Luminous

117 - The Temptation of Fate (1/2)

(A while earlier)

Ignoring the innkeeper's call, Meya crashed through the wooden doors onto the courtyard, panting, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She regretted her words soon as they leapt from her tongue. Yet, in them were truth they must heed. How could Arinel fend off the king if he bore down on Crosset? And what might she sacrifice? How could Coris and Zier place this danger on her and her people without hesitation? Arinel was too generous and honorable for her own good. Of course she'd hold the red-glowing gold until it melted her hands off her wrists!

Yet, as she fumed at her friends, she puzzled at herself. Why wasn't she brave and optimistic as always? Why was she the one, now, to hesitate? When the gamble had never slowed her before?

Then she realized, and her breathing stalled as she did—she'd never faced true sacrifice. Not since the one time she risked her family's survival saving Coris from ransom.

When she negotiated with Gillian, she was also saving herself, and she gambled Coris and his family's safety without a second thought to save her skin. When she saved Atmund and Persephia, exposed blood-sellers and eyeball-harvesters and cult leaders, she did it as Lady Hadrian, under the name Arinel Crosset, knowing deep down no matter what come would befall Hadrian, be it broken alliances or war.

Perched grand like a chough volant on her moral high ground as defender of Greeneye rights, she wielded Coris's wealth, authority, might—friends, even!—like her own army at the hill's feet, taking the worst, dying in her stead.

This time, for the first time, Coris faced an adversary far more wealthy and powerful than he—the king. And he'd cast aside his nobility to widen that gap. Worse, when it came to who had the righteous claim to the three lands' most dangerous secret, the Hadrians were down a trench, wolves closing in on all sides. And once they were done with Meya, they'd turn on her family.

And she was terrified—of returning to the failure that was Meya Hild, to her old life with more mouths to feed. What horrors awaited them should Arinel's protection fail? Would Dad and Maro be tortured? Would Mum die of heartbreak? Would Marin lose her babe? Would Morel be dragged by the hair from the Crimson Hog into this mess as well? What about Deke and Draken and Jason and Jezia? Would whoever Fyr spared live out their days hidden, starving, in squalor?

Marcus would never get to travel with Jason's caravan. Myron would never be a blacksmith. Mistral would never weave the longest Fest Trail in the duchy. Meya's babe would never have his father, his birthright. How would she explain to him why he weren't the rich and powerful little Lord Hadrian he should be?

She was also terrified of what she'd just realized Coris expected—assumed of her. Remarkable. Marvelous. Brave. Strong. Beautiful—words he'd reserved to describe her. A maiden fair like no other. Emerald of his eyes. She was his May Queen, the fiery dawn that ended his night, his savior. Pure and brave-hearted. The Meya he admired wouldn't care for the mundane fears of an embittered, scarred peasant girl. She'd fight for the cause even at the cost of all she held dear. And if he discovered the truth, she'd lose his love.

"Lady Hild?"

An unsure voice jolted Meya out of her dilemma. A slim young man drab in gray lurked by the gates. Frowning, Meya nodded cautiously. He scurried up the path to share her circle of torchlight. He bowed, hands outstretched, a letter under his thumbs.

"A message for you, from milord."

Meya pulled the envelope from his loose hold, tearing her eyes from his trembling head to inspect the seal. Ashen gray with a peacock dusted in silver.