by Meagan Hurst
Kitra forced herself to step back from the image before her and glanced at Shalion as she tried to wrap her mind around what she was seeing. “Is this real?” she whispered. Almost afraid to interrupt what was happening before her.
“They cannot see or hear us,” Shalion replied. “But, yes, this is what happened as your memory stored it, though I took some liberty with the angles so we can view it in an easier manner.” Shalion glanced at Nivaradros, a strange expression touched his features. “So. I was correct. He had qualities we thought he did not possess before Zimliya.”
“We do not know that for certain,” she argued. “He may have been playing a game.”
Nivaradros was uncovering more of the bodies, and they were all just bodies of villagers—no one had survived—when Kitra glanced back at him and herself. There was a stiffness, a calculated tightness, to Nivaradros’s movements.
“You are seeking something. What?” Nivaradros inquired.
“My parents,” the younger version of her whispered. “They—I’m going to murder him. Why? Why would he do this?”
“Who?” Nivaradros asked as his tone tightened.
“Nivaradros,” she spat. “Who else would do this?”
“Indeed,” the Dragon mused with a tight smile. “Come. You are exhausted and weak. There is a safe enough place just a mile from here.” Kitra watched herself hesitate and saw Nivaradros struggle to keep from losing his temper. “They are all deceased. You can do nothing more for them.”
“Humans have rituals for their dead!” she snapped. “And who are you?! Why should I trust you?” Her eyes caught a wound then. A wound Kitra had known as a scar. Back when this had occurred, however, the wound was still bleeding, and it ran down the right side of Nivaradros’s neck to his arm. How he had managed to free the mangled bodies from the skeletons of structures without displaying pain she didn’t know.
“I will help you tend to bodies tomorrow,” Nivaradros’s words came out as something akin to an oath. “But, and I know little of humans so I may be incorrect, you are not well yourself. Do not seek to join them. Whoever they were, they were humans, and humans rarely want others to join them in their demise. Especially family. Come, Human, I will let nothing disturb this ground while you eat and rest.”
“Stop!” Kitra ordered as she jerked away from Shalion. Even as far in the past as this had occurred, it was still painful. She remembered the bodies, the blood, the stench of charred animals, people, and wood. Panting as she struggled to grasp what had unfolded, struggled to keep from gagging as the smells reawoke in her mind, she glanced at Shalion. “Can we skip ahead? I want to see when I gained his name.”
“It is doable, but not easy,” Shalion admitted after a pause. Closing his eyes, he did something Kitra could feel but not see, before he staggered as the image before them shifted.
“I don’t understand why the Council of Dragons has not banded together to slay him!” the younger her snapped as Nivaradros—and this was all so confusing—continued to help her.
“Nivaradros is powerful, and very few groups of Dragons willing to fight together would be large enough to counter what has already been tried against him. Of the groups that might attempt it, none of them have the power, so they have been forbidden to fight him.”
“And you? Who are you, anyway?”
Nivaradros watched her in a way not even Kitra still couldn’t understand. After several minutes, the Dragon inclined his head. “You may call me Diolantros,” he sighed. Now Kitra could see the self-loathing the Dragon wasn’t trying to hide. The self-loathing she had missed. He had lied to her, taken another Dragon’s name, and damned himself in the eyes of any who would hear of the fate of this village.
Sympathy, something she never expected to feel for Nivaradros, wormed its way into her heart. The sixteen year old version of herself, though, took his words at face value, and would spread the news of Nivaradros’s crimes for decades.
“I don’t want to see anymore,” Kitra declared as she once again broke out of Shalion’s magical hold. “I know what happens.”
“Do you?”
Kitra grimaced. “Fine. I know what must have happened. Nivaradros—and I still can’t understand this, must not have been in the area. But then…” her voice trailed off.
“Diolantros was a black Dragon,” Shalion pointed out. “It is probable Diolantros attacked the village, knowing Nivaradros would be blamed, and your words told Nivaradros he was being set up as the enemy. Nivaradros must have attacked him in retaliation and then, since everyone blamed him, decided to keep quiet. Another mass killing under his wings would continue to keep his reputation intact and his own race afraid of him.”
