, or splash on the sandstone, a strident call pierced the air.
"There you are!"
Gretella's voice came with nails like a cat's claws sinking into Meya's arm, wringing her flesh like one would a wet floor rag.
"Youch! What in the—!"
Meya barely kept a hold on her beloved cup. Hands dripping with hot spring water, she whipped around with teeth bared and glare at the ready, only to lose her fluff at the sight of Gretella's malevolent finger hovering before her nose-bridge.
"You don't just run off alone in a crowded square in an unknown town, you dungheaded lass! What would you do if you'd lost us? Stay forever?"
Flinching back to put some distance between that pudgy finger and her eyes, Meya noticed Arinel standing behind her grandma, arms crossed and lips pursed, not in the least inclined to lend aid.
"I'm sorry, Nurse. I was just—"
Meya sighed in defeat. She spotted the two children the old woman was shepherding at her side. One was ten-year-old Lord Frenix Pearlwater, with his stringy build, dark brown skin like walnut wood, and short, fuzzy black hair like tufts of fine goose-down. The other was little Amara Hyacinth, her silky, wavy black hair cropped short at her chin, her cherubic lips perpetually bent in a scowl as if lined by iron wire.
Amara's mask was decorated in the exact same manner as Frenix's, its whole surface veneered with all five colors provided, masterfully guided into multilayered, psychedelic swirls that curled and unfurled alongside each other yet never mingled.
Meya bent down, hands on her knees.
"Hello there, little Amara. Splendid artwork." She gestured at the little lady's mask, then hitched up a devious grin as she pointed between her and Frenix. "So, who copied who?"
"—Whom." Frenix corrected. At the sight of her scowling lips, he shone Meya a full-width grin inset with two rows of white teeth and not a sliver of remorse, "Coris told me to take over your language practice while he's gone."
"Ugh!" As Meya rolled her eyes and air-strangled her absent husband's meatless neck, Amara thrust up her nose, threw out her chest, and crossed her chubby arms.
"I didn't paint anything. Frenix did both." She tilted her head at Frenix, "Art is for boys."
Frenix's gleaming grin slid off his face faster than lard on a heated pan.
"Rubbish! My mother would've become an artist herself if she were allowed to!" He argued.
"And she shouldn't! Mother always says girls parry while boys paint." Amara stretched up on tiptoes, wagging a finger at Frenix.
Meya gawked at the children in utter confusion. While it was true that men was, in practice, the only sex allowed to pursue mastery in all the branches of arts and sciences, Latakian women weren't known to pick up swords, either.
"Hyacinth." As if the wind had heard her ringing mind, it reciprocated with a whispered explanation in her ear. Meya spun around and found herself staring into a dozen of bright green eyeballs, rolling in all directions in blood-red sockets.
"Fyr's Bollocks!" Meya backpedaled into the copper sign with a shriek. The young woman with the brown ponytail doubled over with wheezing laughter, slamming her hands together in glee as Meya staggered upright, massaging her throbbing buttocks with one hand, righting the wobbling sign with the other.
"Lady Fione?"
Fione tempered her amusement with much effort, waving a feeble hand as if to fan away her belly cramps.
"I spooked a Greeneye with green eyes. Who would've thought that would work?" She gasped then succumbed to laughter once more.
Mumbling curses under her breath as she smoothed a hand down her bosom, Meya turned to the girl next to Fione. Her mask was the color of her caramel-brown hair, with defiant streaks of blue and olive green peeking out here and there.
The sight reminded Meya of the time Jezia had brought her some oil paint and fine parchment, and she'd given them to Myron. Poor boy had started off trying to draw Freda's rainbow, but, due to lack of expertise, ended up mixing the colors together into a passing imitation of sewer sludge.
A ray of malice radiated unfiltered from behind the ruined mask, and Meya caught herself still staring. She braved the Lady's fury with a meek simper to satisfy her curiosity.
"What happened to your mask, Lady Heloise?"
"Don't ask." Heloise's voice dripping with venom sizzled through her seething teeth. It was a wonder the grille over her mouth hadn't melted apart.
"Because I'll tell you, anyway." Fione cut in, having successfully recovered from her fit. Ignoring Heloise's unseen glower, she cocked her head at the smirking Frenix, "I bet her ten latts she couldn't pull off Frenix's technique. Paid for my Jayri bowl and a black gum drink."
She held up her cracked white bowl joined with copper, filled with a steaming, viscous black liquid, which Lady Arinel seemed to be eyeing. She took a sip, then let out a sigh of bliss.
"Ah, taste of the Heights. How about a sip, Haselle? You must be exhausted from all that crying. This will pick you right up."
Before Arinel could utter a word, Lady Agnes had reached out for the mysterious concoction, and in a blink was already downing it eagerly. Its sickly sweet smell made Meya hungry all of a sudden as well.
"I-I-I was nervous, that's all. Give me more time and leave me alone, and I'd even go one better." Heloise sputtered, distracting Meya from glorious food. Fione rolled her painted eyes at her pigheaded friend.
