Luminous

81 - Return

The prison tower was silent, save for Mithrin's afternoon nap snores. Meya peered at the sunlight streaming in through the bars. The rays hadn't changed color, but their angle seemed to have tilted.

How long had it been? An hour? Two hours? Shouldn't take the Hadrian couple that long to interrogate their sons, should it? And wouldn't anyone at all bother to double back and check if Meya was still talking with Amoriah? Was she, ultimately, alone, as she always was?

The realization rattled her, but it shouldn't. Since she had become part of Arinel's—then Coris's entourage, learned to move, act and survive as a group, she'd forgotten what it was to be alone. To rely on herself, never expecting salvation nor assistance. What was she doing, waiting for help that would never come? How pitiful, crying for people—men, no less—who weren't even here?

Think! How would I escape?

Meya took stock of all she was left with. She'd have to break these Lattis shackles with the only known method—her blood. She could dig her nails into her palm and let the blood drip onto the shackles. That way, she could avoid Lattis entering her body, but the mixture could still drip onto her bare skin.

How much would she forget this time? Who would she forget?

Arinel, laying her hand atop Meya's as she accepted death, entrusting her name to Meya—embracing Meya as she passed on her clan's priceless charms of luck. Lady Jaise, returning her ancestor's legacy to her as rightful heir. Atmund, the boy she saved—Frenix, the ultimate troublemaker—Philema, tending to and comforting her like a mother—Dorsea—Tissa—

Coris.

Glinting, sly silvery eyes. Faint, melancholic smile. Awkward, bony embraces. Ice-cold lips. Cheeky teasing. Shared laughter. Shared tears. Shared nights and days. Twice she'd forgotten him against her will. Now, she would knowingly erase him? Cherished memories, forever lost. Would she risk that again? Without even a goodbye?

Meya's fingers trembled. She dug her nails into the flesh of her palms. She couldn't bring herself to slice through, but there was no other way.

Be decisive. Be ruthless. Be strong. Be free.

Meya gritted her teeth against grief, urging strength into her numb fingertips. Before she could make up her mind, clattering noises echoed from the ladder, rising higher and higher towards her.

Meya hung her head and fell limp from her bonds, the picture of meek defeat. The visitor set foot onto the walkway with steps light and unsure, paused, then sprinted. Their shadow reached first into Meya's field of vision, eclipsing the light. Then came feet. Surprisingly small, wrapped in simple hay shoes, appearing and disappearing under fluttering lace hems. This was no Hyacinth guard. Meya couldn't resist herself. She looked up.

Ice-blue eyes wide with fear and shock. Spotless cheeks flushed from the steep climb. Locks of rich golden hair streaming through her hood. She stood panting, a snowy hand clutching her cloak at her chest.

"Lady Arinel?"

Meya croaked, voice cracking from thirst. Arinel surveyed her from head to toe, then raised her trembling hands to her mouth.

"Oh, Meya." She breathed, her voice choked with tears. After a moment of useless fretting, she gathered herself, tugged off her cloak then wrapped it around Meya. She struggled with the clasp—her fingers were shaking horribly.

"Father—he found out—I'm so sorry—" She spluttered, hiding her face in shame. Meya was too shocked to care.

"How did you know? How did you get here so fast?"