The clepsydra had ticked by a full minute since Coris's fluttering Hadrian Red cloak disappeared behind the door, but the room was still shrouded in an uncertain silence.

The four fugitives agreed it was best to wait for the echo of their liege's sheepskin slippers on the flagstones to die away first. So as not to seem disrespectful. And once it did, their unfriendly gazes gravitated towards Arinel and Meya, the two oddballs.

The two girls, in turn, stared at each other. Meya shrugged awkwardly, a pleading look in her glowing eyes. With a sigh, Arinel turned back and spoke up first, her voice rather timid.

"I believe we haven't had a proper introduction?"

"Perhaps we could, once we have gotten rid of these torture devices on our ears." Replied Sir Christopher crossly. Perhaps he would have looked more cross if not for the two clothespins jutting out from his ears.

Oh, that.

Meya sprang up from her seat. She strode towards the door, bolted it, then made her way back just as nonchalantly.

"There, my lieges and ladies. You'll have ample time to resume your positions before Lord Coris enters."

The noble teens gawked and blinked at her all the way from the door to Coris's study desk. Once Meya had slumped back down on the cushioned high-backed chair, Sir Simon smirked in good fun.

"Seems we have added a kindred soul to our ranks." He declared. Lady Fione nodded in concurrence as she extricated the pins from her ears. Clamping her hands together as if in prayer, she stared airily up at the ceiling and crooned.

"Aw, Coris would go ballistic." Her take of the situation was quite unexpected. She turned to Heloise, who churned her lips in dismayed remembrance,

"Remember that time on Fool's Week when we locked him out, stacked his Rune tomes into towers then sling-shot his balled-up silk underpants at them? I swear to Freda, those were some smooth sailing. You agree, Meya?"

Meya jumped, then blushed at the twinkling inkling in Fione's playful brown eyes. Until Coris disrobed before her that first night, she didn't believe anyone would actually have his bum and Freda-knows-what-else wrapped in silk. She pictured Coris yelling to be let in while Simon chucked his beloved pants at his beloved books, and nodded solemnly.

Yeah, the lad definitely had that coming.

"Wonder whose stroke of genius that was." Sir Christopher muttered. Heloise shrugged then suggested the obvious solution, which did not include teasing Coris's dangerously taut sanity vein. Or sling-shooting underpants, for that matter.

"You could just have us read your letter for you, Meya Hild."

Heloise gestured a dainty hand at Meya, her iridescent metal bracelet swinging gently on her wrist. Meya forced herself to look away from the mesmerizing rainbow gleam, shaking her head matter-of-factly.

"I've thought of that, Lady Heloise. But you know Lord Coris better than me, and even I know he'll have ways of testing whether I actually know the words on this thing." She picked up Jezia's letter and wiggled it, then slapped it back down on the desk.

"Fair point." Heloise cocked her head then heaved a sigh, continuing her lines in resignation, clothespins still on her ears. Christopher followed suit.

Simon and Fione, however, were already up and about, swinging their tired, numb legs. They drifted close and coagulated around Meya, admiring her constipated grimace as she struggled to identify an alphabet.

Meya glanced back and forth between her letter and a piece of parchment, upon which Coris had listed out the twenty-or-so letters, then hazarded a guess.

"Er...is this...bah?" She turned to Arinel, tapping her fingertip under the letter. Arinel shook her head, correcting patiently.

"No, it's hah. Like your family name, Hild."

With a growl of frustration, Meya dropped her face smack onto Jezia's letter, startling Arinel. She mussed up her hair, which was still tied back in a simple, loose ponytail; Haselle wasn't called in to braid up her hair today.

"How long will it take for me to read all this? I can't even remember all the letters yet!"

"Long enough for some stubbornly loyal ears to fall off from poor blood circulation, I'd say." Simon quipped, then hollered at the two pairs of glaring eyes aimed at him.

"You two had better take a break and come help. She won't be done anytime soon."

"I'm sorry. I'm a dung-brained peasant girl." Meya moaned, voice muffled as her face was still planted on the desk, while Arinel squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. Christopher and Heloise met eyes, then sighed and traipsed over, plucking out their clothespins along the way.