Kitra sighed. Zimliya had always seen something in Nivaradros. Veilantras had known something about Nivaradros as well. And then, because Zimliya had needed him to, the Dragon had surrendered his life to protect people Kitra would never have believed he would protect. Had he known the outcome of his choice, Kitra was certain his decision would have remained the same. Nivaradros would still have flown to his death to rescue Shevieck, the heir no one wanted to see in power. Muttering a curse under her breath, she groaned. She really hated immortals.
Glancing at Shalion, she scowled. “You knew about this all along,” she alleged.
“Zimliya has solid instincts, and when Nivaradros came to me, he was uncomfortable in his form, but, upon much reflection, he was not as awkward and loathing of it as he should have been.”
“Which means he had been accustomed to wearing it to a point,” Kitra breathed. She muttered less-than-polite words under her breath. “He should have survived,” Kitra spat. She was angry at herself, at Nivaradros, at Zimliya, at others she didn’t even know. Immortals mostly, and the games they played. Had Nivaradros been more open with who he was…Oh, how different things would have been.
“He would have died if he had contested any event attributed to him that he did not commit—and I suspect there were many,” Shalion inserted. “I do not understand Dragon politics, but Nivaradros has survived through his strength, his skills, and his reputation. Without the latter, he would have been a constant target. He was challenged, yes,” Shalion continued as she opened her mouth, “but not to the level he could have been. Luck, skill, and talent got him through the battles he fought against his kind, but it was his reputation that held most of his people at bay—that forced them to tolerate him.
“And he had allies, strange ones. Zyrhis’s mother, for example.” Shalion frowned. “She is the only one I know of, and only because Zyrhis told me about it, but I have no doubt he had other allies we would never have suspected.”
Kitra exhaled in a huff. “Why did you want to speak with me?” she pressed in an irritated tone. “It wasn’t to watch your father, you only care for Zimliya, and it wasn’t to tell me about Nivaradros—”
“You are so distrustful of immortals,” Shalion scolded. “I did wish to ensure your safety around my father. I do care for you, though you make it challenging, and I did want to speak with you about Nivaradros. You are close to Zimliya, and I suspected Nivaradros was not the same being he made himself out to be, which meant you could—and as it turned out did—hold information I needed. But, yes, those are not the sole reasons I am here. I intend to speak with Crilyne, and I thought you would like to be a part of it. Zimliya is your charge.”
“She is an adult and I messed up with her. I wasn’t ready to be a Guardian when she was assigned to me, and I resented her for it. By the time I was ready to reach out to her, she’d put me into one of her boxes—as the Mithane has termed them—and neither of us were able to escape that.”
“Well, we all make mistakes. You two still have time to try and change things. Nivaradros has made her much more open to changes in relationships, and she does care for you.” Shalion turned then and called his magic forward in silence.
Kitra stepped back as Crilyne’s seething features swirled into view before them. Ryelentions could summon communicat
ion portals in thin air, and Kitra was less than thrilled over that talent right this second. Crilyne looked ready to kill, and she was certain he did not care who was his victim.
“What do you want?!” the Shade hissed through lips that were white—far whiter than Kitra was comfortable seeing—with anger.
“You said I could check in,” Shalion drawled without even a hint of hesitation. His air of calm was astonishing. “And it’s been over a month. I want to see her. Kitra wishes to see her as well. She hasn’t seen Zimliya since the arrows, and that was eight months ago.”
Crilyne’s eyes flickered dangerously. “As you say,” he growled before gesturing in a rough jerk and pulling their view with him. As Shalion’s magic settled on Zimliya, Kitra gasped and would have leapt through the magic before her if Shalion hadn’t caught her.
“You cannot reach her,” Shalion breathed in her ear as she struggled. “This is not a portal. Try to regain control. Kitra, we have to proceed with caution. Crilyne is not safe to challenge right now.”
