"Meya! Meya, wait!"

Maro scrambled out of his chair, but Meya was much closer to the exit. He'd taken barely two steps before she sent the door crashing back into its frame. Knowing Meya and her rare yet vindictive temper, he knew it was futile to pursue her. Especially when it was about Marin.

"By Fyr, Marin. Now she hates you for life."

Blowing out a disgruntled breath, Maro collapsed back to his chair and raked a hand through his hair. Before any of his remaining siblings could offer a consolation or a remark, however, an unfamiliar calm, cool voice pierced the silence—

"It's you, isn't it, Deke Armorheim?"

Everyone whirled around to Silvan Joplund, then to the accused farmer boy.

Deke had gone ghastly pale to his trembling lips, which were pressed hard together. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to go invisible and reappear in Crosset a week earlier. But the truth was already evident in his eyes.

"It's you, Deke?" Maro managed to croak. Deke whipped around on impulse, then back as if slapped hard, wide eyes darting about. Maro felt his heart seizing up. "You've lain with Marin?"

"All this time! Why haven't you fessed up?" Marcus snarled, fists clenched and face red in fury, then bolted to his feet, "You left her to deal with all that alone while you're enjoying the Fest here!?"

Marcus's fist slammed onto the table so hard his utensils bounced and clanked about in the plate. Deke cowered even lower in his seat as Myron stared, pale and speechless with shock. Morel, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically solemn.

"Is it true, Deke?"

Draken finally spoke. Unlike Maro and Marcus, his voice was steady, strong and calm, yet undercut with spine-chilling, simmering fury. When the lad remained tightlipped, he exploded.

"IS IT TRUE, DEKE!?"

"Yes, Dad."

Deke confessed at last in a passing attempt at mouse language, his back curled like a babe in its mother's womb, which was probably what he would've dearly loved to turn into right now.

"Of all the things!" Draken bolted up and paced, arms flailing to help vent his fury, "What in the three lands were you thinking? Or you weren't?"

Draken whipped around and glowered at Deke, who started in fright and shame. He squeezed himself into the corner of his chair furthest from his father, who marched back then jabbed a trembling finger repeatedly at his face.

"You know what your poor mother went through. What you yourself went through. You're damning Marin and your child to the same fate, and you're running away and cowering like a coward! My son! A coward!"

Draken spat the words up at the ceiling, as if protesting the gods that be for plaguing him with such a spawn. It was likely that unfiltered disgust in his voice that spurred Deke to explain himself,

"I'm five years younger than Marin. I've no idea how to provide for a child." His words shivered as hard as his shaking head. He looked up at Draken, eyes red-rimmed and beseeching, "And Meya hates Marin! What am I to do, Dad?"

"Only the right thing, Deke!" Draken rolled his eyes at the Heights, then glared at his son, "But are you a man enough for that?"

Echoes faded away into silence as father and son locked eyes, one of freezing rage and the other of paralyzing fear. At long last, Draken broke off and turned away.

"You know what you should do." He concluded brusquely.

Deke looked up and studied his father's stony profile. Though still shivering, his eyes hardened with resolve for the first time since entering the room—or perhaps, since this ordeal began.

"Here, lad. I'll be right beside you." Jason ambled over with a gentle smile. With a warm yet firm hand on Deke's shivering back, he and Jezia led the troubled young father on his way to redemption. The door closed behind them with a barely audible snap.

As if the strings holding him had snapped, Draken plummeted to his chair, head in his hands. Maro rested a hand on his shoulder. A gesture of forgiveness Draken felt he didn't deserve.

"I'm so, so sorry, Maro. I was an irresponsible man. And I raised my son to be just like me." He whispered through brimming tears and jittery fingers.

"It's not your fault, Draken." Maro shook his head, sniffing back tears as well.

Draken clasped his roughened palm over Maro's less weathered hand. All through the exchange, Silvan Joplund's silvery eyes kept watch on the fair-haired farmer.

"Now that that has been dealt with, let's cut the pretense and get down to business, shall we, Draken Armorheim?" He steepled his fingers, disturbing the scene with a serene address.

The Crossetians whipped around, eyes bulging. They had just fully acknowledged the presence of the three outsiders around their table.

