Luminous

62 - The Brides of Hadrian

"Meya?"

An urgent croak disrupted the serenity of midday in the guests' chambers. Meya looked up from Ralon's Memoir to find pleading silvery eyes.

"No, Coris." She shook her head for the umpteenth time and made to return to Axel's miserable tale.

"Meya, please." Coris persisted. Meya snapped the journal shut with a flump of flattened air. It was taxing enough piecing the words together letter by letter without her supposed teacher nagging her for a sip of laudanum-laced cure every quarter-hour, too. Either Coris knocked himself out now, or she'd knock him out for him with her method of choice, which involved a few knuckles but a lot of pain.

Meya deposited the small book on the bedside cabinet. Nearby, a candle clock rose amidst the puddle of its melted flesh. Two inches or so of wax remained above the nail marking the time for the next dose of cure.

Sighing in frustration, Meya poured some water from the crystal jug into a matching goblet, then held it to Coris's parched lips,

"We've got a while to go. Have some water for now."

Coris scrunched up his face. He thrust his head back and forth on his pillow, reminding Meya of Morel's rolling pin on fresh dough. With him being so gaunt, Meya hadn't expected he'd have enough flesh on his cheeks to twist up a fit. Then again, he'd had a decade of tantrum practice as spoilt little Lord Hadrian.

"I can't sleep without it." He whined, smacking a feeble fist on the mattress. When Meya remained unmoved, he threw his head back with a growling moan, thumping with all four of his gangly limbs. A tear seeped from under his eyelid and plummeted from his cheekbone, gaining speed as it devoured dewlike beads of sweat along the way.

Meya's heart writhed at the pitiful display, but relent now, and she could have dead Coris dangling from her arms rather than demented and delirious. The dull twangs of Zier's harp floated over from the study desk, and an idea flitted by in her brain. Fists and jaw clenched, she leaned in and braved an offer,

"How about a lullaby? I'll sing you a song or two."

Lord Hadrian was not pleased. Slapping the bed with startling force, he snapped,

"I don't want lullabies! I want laudanum! Now! NOW!"

Coris's familiar scream of displeasure jolted Zier out of his happy place and straight into battle mode. He abandoned the harp he was tuning and scampered in, swinging nimbly onto the bed. He pinned his brother's flailing limbs with his knees and hands and quieted him with cooing shushes. Meya cradled his face in her palms and washed his feverish forehead with her song.

"Over the peaks of Neverend Heights—"

Even as her voice trembled with stifled tears, Zier could already feel his and his brother's tense muscles dissolving to clay from its unearthly beauty. Under him, Coris struggled drunkenly, and Zier bit his lips as he urged feeling back into his hands.

Coris stilled, sinking limply onto the bed. He was asleep before the song was over.

Zier's sigh of relief coincided with Meya's. She pressed her lips onto Coris's forehead. He clambered numbly down from atop his brother to her side, watching as she smoothed Coris's hair with both hands. Meya drew back in jolts, her face veiled by loose hair from her fraying ponytail. Still, her sobs leaked out in her shivery breaths.

Zier looked away and wordlessly held out his arm. Meya grasped it, and he helped her to the study desk for a moment of fresh air, away from the depressing vigil. He poured tea into her Jayri bowl. She cupped her hands around it, yet her red-rimmed eyes were listless and aimless. Mired, no doubt, in dilemma.