119 - Imprisoned (1/3)

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Soon as the carriage wheels lurched to a stop on the flagstones of the Dragon's Crossing, war broke out between Dad and Meya.

"Go! I can handle meself. Go to him!" barked Dad as he tried his damnedest to shake Meya's hands off him, but she latched on like a caterpillar in a storm, tears of dilemma streaming down her cheeks.

"Let's just get to your room, alright? Lemme get you to Mum," she bargained as Dad dragged himself through the door and down the steps. As if Freda had heard her pleas, Mum burst through the inn's front doors and tore across the courtyard, arms outstretched to receive him.

"I'm fine, woman. Leave me!" Dad raised his caneless, Meya-less arm to bat her aside, but Mum charged right back in with revenge.

"Oh, for Freda's sake! Forget your pride for once, you old hog!" she snapped as she shouldered half his weight with her whole. Panting under the strain, Meya gasped across to her,

"Mum, Coris's in danger! I'll go tell his mum then I'll fetch a healer for Da—"

"Then go. Now!" she added at Meya's nonplussed blinking. "I'll call the healer. Just go, Meya!"

Sobs barely sealed behind her gritted teeth, Meya gently lowered Dad's right onto his cane. She sprinted across the court, crashed through the doors, leapt up the stairs three at a time, landing on the second floor with a stomp. She blew down the hall and banged her fists on the Hadrians' door. Agnes's shrill voice called back,

"Who's there?"

"Meya, milady!"

"Come in!"

Meya fell through. A wave of air swept over her, smelling of hot bread and melted butter. Agnes knelt before the fireplace, folding clothes and whatnot for Persephia to cram into a bundle. Arinel was on the bed, fast asleep after all the crying. The Baroness stood nearby, livid and breathing heavy, her silvery eyes glaring past Meya at the door. Meya rushed over.

"Milady, they did the vote! We gotta warn Coris! We—!"

The Baroness's gaze remained fixed above Meya's shoulder. Frowning, Meya spun around, just as the door closed with a slam. A tall, burly, tan-skinned man in a Corbyn Purple guard uniform stepped before it. His black hair was cropped short and well-oiled, and his face now round and unfamiliar, but she'd never miss his scars and cold, glowing green eyes.

"Gillian?" Meya breathed, utterly confounded, then turned at the new voice from behind.

"We know," panted Persephia as she threw her weight over the folded blanket atop the bundle. She thrust her chin at Gillian, "Coris sent him back with the news. Lady Kyrel took the seat, told the king Coris has The Axel. He's in prison awaiting judgment. Baron Hadrian's buying time, but they might have to flee by dawn-break tomorrow."

The lid in Meya's midriff opened and her bowels tumbled into a void. Tomorrow. It couldn't be. How could it be this soon? This was just like Zier!

"NO!" She whirled around with a scream, only to crash into Gillian's wall of muscle and metal so hard she glanced off it like sunlight. She staggered upright, pounding her fist on his chest. "LET ME OUT!"

"He commands you all not to visit," the dragon hissed, eyes narrowing, demanding obedience. "He has no mate, no brood—"

"HE HAS A MOTHER, DOESN'T HE!" Baroness Sylvia shrieked in retort. She stormed to Meya's side, blood rimming her eyes crimson. "I'll see my son, and I'll take my maid with me if she so wishes! If you'll not lead my way, then leave it!"

Silence fell but for the bated breaths of becoming widows. Gillian pored into their eyes, and sorrow softened his. For even a dragon had his own that he left behind.

"Yes, he does have a mother. And a mate," he whispered finally. He turned the knob and strode out into the hallway, waiting silently as the Graye twins shoved a few more wedges of cheese into the bursting bundle then trusted it to Meya. A meager gift to send off the Baron and his heir on their voyage.

***

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