The mysterious boy creaked up a sly smile as his gaze zeroed in on Draken, who had just remembered his initial worry, now that the family feud was out of the way. The boy cocked his head.

"You remember me, I believe?"

Even as his eyes remained fixed upon his old foe before him, Draken felt numerous blue and brown eyes focused on him from several different angles. Resigning himself for his last, he took a deep breath and nodded heavily.

"Yes, I do, Lord Coris Hadrian."

There was a pause, then the room erupted.

"Coris Hadrian?" Marcus exclaimed.

"Th-th-th-the one you kidnapped in the Famine?" Myron stammered and pointed with a trembling finger.

"The very same." Lord Coris replied in his place, serenely observing their horrified stares as he flourished a hand to re-introduce his companions, "This is my brother Zier, and my betrothed Arinel."

Marcus and Myron blinked at the now brown-haired Lady Arinel, then exchanged swift looks. Maro had more sense of priority, however.

"Does Meya know, my Lord? Has she summoned us here on your orders?" He laid his clenched fist on the table, wide brown eyes and brown freckles standing out on his pallid cheeks.

"Yes and no." Coris leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands, "I believe she does know about our history, but isn't counting on me recognizing Draken, and vice versa."

Draken shook his head, eyes wide.

"What is going on, my liege? How have you come to know Meya?"

"It's a complicated and astonishing tale. One that makes me secretly glad Farmer Hild couldn't join us this evening." Coris replied. His smile vanished as he met Draken's apprehensive gaze.

"Arinel's entourage was held hostage by Nostran Greeneye mercenaries looking for a certain Hadrian possession. Meya assumed Arinel's identity and wed me in her place to spy on me, but she had a change of heart, alerted me of the plan, and together we drove the mercenaries away. Yet, I'm sure this is far from over, so I have Meya remain in the masquerade to assist me."

"She—she wed you, my lord?" Maro squeaked, an incredulous look on his face. Coris blew a soft sigh of brewing annoyance.

"Yes."

"And did she—I mean, did you two—" Morel pointed one finger at the door, then another at Coris. Coris sighed once more.

"Yes, we did. Multiple times." He added. Ignoring the Hilds' flabbergasted reactions, he closed his eyes, tamped down his fit of pique, then turned back to Draken, "You've guessed why I'm here, I presume?"

Draken clenched his shivering hands. As the children watched with bated breath, he bent his back and touched his forehead to the tabletop.

"My lord. If it is my life you want, I am willing. All I ask is safe passage for Jason and the young ones, and that you spare those under my command that night."

"Draken, no!" Maro gasped. He grasped Draken's shoulder, but his eyes were on Coris, wide and scared as those of his siblings.

Coris studied the fear of the peasants as they stood in solidarity with their good friend. Seven years ago, he would have proudly regarded it as proof of his formidableness, but thanks to what happened in Crosset that day, he felt nothing but guilt. And he welcomed it.

"Farmer Armorheim. Draken." He willed his voice to be tender, his gaze to be sincere. He leaned in, and Draken flinched back. It was a mark of how repulsive a creature he had been, that a man who kept a dragon hidden for seven years was intimidated by him.

"If I had intended to take revenge, I would have done so the moment I reached safety seven years ago." The peasants relaxed. But only slightly. Coris hitched up a bitter grin.

"Yes. The old me would have done that, but I knew I was never in actual harm. Even if I were, you were doing it under your bailiff's command, with your family's survival on the line. When I understood that, I forgave you."

Draken gawked in utter disbelief. Maro's hand on his shoulder relaxed. None of them seemed inclined to respond just yet, so Coris continued,

"That is the reason I am here." He tapped a long, pale finger on the wood, eyes locked with Draken's, "You are saved by the same peasant girl who saved me. I made a pact with her that night. You and your men's lives, and bread for her brothers and sisters, in exchange for safe passage to Truncale."

He drew back and fell against his chair, looking suddenly grim and withered,

"I resolved to find her and reward her, but my memory has betrayed me." Coris's eyes wandered the thin air, as if watching his lifeline eroding away before him, sliver by sliver. "I don't have much time left. When I saw your name in Jezia's letter, I knew this might be my last lead."

At the sight of those weary silvery eyes, Draken felt a lone drop of trust blossoming in the whirlpool of terror despite himself, dissipating it to reveal his lingering shame.