Christopher slid Coris's alphabet table around the pile of Meya's messy hair towards himself, his lips pursed in thought as he studied it, then he suggested,

"My governess used to have me recite a song to memorize the table." He raised a fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat. He glanced at Meya, who had at long last resurfaced, her nose now smudged with charcoal, then jabbed a finger at the first letter at the upper-left corner, "A says ah. Amplevale. B says buh. Borea-"

"...ring." Simon finished for him, shrugging at Christopher's raised eyebrows, then proposed, "How about...A says ah. Arinel. B says buh. Beau. Rest in peace."

Simon clapped his hands together in prayer, tilting his head to call attention to Beau's portrait on the far wall. And, in that moment, it seemed as if the same spark of inspiration had lit up in everyone's brains. The teens stared at each other, eyes wide in excitement, then Fione interjected,

"Ooh, ooh, I've got one!" Fione bobbed about, her hand stretched taut towards the ceiling, "C says cah. Coris. D says duh. Donghead."

"Why must it always be the obscene with you?" Heloise tutted. Simon, however, gave a barking laugh of approval then went on,

"E says eh. Emery Nethan."

"F says fuh. Fione." Fione pointed two thumbs at her chest, unperturbed. Meya nodded vigorously, reciting under her breath as she moved her finger from letter to letter on the parchment, keeping up.

"G says guh. Gretella." Arinel joined in, a small smile on her lips as she side-eyed Heloise, who obligingly took the baton,

"H says hah. Heloise."

On and on the rhyme went, until Arinel ended with,

"Z says zzz. Zier."

Meya's finger skidded to a halt at the last letter in the table. And a solid, abrupt silence closed in around the throng, airtight as a cloak drawn close against the winter cold. For a few restrained breaths nobody spoke or met eyes, all staring at the name Arinel had just flourished under the large, bold Z to help Meya memorize.

Zier.

Finally, Fione mused in a rare moment of somberness.

"Wonder how Zier's doing."

"Knowing Coris, probably much worse than us." Simon quipped. Yet, there was no snark in his subdued tone. Everyone paused, then nodded unanimously.

"Well, I could understand him, though." Heloise suggested as she gave Arinel a quick, apologetic glance, "Must be heartbreaking watching the woman you love marry your brother."

Arinel blushed, but didn't comment in return. Yet, her hands twisting the fabric of her tattered maid dress were clenched so tightly her knuckles shone white. Noticing her good friend's apparent discomfort, Meya cleared her throat and steered away.

"I'll start over at the beginning," Grabbing up the parchment with renewed vigor, she recited clearly, "A says ah. Arinel..."

Meya's voice rang in tandem with the steady drip of the clepsydra, interspersed now and then by the other teens' voices correcting her errors. Tiny, translucent minnows in the clepsydra's three-foot-long glass tank darted about, weaving between the waving needles of swishing reeds, avoiding the rippling rays of late morning sunlight filtered through blowing curtains.

It took Meya dozens of tries, but with each try, she got further and further in the rhyme before making a mistake. Finally, once she had gotten to the end without a single hiccup, she felt confident enough to challenge Jezia's letter to a rematch.

Sucking in a deep breath, Meya raised the charcoal-smudged paper to her eyes, then let it out along with her voice,

"Meya...we hope this...letter...reaches...you well," She screwed her eyes, piecing together each word one syllable at a time, and each syllable one letter at a time,

"Our... caravan...will join...the May Fest in...Hadrian. Maro...Marcus...Myron...Farmer Hild...Deke and Farmer... Armorheim...will be coming with us. We'll be staying at the...Silver Jug Inn. Send word...when and where to meet.

Love, Jezia and Jason.

Postscript...A very...happy...seventeenth...birthday...from all of us."

Blowing out a sigh of exhaustion, Meya laid the paper down then glanced around the circle. Nobody said anything, but Simon was smirking. And Arinel beamed at her. At that, Meya slammed her fist onto her palm in triumphant glee, sliding so far down Coris's chair she could feel her toes brushing Heloise's crimson dress.

"Fin'lly! Freda bless me bum! Agh, there goes me poor 'eart. Jezia's a-coming! An' Jason! An' Deke! An' the boys an'...Ah, crap..."

Meya's yell petered out into a low groan, her dialect returning to standard Latakian. Pressing her trembling hands down on the armrests, she pushed herself back up, jubilation fizzling away into pure terror, when she remembered one crucial detail she had glossed over. Her face draped in a veil of gloom, Meya concluded in a strangled moan.

