The Danger with Allies

by Meagan Hurst

  “Both of us have,” Nivaradros admitted. It was a shock to hear the Dragon disclose that. Even more surprising to hear him state it without anger. “She is still who she always was, Shalion, and I believe once she leaves the tentative safety of the lair she will return to someone you recognize. She trusts me here and she trusts the magic the lair contains, but the outside world has scarred her, and I do not think she will be as tranquil once we are forced to leave.”

  “With the world she will be heading back to, that is to be expected,” Shalion pointed out.

  A silence fell easily between the two as they walked, and Z was surprised to see how little distance was between them; they were even closer with their friendship than she had thought. They didn’t fear each other, and there was almost an understanding between them that was beyond her grasp, but it wasn’t—quite—that powerful a bond. She just didn’t have all the pieces. Wondering what had gone on between them when Nivaradros had first approached Shalion outside of what the Ryelention had offered her, she watched their passage through the halls without regret for her actions. As this had to be the Dragon’s doing, it was easy to justify watching them.

  “She was, as you predicted, unhappy to learn about her new lands,” Shalion observed after a lengthy pause. “Thank you for containing her; she would have attacked me.”

  “Indeed. I was rather surprised by the depth of her anger. She has not changed her opinion there. She doesn’t want a world ruled by one entity, and she fears that is what will happen if she takes one kingdom’s reins of power. She also still links herself with mortals: fragile, useless, and short lived. She knows she’s immortal—there are too many changes for her to lie to herself—but knowing it and experiencing it are two very different t things. I believe it will take her at least a decade to fully understand it, or accept it is perhaps the better phrase.” The Dragon smiled, and it was a bitter, cold smile. “My hope is that I can ease her into her new life, but with the events that threaten us, I believe it will be unlikely. I do not, however, want to force her into things. She is both at her strongest and at her weakest at this time, and I had it drilled into me that I had to walk with care around her if I didn’t want her strengths to be overthrown.”

  “And her weakness?”

  “According to my source, she needs it for the moment. I am not supposed to let it grow, but I must not prevent it from disappearing. I have no idea how I am supposed to manage that,” Nivaradros admitted to Shalion—further proof of their friendship—with a grimace. “But I am willing to try.”

  Shalion nodded, but it was clear he was lost in his own thoughts. “Your form, Nivaradros?!”

  “I wasn’t willing to surrender my ability to be close to her, Shalion, and to keep my form I would have had to let her go. You were right all those mortal years ago about her. The loss of my Dragon form proved to be easier to relinquish than I could have imagined. I may regret the loss of the skies, but it will only be a moment in time that I have to deal with that; watching her from afar would have lasted forever.” Nivaradros’s lips turned upwards into a small smile. “She is a lot of work, but it is…surprisingly enjoyable.”

  “She is worth the time,” Shalion admitted. “No matter what our hopes and desires for her are or were, she is has always been worth it.”

  They traveled in silence before reaching a set of double doors that glowed a soft cream in color. “These will be your quarters while you stay here,” Nivaradros informed Shalion with a small shrug. “They are similar in design to Z’s, but more lavishly decorated and you will therefore find a set up for food that works similar to Z’s. If you choose to bring Azabell here—and remember to let me know so I can grant her permission to enter and then permission to roam some of the halls—she is welcome, but I would not force a visitation between her and Z just yet. Z’s in one of her anti-social moods, though it is a great deal weaker than normal.”

  “I noticed,” Shalion replied with a crooked smile. “But she is much, much more accepting of your advances.”

  “Probably because she is still too weak to do much,” Nivaradros remarked. “I have not yet invited her to my quarters…” His voice trailed off and Z wondered if he had intended for her to watch this. The question wasn’t one she would have suspected he would ask if he knew she could hear and see them.

  “You should,” Shalion told the Dragon. “By now, Nivaradros, she would have either left or made it clear she had changed her mind. With what I have seen of your lair so far—and that is very, very little—I believe your rooms would be of great interest to her. You will reveal perhaps more than you wish to, though, so consider it with care.”

  Nivaradros nodded. “If you need anything merely speak my name.”

  Turning before Shalion could reply, the Dragon left the Islierri in front of the doors leading to his quarters and began the walk back to her rooms. About halfway between them, Z’s glimpse into what he was doing vanished and she was left to wait without any knowledge of what was going on. It shouldn’t have been hard to wait for the Dragon’s return, but after being able to watch the two immortals interact, she found her patience wasn’t the only thing lacking. Curiosity warred with nerves, but in the end, it was the cat-like trait that won. Just why had Nivaradros asked Shalion that final question?

  When it became clear the Dragon had taken a detour on the way back to her rooms, she rose. Since it was possible she was going to be on her own for the rest of the night—or day, it was rather hard to tell in a cave—she made her way carefully around her room. She intended to get stronger, and her immortality seemed to have handed her back a small measure of mortality with it. She still couldn’t feel pain, but her recoveries seemed to take longer. In order to get her strength back, she had to push the limit to help it grow. Or perhaps immortals shared this trait with mortals and it had just never occurred to her. She was in the middle of her second circuit when the Dragon returned. He had, as always, impeccable timing. She was just starting to lose her strength, and the walls had become her best friends.

  He caught her before she fell. Cradling her with the same tenderness he had shown toward her throughout all of this, he began to carry her not toward the bed he so often returned her to, but to the door. “I want you to see something,” he said in a whisper as she tried to sit up to see where they were going. “I will show you how to reach it later, so don’t try to focus on the path. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

  She wanted to hit him, but it was hard to accomplish while he was carrying her, and her eyes were closing every other minute. She caught a glance of a hall she hadn’t seen before and sat up so quickly Nivaradros had to shift his position instantly to keep from dropping her.

