Bishop Tenorus Riddell was a fair-haired, broad-chested hulk of a man. Standing two heads taller than the average fellow, his cheeks riddled with burns and scars instead of facial hair, at first glance, one would probably mistake him for a blacksmith or mercenary, if not for his long, magenta alchemist cloak, and ice-blue eyes twinkling with curiosity and steeped in knowledge.

After Sir Christopher had left, the sprightly priest beckoned Arinel out of his lab into the courtyard, where merchants, peasants and castle workers alike milled about doing their business.

The alchemists' labs were among the several outhouses built along the castle wall. Unlike other open-air lean-tos—for dyeing, washing, dressmaking, leather-working and numerous other jobs, the labs were walled to keep out contaminants from outside, and those walls were fortified with stone to withstand the experiments inside.

Riddell stopped at the next outhouse. It appeared to be two times larger than the average peasant cottage in Crosset. Its wooden door was barred with a heavy, rusty padlock, and a tacked piece of cowhide with DANGER scrawled across it in red ink. Above the door, a copper nameplate swayed in the breeze. Ornate gold-leafed letters gleamed upon it, framed with golden curlicues: Muldor.

Arinel couldn't help cocking her head. The name did seem familiar. She might have picked it up in a treatise somewhere. Meanwhile, Riddell slid out a crammed key-ring from his belt, humming as he thumbed for the right key.

"So, Meya, is it?" He chirped above the jingling, his voice high for a man of his size. His stunted-looking thumb flicked keys apart—Arinel noticed with a jolt it was missing a chunk. His palm was also parched and wrinkled as if burned with acid.

"Your first job is to clear out this place. It belonged to my late friend, Bishop Muldor. I need it well-aired and spotless, since I'll be using it for risky experiments. Fire, booms and flashes, as the general populace summed it up."

He tittered, satisfied with his little joke, while Arinel eyed the innocent laundry-maid walking by behind them. Finally, the alchemist found the key he wanted.

"Ah, here we are."

Riddell slotted the dull key into the padlock's hole and turned. The door's hinges were rusty, and years of humidity had bloated the wood. After a forceful shoulder-thump, it swung open.

The musty, moldy smell of disuse swept up first to greet them. All the lab's windows were shut, and from behind them the daylight shone upon an oaken worktable surrounded by numerous shelves crammed with dusty bottles and jars.

An elaborate distilling set gleamed on the table, its glass beakers with burnt bottoms sat empty but for dust. All intact. Muldor didn't die during an experiment. Unlike Mother. Lucky you, thought Arinel darkly.

There was a moment of silence as both Arinel and Riddell took in the scene before them; Arinel with curiosity and a touch of fear, and Riddell with nostalgic reminiscence. At long last, Riddell heaved a sad sigh.

"Right." Clearing his throat, he turned back to Arinel. "Muldor worked with some dangerous chemicals, but he was a meticulous chap. I don't expect there'll be anything hazardous lying around where they shouldn't be, but...it's been a decade. So, no haste. Be as careful as you can be."

Arinel nodded. Riddell then noticed the shelf beside the door. He picked up the nearest jar and wiped it with his apron, revealing the milky yellow powder swirling within. Sulfur, thought Arinel. And the faded, peeling label confirmed it.

"You don't know your letters, I believe?" Riddell asked as he checked the jar's top.

Arinel felt a sudden throb of anger on her temples, before she remembered she was supposed to be Meya the Maid here. Not Lady Arinel. She chewed her lip, hesitant. Would Riddell get suspicious if she told the truth?

"Actually...I do, sir." She eked out, fingers twisting her apron. Riddell's eyes grew round as dough-balls. He mouthed for a beat, before his face broke into a wide, delighted smile.

"Really? That's a pleasant surprise!" He chirped in his high-pitched voice, while Arinel blew a silent sigh of relief. Of course a literate maid would be given more work. And more work means more opportunities to rise.

Riddell set the sulfur jar back on the shelf, then clapped his hands together.

"Very well, then. I expect you'd find several bottles with interesting labels, but do not uncork any." He raised a strict finger, adopting a solemn tone. "Curiosity without caution has maimed many alchemists in this place. I should know, of course."

Riddell's blue eyes flicked down to his nub of a thumb, and he sighed. Then, he shrugged it off, gesturing at the contents of the lab.

"Dust the shelves. Clean out the glassware. Relabel the bottles." He rummaged in his tunic pocket and produced a pair of thick leather gloves. "These will protect your delicate fingers." Then he jerked his chin at Arinel's handkerchief poking out of her apron pocket. "Cover your mouth and nose," He gestured towards the far wall of the lab "And get those windows open right away. Everything you need, you can find in this shed here."

Riddell flourished his thumb in the direction of the wooden toolshed, leaning against the lab's stone wall. Arinel stretched to see past Riddell's hulking frame, then retreated back when the alchemist continued, wagging a cautious finger at her once again.

"Remember: No haste. Be as careful as you can. I'll be in my lab. Knock if there's anything."

And, with that simple parting, Bishop Riddell gave her a benign smile and walked briskly back to his workshop. Arinel bowed and waited until he had disappeared behind his door, before venturing into Muldor's lab.