"Dad? Aw, Jezia Boszel, why? What have you done? You've brought Fyr's boat straight to my dock!"

Meya's face found itself stamping a seal on Jezia's letter on the desk once more, as she contemplated Dad's reaction to everything that had happened in the past weeks. Frowning at Meya's melodramatic reaction, Christopher picked up the letter he must have read some three dozen times while he waited for Meya to decipher it, and scanned it once more,

"Who are all these people?" He asked Meya, who had swayed her charcoal-smudged face back up like a drunken snake, staring ahead somewhere around Heloise's midriff but not seeing it.

"Maro, Marcus and Myron are my brothers. Jezia and Deke are my best friends. Jason is Jezia's dad. He's a merchant. Sells precious stones and jewelry. Farmer Armorheim is Deke's dad. And Farmer Hild's my dad. Apparently."

She chanted, her voice dull and dead, concluding with a heavy sigh. Shoulders hunched, she retrieved Jezia's letter from Christopher, folded it into a tiny square, then slotted it into her usual safekeeping pocket; that is, her brassiere.

"Anyway, I shouldn't get my hopes up...or down...yet. For all I know, Lord Coris might not allow me to go see them."

As if to answer Meya's prayers, the door jerked inwards on its hinges with a resounding thud, sending the six troublemakers jumping. Probably the result of the Baron's son mistaking the door to his own quarters to be unbolted.

A few whispered swears filtered through, in a hoarse voice definitely belonging to Coris.

"Yeah. Maybe not lock your liege out of his room next time you want a day off?" Simon interrupted the horrified silence.

"Simon! Fione! You two had better not be poking through my possessions again, or I swear to Chione you'll be charcoal by the time I'm done with you!"

Coris's demented bellow sent even the door trembling. Ignoring the chill freezing up her spine, Meya sprang up and bolted to the door. With swift fingers she slid aside the well-oiled metal bolt and heaved open the heavy wood.

"Lord Coris, I'm so sorry. It was me. I just didn't want to be gatecrashed." Her words tumbled over each other in her hurry. She studied Coris, who was paler than usual with rage, silvery eyes wide and blazing, then noticed a twitchy Zier loitering just behind, and realized there was something on his mind other than flying underpants.

"My liege, what's wrong? You're spitting fire."

Coris glowered at her in what Meya personally dubbed the You think? look, for lack of better terminology.

"Ask him." He spat, jerking his chin towards his younger brother. Everyone's focus snapped to Zier, and the handsome young lord gulped in dismay, raising both hands in a hopeful attempt to ease the tension.

"I...uh..." He stammered, blue eyes flicking back and forth between his brother, and said brother's de-facto peasant wife, a sheepish grin tugging on his lips.

"I might have just landed you and Coris an indefinite honeymoon in the most coveted country house in Latakia."

Seeing the confusion in Meya's raised eyebrows and glowing eyes, he elaborated,

"Villa Lapis, in Safyre."

⏳

As the seemingly contrite Zier gave a disapproving Arinel and the four attendants a recap of what he had done to rankle his unflappable brother so, Coris calmed himself with several sips of lukewarm honey-ginger tea as he read Jezia's short letter, retrieved from Meya's generous chest compartment.

Meya's eyes followed Coris's stormy gray irises as they glided across the paper. For a split-second, they stopped, as if stumbling over a word that had stood out of line, then zeroed in on it.

Meya itched to poke her fingers at Coris's fixed eyes then trace an imaginary line from them to the letter, to see what he was staring at, but she already had a vague, ominous idea what that word might be.

Armorheim

Farmer Armorheim was the one who kidnapped Coris back in the Famine. Had Coris recognized his name? Would he punish Draken and the rest of the men in the party?

Though the thought of Krulstaff, Brodel and Yorfus getting a brief stint in the cell under the drawbridge hadn't bothered Meya that much—that demented butcher did suggest lobbing her hands off, after all—she didn't want to see them get the gallows or the block, just for doing what they needed to for their families.

Farmer Armorheim, on the other hand, had always been kind to Meya. And then there's Deke. What would he do without his father?

Dang it, Jezia. I'd rather it was just you and us young folk. Why d'you have to go and bring the adults, too?