He bore no ill will towards the boy. He'd been ready to accept his punishment, since that night he reluctantly offered to lead the kidnapping party, as Friar Tumney implored him to, lest the task landed upon hotheaded Grogan Krulstaff, who might inflict more damage than was necessary. And though young Lord Coris had shown sympathy, he still felt a famine did not excuse threatening an innocent child.

Still conflicted, Draken gazed on as his former captive rested a corpse-like hand upon his heart.

"I swear by the honor of Hadrian that no harm will come to anyone involved." Coris pledged, his voice grave. "To show good faith, I shall tell you what I remember first."

Coris's gaze wandered as he rifled through his shattered memories. He noticed the flickering flame of the smoldering candle at the center of the table. He saw the past through flickering eyes, glancing between Draken and Krulstaff occupied with their altercation, and the feeble lamp in Draken's hand. He felt the noose burning against his neck loosening in Krulstaff's hand. Should he seize it before making a break for it?

"You were having an argument with Grogan Krulstaff. The butcher, Brodel, was about to clobber me when we heard movement in the trees. You readied your crossbows, then Krulstaff shot."

Coris frowned, hesitating as his stream of recollections stuttered,

"Then, there was—a scream. A girl's. You ran off to see to her, but a gust of wind knocked you back."

The room had fallen so silent, one could hear the draft teasing the candlelight. The Hild siblings glanced back and forth between Coris and Draken. In all the times they'd nagged Draken to retell his kidnapping mission, Draken had glossed over exactly how Coris had escaped.

"There was a flash of bright light, then everything fell dark. Then there was a—roar." Coris struggled to find the right word. He shook his head, unsatisfied with his choice. "It was unlike any animal I've known. There was fire everywhere. Then I saw it."

Coris stared at the empty air above their heads, where it had been. His breathing quickened.

"Its body was covered with metallic scales. It had two enormous wings, sharp metal claws and a long snout lined with metal fangs. It looked like the creature on the wall paintings of the Chapel. The one that carried my ancestor over the sea. A dragon."

Myron shivered in Marcus's arms. Arinel and Zier were frozen in their seats. Though Coris's kidnapping was synonymous to the Crosset Famine and known throughout Meriton, his wondrous escape was simply credited to his prodigy. No-one knew the specifics of how he did it. Throughout the years, Coris had remained elusive about the details, and folks assumed he was ashamed of being taken hostage in the first place.

"The dragon grabbed me, flew me high above the forest and towards the mountains. Krulstaff's arrow was still stuck in its front leg, and it kept screaming because that leg was rotting slowly. It couldn't get the arrowhead out with me in one claw, and it was falling unconscious. I pulled the arrow out for it. We crash-landed in a cave, and I fainted from the impact."

"When I woke again, there was a little girl beside me. She was naked, and there was a rotting wound on her arm."

"Her arm?" Maro mouthed, his sweaty hand on Draken's shoulder trembling as the truth began to dawn. Coris nodded, his eyes setting upon each Hild sibling in turn.

"She had glowing acid-green eyes. Exactly like the dragon."

Morel's cheeks lost whatever color that remained. The only part of Marcus that was moving were his blinking eyelids. Myron's stayed folded up. Coris's gaze wandered once more.

"The rot was spreading fast. I tried the tourniquet, but it was little help. Then I noticed the arrow was melted where it touched her blood. And it was attracted to my ruby brooch, which contains a Lattis razor. I hovered the arrow over her wound to pull the melted particles in place, then sucked the poisoned blood out with my mouth."

"We huddled under my cloak through the night. She sang lullabies to comfort me. Her body heat kept me from freezing to death. The next morning, we went down the mountain. She blew on snow and melted it so we could drink, and gathered acorns to sustain us for the trek to Truncale."

"She stayed behind in the woods as I walked to the immigration outpost. I showed the yeomen my insignia and asked them to leave a sack of food near the forest's entrance, then I collapsed of exhaustion and woke up two days later on the way to Hadrian. By that time, I could no longer remember her face. Up until seven years later."

"The day before my marriage, I met Meya, disguised as my betrothed. When we lay together, I noticed she had a large scar on her left arm. The exact place the dragon was hit by the arrow."

Coris slithered his hand under his cloak, rummaging through the various pockets in the lining.

