Luminous

4 - The Dragon Gazette (1/2)

Hunger woke Meya to her light head, hollow bowels and leaden limbs. Her hair streamed down her front as she sat up. Someone had unbraided it, and changed her into nightclothes. The light of day was still foggy gray, but Coris wasn't by her side sleeping. Rather, he hadn't shunted her to her side of the bed, but left her precisely where Zier had planted her. Her heart writhing, Meya wheeled around and sure enough, she found her husband slumped on his desk by the window.

Cursing under her breath, Meya lugged the blanket after her down the bed. One nervous foot at a time she crept nearer, then soundlessly wrapped his shoulders. His hawk-feather quill rested still in his uncurling hand, dark red ink pooling on the parchment at its tip. Meya strained her neck and squinted over his head. At the heading were the words The Dragon Gazette — Perfecting the Rota (continued) and today's date. The rest of the report was obscured by Coris's hair, no longer dull, dry and brittle as the paper itself, but thicker, shinier, a rich dark brown. 

Meya pinched up a lock of his fringe, let it slid off her fingers, but the gentle tug finally woke Coris. With a low moan, he twitched and propped his head on his elbow. Then, either he felt her heat or caught a whiff of her lingering perfume, and turned around. Their eyes met. After a few blinks, he gave her a bleary smile.

"Good morning."

Meya leaned down and kissed him.

"Why dun you sleep? You know 'tis bad for your health!" she scolded as she accepted the seat Coris vacated for her.

Coris ambled to the bed and pulled the rope. Far away in the kitchen, the breakfast bell rang. 

"Apologies, but I simply must deliver our next issue today."

"You'll tell 'em 'bout the tree already?" Meya swiped up the half-finished manuscript and began deciphering the words. Coris returned and slumped against the desk.

"There's nothing to report yet—at least, not enough to deserve the paper," he added at Meya's blinking, crestfallen look, then shook his head with a sigh. "Even if there is, I don't think it's a matter to be so nonchalantly disclosed for public dissection. I know how you feel. We told them Greeneyes are dragons, what's with a tree? But this tree may have kept Nostra at bay these six hundred years. At least let us study it, discuss our options, present our findings to the Council, then the public will know."

"The whole truth? Just as 'tis?" Meya raised her eyebrows. A shadow of truth flickered in Coris's eyes that he avoided her gaze to hide. She cast aside the paper then leaned close in exasperation. "Why d'you still cannae trust them, Coris? Why cannae you be honest with the people—"

"Five hundred, Meya!" Coris retorted, his eyes shut tight. Meya fell against the chair's backrest, sighing, as he surfaced with eyes flashing silver, his voice cold. "Five hundred and seventy-three arrows I counted by hand."

Meya trembled as their eyes locked, as metal bolts like fists pummeled every inch of her buckling armor. Coris swore when he caught himself, pulled her into his arms.

"Alden and his men laid down their arms because you're a woman, a peasant, and pregnant. You counted on their pity, and you won that gamble," he said, gentler now. "The people are welcoming of Greeneyes because we control the first and only printing press, the first and only newsletter. We choose what the public learns, the order they learn it, but not for much longer—Sir Etuilet has perfected his second, improved printing press, and King Alden is finally satisfied. He's commissioned one for each of the Councilors. It is to be placed in the capital of each duchy, and opened for public use."

"One for each?" Meya pulled back, wide-eyed and breathless. "You mean—even—Graye?"

Coris nodded, his heart heavy. Meya fell against her chair again, eyes unblinking, unseeing, even as he cupped her cheek with his cold, soothing hand.