Coris had put down the letter and smoothed it on the desk. His eyes had not left it, but he was no longer reading it. He was calculating. Planning. As he often did.

At long last, he sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together, glancing up at his surrounding, arguing friends.

Zier stopped making excuses for himself, leaving Arinel to pause mid-scold, confused. Simon, Christopher, Fione and Heloise stood to attention. They knew that stance; their liege had reached a conclusion.

"Your orders, Coris?" As was customary, Christopher spoke first, his voice clipped and solemn. Coris nodded, then turned first to Meya, who was standing before his desk.

"Meya, you can go see your family and friends. However,"

Meya didn't even have enough time to decide whether she should be thrilled or terrified when Coris raised the conditional finger of doom,

"I shall be accompanying you. Under a disguise, of course."

The ultimatum was unexpected as well as obvious. Meya felt a chill rush down her spine, and she clenched her fists in frustration, struggling and failing to keep her voice level.

"Why, my liege? Don't you have other more pressing matters to attend to?"

"No, I don't." Coris enunciated, his expression sour as spoiled milk, "Need I remind you that Father wishes for us to, to put it mildly, stay in this room and copulate as frequently as possible, which we agreed we won't?"

Coris cocked his head, eyes wide and staring, challenging her. As Meya chewed her lips in annoyance, he took the opening to explain himself, more calmly this time.

"You mentioned Jason Boszel is a merchant trading in precious stones. I'd like to talk to him about the shortage, that's all."

"Then I won't go." Meya cut across, her face reddening. Coris blinked, affronted. "I risked my life for you twice, my liege. It offends me that you don't trust me enough not to betray you or spill your secrets."

"I've just told you, Meya. I simply want to talk to the merchant. I won't be there to keep an eye on you." Coris's tone was of impatient reassurance. Meya gave a barking laugh of scorn.

"Simply talk, my stinky foot!"

"So you accuse me of not trusting you when you don't trust me yourself?"

Coris retorted coolly, a triumphant eyebrow raised. Meya started, then gritted her teeth in begrudging surrender, having no comeback to that.

All the while, those silvery eyes stared at her. They were stern, but also understanding. And Meya found herself averting her gaze, scratching her head.

"Calm down. And think carefully, Meya." Coris went on, his voice now gentle as usual, "We have three days left until May Fest, then it's off to Safyre we go." Meya felt her breath catching at the reminder. Hearing Coris saying it out loud didn't help,

"This might be the last chance you would get to see them in a long time. If you have nothing to hide from me, why must you be so flustered?"

Meya twisted her nightdress and looked away, eyes darting about in desperation.

She chanced a fleeting glance at Coris. He seemed sincere. He might just want to talk to Jason like he had insisted. Hear things straight from the people instead of through the bailiff. But would he remember Draken's face when he saw him, and vice versa? Would he pardon Draken if she implored him to—or if she coerced him to?

Meya's eyes widened as her own voice rang inside her head.

"If you betray me, I'll tell everyone where The Axel is, putting Zier in grave danger."

Always ask for something binding when you strike a deal.

Meya finally understood Coris's advice.

Coris had said he abhorred killing. It didn't seem like him to hold grudges, and he was merciful to Meya even when he had suspected from the start that she was an impostor. Meya wanted to believe in his kind heart, but on the slight chance that she was wrong about him, she still held The Axel's secret over him.

It pained Meya to have to play dirty with Coris, but she had no choice. Not going to meet everyone would seem suspicious to Coris and draw even more attention to Draken. And it wasn't like she wasn't thrilled to see her friends and her brothers. In the end, she decided to shrug and steer away.

"I-I just—I don't want you to see Dad bury me alive." She pretended to stammer. The taste of the lie was bitter as poison on her tongue.

"Then all the more reason I should go with you." Coris pressed on, suspecting nothing, "Should the need arise, I'll reveal myself and explain everything to him."

Meya doubted her ears. It was an unexpected offer, and the prospect surprised her as much as it scared her. Would Dad approve of her actions during the heist? Even with Coris promising to vouch for her, Meya didn't feel much more reassured.

Somehow, the mere flash of Dad's cold brown eyes in her mind could sap her of whatever newfound confidence she had gained from Arinel and Coris, and Meya felt like she normally did back home in Crosset—a failure.