"I noticed the medallion she was wearing was made from the same metal as Krulstaff's arrow."

He reached across the table and deposited the bloodstained, broken arrowhead on the wood. The Hilds leaned forward. The Krulstaff insignia, a scepter mounted with a sun, looked distorted when touched by the candle's glow.

"One morning while Meya was asleep, I took it out for a closer look. She felt it and opened her eyes. They were glowing green."

Coris glanced at each of the Hilds, then paused at Draken.

"I need to be sure. There could be other Greeneyes." He pleaded, his voice soft yet solemn.

Draken's emotions surged and fought, his tense jaw and throbbing temple vein betraying his turmoil. Finally, he sighed and nodded.

"There is no other, my Lord." He shook his head and met Coris's gaze. "This last seventeen years, Meya's the only living Greeneye in Crosset."

Even as he had anticipated it, Coris fell like a dead weight thrown against his chair. Draken went on, his hairy arms shivering on the tabletop.

"Your memories are accurate. You have my word, and the words of my men who had witnessed it that night. You weren't hallucinating. That was a dragon that rescued you. And it was Meya that Grogan shot."

Draken heaved a sigh. He seemed disturbed by the unpleasant recollections, yet also relieved—the weight of the secret, once borne alone, was finally shared. Tapping his fist on the wood, he licked his dry lips and went on,

"Her father and I are close. As close as Deke and Meya are now. I recognized her voice when she screamed. I recognized her eyes on that dragon."

"After you escaped, we ran for our lives from the fire. We managed to find our way back to the village. After we'd contained the fire, we went back in to find Meya. For days we searched in vain, surviving on squirreled acorns and snow, until we were found by Truncale's search party. They found you, but not Meya."

"Soon as we were freed, I fetched Grogan and headed to Mirram's house to tell him the bad news. He was searching for Meya, then, you see. The villagers were raring to lynch her for the famine, so she'd fled into the woods. I found him and Maro home. And Meya inside. Unconscious but alive."

Draken turned to Maro, who nodded stiffly.

"Dad and I had just returned home the night before, when we heard a knock at the door. Mum answered it, then she shrieked the house down. It was Meya. She wore nothing but a crimson cloak, and she was covered with blood. She dragged a sack full of food behind her. She was clutching her arm. Then she looked at Morel and said—"

He glanced at his sister across the table. Morel was staring fixed at some point above Maro's shoulder, wide blue eyes unseeing.

"Tisn't growin' back, Morrie." She whispered, her accent thick, "Then she fell onto me. I remember her skin was even hotter than usual."

"We fetched the healer." Maro continued. "She had to carve out a swathe of flesh around the wound because it was dead. But luckily it didn't go too deep, so we could save her arm. Next day, Draken and Grogan came to see Dad."

Maro shot a reproachful look at Draken, his fists clenched.

"Grogan said he thought Meya was a wild hog. That's why he shot. He said she just happened to be hiding around there. But she was trying to help Lord Coris escape, wasn't she? She must have been following you all the way. She thought the famine was her fault. It was so like her to pull stupid shenanigans like that!"

Maro exploded. Draken hung his head in shame.

"Mirram is my best friend." He confessed to Coris with a sigh, cocking his head at the youngsters, "And I've known these kids since they were in their mother's womb. But I had no idea what I should tell them. I decided to leave out the dragon part. Wasn't sure if I believed it myself. Especially when Meya woke up and remembered nothing. She didn't even seem to notice the days in between had been lost. Her memories betrayed her, just like yours."

Draken shook his head, frowning in confusion. He fell silent, mulling his turbulent past, then looked to the boy who shared it.

"What should we tell her, my lord?"

Coris sat petrified, lost in thought.

"I—I have no idea, as well." He shook his head, fidgeting with his hands, then cocked his head at Arinel and Zier.

"As we've encountered other Greeneyes who could transform into dragons when struck by Lattis, I think it's safe to assume this to be a proven fact. And, of course, Meya deserves the truth. But I don't think I have the right to reveal it to her."

"If not you, then who, my lord?" Draken protested. Coris still seemed unconvinced, even as Draken reminded him of the obvious, "You're the only witness of the full events. You must be the one to tell her!"

Coris shook his head, eyelids weighed by fatigue descending over fearful silver eyes.