"Agh, Heloise, you never change, do you?" Lady Cristoria pointed a tapered finger to the heavens. "You know they say Freda's blessings are like raindrops—you get some on the head, and you miss the rest. Meya's got her Song. Frenix's got his art. You'll find yours one day. Better yet, make one!"
Fione patted the disgruntled Heloise's shoulder. Then, the girls all whipped around at the guttural slurping noise coming from behind. Lady Agnes had had her head tipped back, licking every last drop of black gum from Fione's bowl. Noticing the masked faces turned to her, she returned to her senses, and hastily lowered the bowl.
Arinel reached out, prying the bone-dry bowl from Agnes's trembling, unwilling fingers with both hands,
"I think that should be enough gum drink for you, Haselle." She said coolly, then shone the rest of them a sweet smile,
"How about a hot bath? Zier said the Pearly Falls is a must. We'd better hurry before all the pools are taken."
⏳
The entrance to the Pearly Falls was underwhelming and puzzling. Squeezed between sprawling sandstone manors, smothered by copious amounts of steam billowing out of their every orifice, the tiny outhouse was often overlooked by first-time visitors. And, once they had spotted it by a double-take, those visitors would then proceed to scratch their heads in incredulity.
There was no way that humble shack would be able to host a hundred bathing pools, was there? A latrine, maybe.
Meya's doubts ebbed away once they had entered the outhouse and descended the narrow, torchlit staircase concealed within, which fell steeply into a spacious rock chamber, where masked Jaisian women stood welcoming them with wide smiles behind metal grilles.
Still, key questions persisted: Where is the Pearly? And where is the Falls?
Once they had paid for their dip in the pools, Meya and her companions ventured deeper into the underground complex. The catacombs, fortified by wooden scaffolding, twisted and turned and branched. Fire flickered within dusty lamps, illuminating yellow-brown and coal-black ledges of jagged shale and raw jet protruding from the walls. Their rough, layered texture reminded Meya of termite-plagued wood.
At regular intervals, the walls had been hollowed out into caverns, and numbered doors were installed. Meya heard the moans and grunts of rigorous lovemaking leaking out from behind some as she passed, but they did nothing to arouse her desire. She couldn't imagine herself enjoying an hour of passion with Coris in this dank, drab, crumbling, suffocating, disused underground mine. Fyr, she wouldn't even think of taking an afternoon nap here. She preferred sunlight and open air to this precarious subterranean crypt.
Heloise and Frenix seemed just as unnerved by the foreign surroundings. Heloise huddled her shoulders and smoothed goosebumps up and down her arms. Frenix had fallen worryingly silent, and there was some twitchy footwork in his every other step.
Could this be a Greeneye thing? Dragons are huge creatures of flight, after all. Stands to reason they—we—would harbor an instinctive fear of being trapped underground.
The bathhouse lady left them in front Rooms 25 and 26 with directions to the pool, and the fellowship diverged according to their grouping in the entourage.
Meya filed inside after Arinel, Agnes and Gretella, and found herself in a spartan torchlit cavern with a walled latrine in the corner, a set of table and chairs, and a mattress with pillows and a woolen blanket.
The bathhouse lady had instructed them to wash up before heading to the pools. The latrine was large enough for two at a time. Gretella and Agnes decided to go first.
Once the splashes of water had risen in earnest, Arinel threw her mask onto the mattress, snatched Meya's arm, then dragged her towards the furthest wall.
"Milady, what in the—"
"Shh!"
Pausing only to grab the blanket, Arinel nestled herself in the nook of the cave, tugged Meya down to her knees, then threw the blanket over their heads.
Solid darkness. In the dim orange light, the mask no longer functioned as well, and so Meya tugged it off.
"Milady, what's with all this? Can't we talk in the open?" She hissed in annoyance at Arinel's silhouette and her eyes glinting in the gloom.
"That black gum drink," Arinel ignored the question, cutting straight to the chase, "I know that smell. There's laudanum in there."
Arinel's voice reeked of disgust as she spat out the word. Meya had heard the name, of course, but she couldn't understand the animosity.
"Laudanum? So?" She raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, "Coris takes a few drops in his nightcap every day to help him sleep. What's wrong with it?"
Arinel froze as if cursed into stone save for her bulging, blinking eyes. After a moment of silent mouthing, she grabbed Meya's arm with trembling fingers.
"Am I hearing this right?" Her voice rose into what could be described as a whispery scream, "Coris takes it daily?"
"Yes. Is that bad?" Meya eked out, bewildered and a little fearful. Arinel's nails dug into her flesh, and she winced in pain as she ran a soothing hand down the lady's shivering arm. Arinel's eyes seemed to be wriggling free of their stretched-to-burst sockets.
"Is that bad?" She repeated so shrilly Meya felt her eardrums recoil. She snatched her shoulders, shaking her like a rattle, "Meya, you have to stop him right away! It's very addictive! And his health would suffer!"
"What d'you mean, addictive?" Meya frowned, somewhat annoyed. Arinel sucked in deep breaths, struggling back to her calm old self.
"It means, over time, he wouldn't be able to live without it." She explained between pants, staring deep into Meya's wide eyes, "He'd need more and more just to satisfy his thirst, until he takes enough of it that it kills him."
