44 - Jerald and Erina

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Meya only discovered once she had duck outside that Jerald the Head Guard was the one sitting at the reins of Lady Arinel's carriage. Thus solving the conundrum of why Arinel had revealed Lady Agnes to Meya with no fear of being overheard by Hadrian ears.

Jerald heard everything that had been discussed in the carriage, of course. He shot Meya a knowing wink as she settled down beside him.

"Out for some fresh air, little dragon?" He murmured out of the corner of his mouth—Coris, Zier and the squires and yeomen are riding not far from them.

Meya blinked, flabbergasted, then chided herself. Of course Arinel would have confided in Jerald after learning the truth from Draken and Coris. She hadn't wasted time in telling Gretella and Lady Agnes, had she?

Fyr, couldn't a dragon have some secrets?

"No. I'm looking for some ignorance and normalcy." She hissed back along with a dour glare. Jerald tilted his head, blissfully undaunted. Meya slumped back and crossed her arms grumpily, planting her feet against the curved wooden board that served to protect her crimson silk shoes from being sprayed by horse fart.

"Unfortunately, of all the things the winds can blow away, memories aren't among them."

"Perhaps a good old thump on the head will do." Jerald suggested. Meya bit back a snort.

"Well then, would you be so kind as to bestow one upon me, Sir Knight?"

Jerald's roar of laughter petered out as puffs of air through his nostrils instead.

"I wouldn't dare, but I daresay Madam Gretella would be more than willing to oblige."

Meya shuddered. As Jerald chuckled in triumph, Meya studied his profile, his blue eyes and cropped tawny hair. She wondered if he had a daughter of his own. He probably did. He wasn't young—he looked only a few years Dad's junior.

"Say, tell me about your family, Sir Jerald."

The knight turned to Meya. Behind him, past a fence of yeomen, hillocks blanketed with patches of purple heather and tall grass topped with cotton-like tufts rolled away into the blue horizon. Jerald gave her a gentle smile.

"You've already met them."

Meya blinked, then frowned. Having anticipated her reaction, Jerald smiled wider. He turned back to the meandering dirt road ahead, which was partially obscured by Sir Jarl and his horse's sleek, toned hindquarters.

"My mother was Lord Crosset's sister, Lady Arynea. She had me from an affair. She never confessed, so I never knew my father."

Meya stared unblinking at him, enthralled.

"To punish her and avoid a scandal, Lord Uncle had me sent to the church. I grew up under Friar Tumney's care. When I was eighteen, the castle alchemist, Bishop Tyberne, came to gather herbs for his experiments. That's when I met Erina, his assistant. She was already carrying Lady Arinel."

Meya had thought her eyes couldn't grow any wider already, but boy was she wrong. After a moment digesting the shocking revelation, she remembered what Zier had told her, that day outside the charity tent, and her face fell.

"Lady Arinel's mother—She died young, didn't she? In the alchemy lab?" She asked timidly. Jerald obliged with a solemn nod.

"Alchemy was her dream. Her happiness." He shook his head, his voice brimming with both awe and anguish, "Tyberne was a talented alchemist, a decent master. On the verge of a breakthrough. No matter what they say about a woman in a lab, I supported her. She was very passionate, though. She insisted on helping Tyberne out, even as her belly grew and grew."

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