Arinel knew a diligent maid should start working right away, but she just couldn't help herself. As soon as the windows were open, she swooped down over the distilling set on the oak table, examining the strangely-shaped flasks and elaborate layout from start to finish.

She used her apron to shine the glass and tapped it with her fingernail. She turned glass knobs and imagined liquid dripping from suspended bottles down to the waiting flask in the empty ice tub. She imagined a merry fire in the silent stove, and pictured red liquid bubbling in the empty beaker above.

She sidestepped through the aisle between cabinets as high as library bookshelves, turning bottles to see their peeling labels, then hastily drawing away from ones bearing dangerous names. Their contents came in all colors of the rainbow and all the shades in between. Some even glittered like gems. She could spend all day here just reorganizing them.

Ever since she could remember, she had been peeking through the windows of the lab Mother and her master used to work, seeing their replacements tinkling with weird-looking glassware and colorful chemicals, only to be dragged away screaming by Gretella, laughed at by her half-sisters, and told off by Father.

Your mother died in that very room, Father would roar, back when he still had enough energy in him, I had her cut open to save your life, and you're throwing it away in that cursed lab, too!?

Arinel had no comeback to that, but all she could give was empty promises, like pinky swears with crossies. She understood the logic of everyone's fear, but she just couldn't feel it.

When she peered into the lab, she weren't reminded of what once happened there. All she could see were interesting experiments with unpredictable results. It was like embroidery; you master the basics, then experiment with new patterns and techniques. Whenever she grew bored, Arinel liked inventing new patterns herself. So far she had wound up with nothing but tangled thread-balls, though.

After she had taken a thorough tour of the lab, Arinel stood with hands on her hips, glancing around, dithering. There were so many things to be done. Where should she start?

In the end, she decided on the worktable. After studying the distilling set for a moment, Arinel strode out to the shed and returned with two large wooden tubs, a stool, a sponge, a bar of soap, a brush and a bucket.

It took five trips to the well in the middle of the courtyard to fill the tubs. By the time she was done, Arinel's apron was splashed all over. Still, it wasn't as soaked as it was on her first day in the scullery, fetching water for the dishes. She was getting better at this.

Once the last bucket of water was emptied into the tub, Arinel tied her handkerchief over her mouth and nose, forced her fingers into the thick, humid leather gloves, then got to work dismantling the distilling set, loading the tubes and flasks carefully into the bucket.

One by one, Arinel dropped the glassware into the sudsy water in the first tub, then started scrubbing. Some of the flasks only needed a sponge to wipe off the grime. Some needed harder persuasion with the hog-hair brush. And some must be sandpapered with a wire brush to scrape off the charred remains sticking to the bottom.

Arinel was struggling with the sooty burner when, out of nowhere, a pair of warm hands slapped over her eyes.

Arinel almost jolted out of her skin, the metal burner dropping from her frozen fingers into the tub with a dull plonk. Just then, a breathy, laughing voice whispered into her ear.

"Guess who."

Zier. A voice screamed inside her in response. In less than a heartbeat, Arinel transitioned from terrified to relieved, overjoyed and disgruntled. In that order.

"Oh, it's you." She settled on flat and neutral, pretending to grope in the tub for the burner to wait out her giddy smile and blushing cheeks, scolding, "Don't scare me when I'm handling fragile things. Do you want me to lose my job on the first day?"

Zier couldn't help feeling disheartened at Arinel's lack of reaction. Years they had not seen each other, or even get to write each other. Ever since she came here, he'd been finding every chance he could to sneak away and reunite with her, yet she acted as if she couldn't want to see him any less.

Arinel had returned to her scrubbing as if he wasn't there, and Zier could only sigh, offering with a vague gesture of his hand.

"Want some help?"

"I don't have spare gloves." Arinel shot him down without a pause, her manner curt and distant, then went straight to business before he could slither away. "Where's Meya Hild?"

Zier allowed himself another covert sigh before complying.

"Coris managed to drag himself out of bed today, so he's dismissed me from wife-sitting duty. They're probably taking a tour of the manor. As scheduled."

He elaborated, using chatter to mask his silent movement. By the time Arinel knew what was going on, his arms were already around her torso and his nose was burrowing into her hair.

Arinel mounted a feeble struggle, forcing herself to turn away from his thirsty lips as her whole body collapsed like putty against candleflame.

"Zier, don't."

"Please. It's been three years since our first time." He tightened his embrace. Arinel's whole face burned at the reminder.

"Which will be our last." She shot back, harsh and final. She could feel Zier jolting, along with her own heart, but she did not relent. "I'm betrothed to your brother, Zier."

"You're not you anymore, remember?" Zier raised a shrewd eyebrow, his expression blank.

"I'm always me." Arinel cut short, her voice flat. "Have you talked with Meya? What did she say?"

Zier had already opened his mouth to argue, but gave it up and shrugged, nonchalant as ever.

"She said she's happy with keeping the status quo."