Kill him? Coris?
A wave of freezing dread, the kind she had only ever felt when her family was threatened, sped up Meya's limbs to strangle her heart. Arinel's voice sounded tinny, as if echoing down from the pinhole mouth of the deep pit Meya was trapped in.
"The vendor probably sneaked some in there to make sure people keep coming back for more. You have to report this to Lady Jaise, so she could investigate."
Having shaken away the icy fingers of fear, Meya's pounding heart calmed. Taking deep breaths, she nodded.
"Right, I'll get Coris on it." She promised absently, eyes staring into space as her brain whirred. It wasn't that she didn't believe Arinel, but she found it hard to believe such a mundane cure could be that deadly. After all, Coris knew best about everything. He knew what he was doing. If he wasn't bothered, why should she be?
Satisfied, Meya turned back to Arinel. The Lady was still panic-stricken.
"So, how come you know it so well?" Meya asked as much to mask her lack of disquiet as out of curiosity. Another bout of shivers wracked Arinel, and Meya gathered her into her arms to comfort her.
"The healer who treated Agnes's burns had her take laudanum to ease her pain, but she never stopped." She whispered, her voice quivering, "It took us years to wean her off it. And it was harrowing."
Arinel shrank into Meya, her fingers twisting the fabric of Meya's tunic, as she squeezed her eyes shut at the horror of the memory.
"She went from rooting through the alchemist's stores to stealing my jewelry. When we cut her off all those, she went and nearly sold herself to the brothel." Arinel sobbed, and Meya held her close and rocked her gently, "If Jerald hadn't been there in time—"
As Arinel huddled up against her chest, Meya patted her back consolingly, yet, she still wasn't convinced, or concerned.
It was mind-boggling, the lengths Agnes went simply to get her hands on some potion. Coris wouldn't ever be that out of control, would he? It was just a few drops to sooth his bowels, for Freda's sake! What harm could it do?
Not to mention he was much older now than Agnes when she was dealing with her burns, too. And his pain, though constant, wasn't as traumatic as hers. He'd be able to control himself, surely. She had little to worry about.
Arinel's silent sobs subsided into sniffles. She straightened up, dabbing at her watery eyes, giving Meya a squeeze of thanks with her free hand, her expression now hard and solemn.
"We can't let her fall back into it again." She vowed, then glared at Meya, icy fingers gouging into her arms once more, "And you! Promise you'll get Coris off his laudanum, Meya. Promise me!"
Meya raised her hands in surrender as Arinel gave her another round of vigorous shaking.
"He'll be fine, milady. He dun have it that bad, I guess?" She suggested with a meek grin, cold sweat beading up along her hairline at the sight of Arinel's death glare, "He only takes a few drops, and he's sleeping well, and he wakes up refreshed and happy."
"Well, why is he only getting ever thinner, then?" Arinel's lips stretched into a mirthless smirk, as her eyebrows rose up and tucked themselves away behind her fringe. Meya's fingers tingled with trepidation.
"Why is he always sleeping? What about bowel movements? Is he passing regularly? Is he always nauseated or vomiting? How is he in bed? Is he having trouble satisfying you?"
"Well, y-yes, but—" Meya stammered as heated blood inundated her cheeks. Arinel had leaned so close, her glaring eyes seemed on the verge of swallowing Meya whole into those gaping black pupils. But then, her expression softened, and her hands on Meya's arm loosened.
"You can't let down your guard, Meya." She shook her head miserably. "Coris may be a prodigy, but he isn't wise. He may have changed, but he isn't free of his old ways. He lies to everyone—even himself. Zier would've said the same. We've known him since we were children, Meya. Trust me."
Meya's eyes widened and wavered in fear, then slid away in denial. Of course she'd find it hard to believe ill of him. Arinel gripped her shoulders tight, hoping against hope that all this would turn out to be just her usual overreacting.
"All these could be because he's ill. But it could also be that laudanum is exaggerating his symptoms, and he's passing it off as poor health." Arinel shook her shoulders, desperation spilling into her voice, "You see him take a few drops before bed. You don't see if he takes more behind your back. And he has the means to get as much as he needs, too."
Arinel glared, demanding a response. Yet, Meya could only bite down hard on her wobbling lips. She'd just made amends with Coris after his latest betrayal. And Arinel expected her to revert to the days of doubting and probing his every move again?
Her reunion with Coris had been a whirlwind of raw emotion, a maelstrom of peril and loss and watershed. It was difficult to believe it had been less than a fortnight since she'd taken his hand and stepped down from that carriage. And just when they were settling down for some simple happiness—another setback?
She wasn't ready. She didn't want to go back. Not to battle him. Not again. Not this soon.
Still Arinel was demanding. Still Meya was resisting. Then, both girls started and whirled back in unison. Silence had swooped back into the room—the splashing of water had ceased. Gretella and Agnes would be back out any second to find the two of them huddled in a corner under a blanket.
Meya turned back to find Arinel still staring expectantly at her. Avoiding her gaze, she tugged the blanket off them and nodded with a halfhearted promise.
"Alright. I'll talk to Coris when I get the chance."
🐉🐉🐉