Luminous

47 - Relapse

The fountain's bell-jar-shaped water curtain cascaded into the rippling pool below, its deafening roar backdropped by the hum of the crowd, interspersed by the whimsical plonks of bowls, mugs and buckets plunging through the water, as masked tourists jostled for a gulp or more of the blessed water.

As the heat from her brimming cup warmed her chilly fingers, Meya's burnished reflection gazed back at her from the copper sign mounted on a ramrod-thin pole. Line upon line of black text rolled across her forehead and cheeks. Alchemy-ish names in block letters preceded advertisements of their healing properties, which ranged from promoting smoother skin and blood circulation to curtailing foot odor.

As reading practice, and for extra caution, Meya read the whole passage through twice. There was no mention of Lattis as one of the beneficial minerals in the water. Regardless, she should pass her coin over her cup, as Coris had advised. Just in case there were traces of Lattis lurking unnoticed that could be siphoned out.

Then again, how much difference would it make, though? If Lattis were everywhere in Latakia, then Meya had lived seventeen years eating, drinking, wearing, breathing invisible Lattis particles. If Lattis were poison, as Gillian put it, how many years had already been docked off her dragon lifespan?

Meya's lips were parching up fast. She licked and chewed on the flaking skin as she scrutinized the drink in her cup. It appeared innocuous, but she was hesitant to take a sip. Come to think of it, these daily intake of trace amounts of Lattis might be the reason Greeneyes lived about as long as normal humans, despite not being made of the same stuff.

So this was why dragons from Everglen struggled to cross into Nostra. Even before being unearthed and refined into weapons, Lattis could still harm Greeneyes. Meya felt as if it was Freda's signal to them, that they don't belong in this land.

A wave of lonesome, bone-chilling cold rushed up Meya's arm from her fingertips, even as the cup remained warm. Still, she couldn't repress the defiant little voice in her head, its whispered plea glancing off the uncaring, rigid back of the goddess.

But I was born on this land.

"If we find that dowry, then we could be anywhere you want to be. Latakia. Nostra. Everglen. Take your pick."

Gillian's voice echoed, unbidden. Meya nodded slowly to herself. So, this must be why Gillian came after The Axel. He must have been tired of dragons being confined to Nostra and under the emperor's service, or withering away in Latakia, sapped of life day by day by unseen demons. 

But what in the three lands could something so tiny it could fit in young Zier's gullet do to a Latakia-sized lode of poisonous Lattis ore? If only they had captured Gillian, they would have secured the answers long since. Drat Zier for ruining it all.

With a heaving sigh, Meya focused on her untouched drink. As she dithered on the best destination she should direct it to, down her throat, back in the fountain, or splash on the sandstone, a strident call pierced the air.

"There you are!"

Gretella's voice came with nails like a cat's claws sinking into Meya's arm, wringing her flesh like one would a wet floor rag.

"Youch! What in the—!"

Meya barely kept a hold on her beloved cup. Hands dripping with hot spring water, she whipped around with teeth bared and glare at the ready, only to lose her fluff at the sight of Gretella's malevolent finger hovering before her nose-bridge.

"You don't just run off alone in a crowded square in an unknown town, you dungheaded lass! What would you do if you'd lost us? Stay forever?"

Flinching back to put some distance between that pudgy finger and her eyes, Meya noticed Arinel standing behind her grandma, arms crossed and lips pursed, not in the least inclined to lend aid.