"Did she?" Arinel turned to face Zier. She stood up, forcing him to follow suit and back away, her narrowed eyes dropping in temperature in tandem with her voice. "And what did you tell her? Did you mention what I said?"

Zier's mouth opened before he could think; his first instinct telling him to lie. But then he caught sight of Arinel's piercing blue eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to. In fact, he never could.

Taking a deep breath, Zier replied in a low voice.

"I told her you're not feeling worthy, and that you're happy with your new job."

There was silence for a beat, during which Zier held his breath and steeled himself, planting his feet firm on the floor, before Arinel exploded like a spectacular fireworks mishap.

"No, that is not what I said at all!" Arinel stabbed a finger at Zier's chest, stretching herself up towards Zier's wincing face.

"I made that deal with Meya, yes. But I didn't think it would be over this soon. The situation's changed. We need to tell your family the truth now! While we still can. I'll vouch for Meya. She will be pardoned and rewarded. Have you told her any of that?"

Arinel's arms flailed in exasperation. Huffing, she glared at the younger boy, who dipped his gaze and scratched his nape. Her well of patience running dry, Arinel nodded, her voice cold as ice.

"Fine. I'll speak with her myself."

Arinel yanked off her gloves and marched to the door, leaving Zier to scramble after her.

"Ari, wait! Stop!"

And stop Arinel did; Zier's nose was inches from her. The lady's calm blue eyes scanning Zier's outstretched arms simmered with anger beneath, then she settled on his wavering eyes.

"You're thinking of keeping me from Coris, aren't you?" Somehow, her soft, level voice scared Zier even more than Coris's yell. Then, she shook her head, like an elder sister cautioning her little brother. "Lies are not meant to last, Zier."

Zier's sweaty fingers twisted the hem of his shirt. He shook his head vigorously, as if he could dislodge the truth from his head and flick it off his shoulders. He leaned towards Arinel, staring straight into her eyes.

"Meya slept with Coris. And you slept with me." He whispered, as Arinel colored with both shame and fury. Then he gave a defiant shrug. "The damage is done, Ari. Meya can't go back to Crosset, and you can't marry Coris."

"So, instead of simply asking your parents to ignore that, you're willing to lie to them for the rest of your life?" Arinel hissed right back, flabbergasted. Zier did not seem in the least fettered.

"So? It's what I've been doing all this time, isn't it?" He raised a dismissive eyebrow. Then, his expression became dark as he added in a dead, solemn voice. "For you."

It took a while for the inkling in those blue eyes to sink in. Events of last night came back in flashes of images and snippets of sounds.

Zier tried to steal the Axel for her sake, and now it was stuck inside his stomach. With all the things going on, she still hadn't had time to sit down and process that harrowing, chilling fact. And even now, she didn't know how she was feeling, how she should be feeling.

Even so, Arinel forced herself to stare right back, willing herself not to tremble.

"You didn't have to. And you still don't." She said heartlessly, and Zier blanched as a slight sneer pulsed at the corner of her lips. "And it backfired, didn't it? I'm still betrothed to Coris. He's not fat or obnoxious anymore but he's dying. And I would have already become his if not for all this."

"So you'd sleep with him too if I let you marry him? Because he's changed?" Zier threw out his arm, eyes wide in disbelief and disgust. Arinel did not miss that; her voice rose to a shriek.

"I'm his wife, Zier! How in the three lands could I avoid that? Why are you being so dense!?"

"Dense? Me?" Zier jabbed a finger at his chest, yet Arinel stood by her word, and he shook his head in frustration. "You know you'll never get what you want out of your life as yourself. This is your chance. And you're throwing it away for what? Honesty? Honor? Duty? Your father? My brother?"

Zier hitched up a mocking grin, and Arinel clenched her fists to keep her temper in check. Especially when he added bluntly. "They're not going to live for much longer, Ari, but you are."

"No-one knows that for sure, Zier!" Arinel snapped, livid from fury.

"Well, I do!" Zier retorted, "And if it's the last thing I do, I'd make sure you're not bound by their decisions for the rest of your life!"

Zier's ringing voice echoed around the dim room, giving way to heavy silence as two pairs of blue eyes clashed. One willing to show nothing but resigned righteousness, while the other burned with rebellious determination. Yet, Arinel could see the plea for sympathy, the longing, the bitter anguish in his eyes, and she relented.

She reached out, her shaking arms jerky with hesitance, as her walls crumbled from stone to dust. Zier threw himself into her arms, and she held him as he trembled, whispering as she patted his hair.

"I was yours. I still am. I always will be. Isn't that enough for us? For you?"

To her dismay, the young lord tensed and pulled away. As Arinel stared in confusion, Zier wiped his face with his sleeve. When he looked up once more, his eyes were dead and cold as a frozen corpse in a snowdrift.

"I've been tied to duty all my life. And I've become one with it. For you." His blue eyes zeroed in on her. Then, his mask fell, and his voice shivered as he shook his head, begging.

"I know you never asked me to steal the Axel. But if you pity me at all, please...don't let it be for naught."

With that, the younger Lord Hadrian turned and swept away, leaving Arinel to crumple over her stool, hands cradling her temples, at a loss of what she should do.