It didn’t matter to her. Kitra was willing to challenge Crilyne and die in order to change something. Zimliya was past skin and bones. Kitra couldn’t comprehend how she was still alive. Her breathing was rushed, forced, and too weak to be granting her enough oxygen, and her eyes flickered erratically behind her eyelids. There had to be an infection, or several, within her wounds.
“Crilyne, when did she get this bad?” Shalion asked in a hushed tone. “And why did you not send out for aid?”
“What could you offer?” Crilyne snapped. “What can anyone offer? The Mithane collapsed trying to heal her when the wounds were fresh.”
The two continued to discuss things, and Crilyne continued to try and make excuses. Kitra dismissed his attempts to misdirect the blame without much thought. She’d failed, they’d all failed, to keep Zimliya safe. And the only being Kitra felt could possibly have saved the closest thing she had to a daughter had died. Died from the same arrows that would kill Zimliya if something didn’t change.
Or should things change? Kitra hated the abrupt darkness of her thoughts, but perhaps the kinder path to take here was to let Zimliya die—to hurry her peacefully to her demise. “Crilyne, haven’t you tortured her enough?” Kitra broke into the conversation with fury coating every word. “Let her go,” she whispered. “We can’t do this to her again.”
Shalion stared at her in disbelief, and Kitra wondered, once again, if Shalion had feelings for Zimliya that surpassed those of the other heirs. She had suspected it for years, but never worked up the courage to ask him. And now, when she was suggesting they either let Zimliya die naturally or kill her, was not the time to ask.
There was a thunderous silence over her words, but Crilyne broke it by shouting in a language Kitra didn’t know. To her amazement, Shalion engaged him, shielding her from the Shade’s fury. Unable to follow what either of them were saying—and not giving a damn anyway—Kitra moved away from Shalion to consider how she could reach Zimliya’s side. Knowing she couldn’t do anything from where she was, she left Shalion to handle the Shade. She intended to seek out someone to aid her, though she didn’t know who she could, or should, turn to. But there had to be someone. Of course, as she thought that, someone found her.
“Nishiene, hold.”
Oh good, the Ryelention ruler who was also an asshole was back. Stifling a sigh, Kitra turned to regard the immortal before her with all the respect she could muster. Considering how the day had been going so far, it wasn’t much.
“What, Islierre?” she wanted to know.
“Zimliya will survive, and she will be alright. He just needs more time,” the immortal said without preamble, which was something new.
“He? You mean Crilyne? No, he does not. Zimliya is suffering, Islierre, and I cannot allow it to continue.” She moved to brush past him in the hall, but his hand shot out and encircled her bicep. She responded by palming a blade with her free hand and whirling to hold it at his throat. Or she had intended to. He was faster and he grabbed her by the wrist with his free hand.
“Nishiene, listen,” he advised. “This has been hard on all of us, but I need you to hear the words I am speaking and not listen to the emotions that are clouding your mind. Do not give up on her yet. There is a plan I know only fragments of, but I was told enough that I am willing to wait. She will survive, and she will recover. Crilyne will be evicted from her side soon; he has already been informed this,” which, Kitra thought as she struggled to shove her rage to the side, would explain Crilyne’s mood, “and someone else will take his place. I don’t know who.”
“And are they in procession of a miracle?” Kitra demanded.
“Time will tell what they are capable of, but allow them to try. If Zimliya truly wanted out, none of us could hold her here. She is fighting to stay; and we need to honor her decision. If, and I will make it binding if you insist, things change, I will end her life. But is not your decision alone. It is not even the decision of your people. If Zimliya’s life must end, you will bring it before the Alliance as a whole, and the decision must be unanimous. It will not be,” the Islierre added, his eyes were a dangerous orange. “The Mithane will not vote for her death, the heirs will not, and I will not. Not while she could still survive, and not while she is fighting.”
“She is skin and bones!” Kitra shrieked. “How is that fighting?” She couldn’t believe the immortal before her; would he truly make a stand to keep Zimliya alive?
The Islierre’s smile was one she couldn’t narrow down. “Because it is Zimliya. Trust her. Give her a few more months or give her soon-to-be-new-caretaker a few weeks.” At her grimace, the Islierre inclined his head. “I am certain you held similar opinions regarding all of Zimliya’s many allies when they were unknown, and I am certain you still hold that opinion about some of us, including myself, but if they can save her…”
“I will thank them,” Kitra fought to release either one of her arms, but the Islierre held her firm.
“I see where Zimliya gets her anger,” the Islierre murmured before letting her go at last. “You need a drink, come. I am certain the former Syallibion ruler knows which of the alcohols is strongest.” The Islierre chuckled. “I cannot wait for Zimliya to discover what has occurred in her absence, and I am eager to see her in a position of power. She will no longer be able to deny her strengths, and she will have to work harder to overcome her weaknesses. It will be intriguing to observe.”
Kitra just wanted the woman alive, well, and she wanted to apologize to the Dragon who had been instrumental in protecting so many of them while Zimliya had been kept from the field. The latter was something she couldn’t accomplish, but the former points were still up in the air. If the Islierre was right. As much as she hated him, Kitra wanted him to be right this one time. Hells, she would even consider apologizing to him if he was.
“Thanks,” she grumbled as she turned away. “If you’re wrong about this, Islierre, you will have to answer to the Rangers.”
“As you say,” the Islierre said with a smile that told her he only tolerated the Rangers because of Zimliya. If Zimliya perished from her wounds, the Islierre would turn against them.
Chapter 1
Waking was hard. Z was well aware she hadn’t been conscious for some time, but the amount of time she had been out remained unknown to her. Struggling to pull herself out of something that felt like cold honey, but had nothing to do with food, she let her senses reach out ahead of the rest of her and found she wasn’t alone—as she had feared she might be. She had felt Crilyne’s lips on her forehead some time ago. Felt his fear over something through his touch, but she had been too weak and too far into slumber to understand what it was he feared, and she had had no way to ask him. She knew, however, that it had been several weeks since he had left, but someone else had come almost instantly. Just pinning down who it was had become the problem, and now she was certain she was strong enough to wake to find out.
Whoever was with her felt f
amiliar, but their presence was strangely muted, and she couldn’t determine who they were. They were, however, gentle with everything she was aware of them doing—which was mostly feeding her, though she sometimes thought she felt something cool touch the arrow wounds.
Being half aware had started to grow old months ago, but she had known she was far too injured to try to emerge from that state too soon. Now, though, she thought she might have a semblance of strength that she could pretend with; she hadn’t felt the hint of a fever for three weeks. But it was hard to pull herself out of the depths. She was mired in an ingrained protection method that her body had adapted following her brush with the creature that had left her those stupid claw marks and their own lightning, and no matter what she did she had found she couldn’t shake this protection.
She heard herself moan and felt her hands move when she asked them to. Struggling with her legs, she managed to also tell them how to move and she knew then she had a chance to awaken; she wanted to know who the hell had come in the place of the Shade. It wasn’t the Mithane, it wasn’t another Shade, and it wasn’t Shalion. She didn’t know anyone else who would be of aid now, and she knew this presence in the room with her. And she had an immortal’s flawless memory, so she suspected magic. It was kind of hard to tell; magic was so thick in the room it was almost impossible to pick up on a life force to begin with.
“Easy, Zimliya, take this slow,” a soothing voice spoke above her. Once more she knew it but didn’t, and it served only to frustrate her into forcing herself to awaken faster. She felt hands cover her back up with blankets as she began to continue to test the control she had over her own body. “You’re safe,” the voice continued in a kind tone. “Relax. There is no need for you to rush to rise. Rest, Zimliya, it would be better for your recovery if you waited just a little longer.”
Her recovery be damned; she wanted to know who he was. She heard herself make a sound she couldn’t describe, and then she struggled to open her eyes. Evidently, they were glued shut, because she felt like she couldn’t pull them open. She managed to get her hands halfway to her face, but they shook and then collapsed before she was able to bring them to her eyes.