  “A shadow hall,” she whispered in astonishment as she took everything in. “Nivaradros, how did you accomplish this?!” she wanted to know.

  It was beautiful. No matter how much she disliked and distrusted the shadow magic there was something about this hall that made all her doubts regarding it melt away. Nivaradros had taken the shadow, his mountain, and his carving abilities and merged them into a single entity. The hall was carved to reveal a mountain pass from a distant world—one she had been to, and one the Dragon must have been to as well—but the pass was overlaid with a shadow world’s interpretation of it. Somehow Nivaradros had managed to keep the shadow contained enough that it didn’t swallow this hall, and yet he had kept enough control over his magic to let it add what his carving could not to the pass. There was actual life in the hall.

  He put her down when she began to struggle, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to support her as she moved cautiously to the nearest wall. The mountain deer that roamed the pass turned to regard her and the Dragon. Nostrils flaring at Nivaradros’s scent, one nevertheless approached her. Reaching out with its neck and head, its muzzle brushed the fingertips of the hand she extended to it before its gaze went once more to Nivaradros and it snorted. Turning on its haunch, it leapt a good four feet up the side of the mountain and van
ished into the shadow world part of the hall. It was, she presumed, where the creatures found the substance that kept them alive. The overlapping view was almost hard on her eyes because it was here, in a shadow realm, and nothing more than stone all at the same time.

  “Teach me,” she whispered without thinking. Disregarding the fact he had already told her no.

  The Dragon picked her back up and began to carry her once more when the herd of the deer turned to follow their leader back into the depths of the shadows. “I would be happy to,” he surprised her by saying with a small smile. “Especially if it means you will use your magic more readily.” He carried her through other halls, but none of them called to her as that one had. “That was not—in case you decided it was—what I wanted you to see,” he admitted some fifteen minutes later.

  Setting her down on her feet for a moment he breathed on an emblem in the center of a hall. Only it wasn’t a wall like she thought it was; the minute the Dragon breathed on it, the outline of two doors appeared in the flawless black of the mountainside.

  “I wanted you to see my rooms,” he explained as the doors swung inward without a sound. He held out a hand to her and took a step into the darkness that had appeared as the doors opened.

  Chapter 4

  She stared at his offered hand as though it would burn her. Behind him, she could sense a level of magic that caused her to want to shield, flee, and attack all at the same time—it had been a while since any magic had caused that reaction. Still, she could see he was waiting for her to make a choice and she didn’t want to anger him or hurt his feelings by turning down what he was offering. Forcing herself to take his hand, she walked from the softly lit hall into the pitch black of the room Nivaradros had chosen to create for himself. The doors swung shut and for a moment all she could see was the barest outline of shapes, the Dragon, and the haze magic often showed her when she focused. Shivering, she waited for her eyes to adapt, but just as things began to improve, there was a whoosh of power and the room lit up with the telltale element of Nivaradros’s kind: fire.

  There was a reason Dragons were known for their fire. It wasn’t just the fact they could breathe it, but the fact they commanded it in an unnatural way. Z doubted she would ever manage half the skills Nivaradros had with fire, and his quarters only proved it. Everything was related to fire, and the fire burned, but did not destroy. A desk was carved in one of the many shapes of a flame—and there were thousands, despite what most limited minds thought—and it contained another six types of flames while it burned. Nothing beneath, around, or upon it so much as smoked, and Z could barely consider the control Nivaradros would have to exert to create a desk of fire that would not burn any paper placed on it.

  And desk was probably the wrong term. It was about fifteen feet long, and eight feet wide. Approaching it with care, she eyed the designs upon it and shook her head in wonder as the Dragon followed her, letting her examine things on her own. Placing her hand on the desk, she watched as blue-red flames danced over her skin but did not so much as warm her hand. Oh, the control. She wanted it, and she realized now just what she could learn from Nivaradros, and knew he was more than willing to teach her. They would have millenniums to tune her magic to its greatest edge and ability. The magic itself didn’t interest her, but the control did. Nivaradros could probably cut a hair without harming anything else from a good mile away with about as much thought as most people gave to breathing; she wanted that confidence for herself.

  “The desk is not the only part of the room,” Nivaradros observed with a chuckle. She offered him a half-hearted glare, but let her attention moved from the desk to the floor. The floor and the walls.

  Blue-black flames danced, swirled, and surged around the room. Certain areas looked like whirlpools, others looked like interwoven patterns, and yet others looked just like a floor of fire. The flames appeared to emerge out of the walls and the floor—and, when she looked up, the ceiling—but it was all just a masterful illusion; the fire was trapped inside the stone of the room. Bending down with care Z brushed a palm over the fires the floor contained and found herself caught within its hold as that black fire left the floor and flowed upwards until it encased her in a cocoon.

  Stranger. Power. Zimliya.

  The last word was spoken—or, more accurately sensed—in her mind with a hint of delight, and Z felt the element test her more thoroughly. It wanted to judge her for Nivaradros, and she found she was unable to bring forth her case, but almost eager to find out what the room thought of her. Knowing well she wouldn’t have allowed this presence to rummage through her mind, body, and spirit even a year ago, Z forced herself to relax whenever she felt a reaction over something discovered. Whatever the power around her was, it seemed to be protecting her while judging her. After an indeterminable length of time, the containment of black flames soaked back into the floor, and Nivaradros caught her as she fell.

  Approval.

  Nivaradros’s smile was grim, but he didn’t say anything to her as he continued to hold her until she felt enough strength return to stand on her own. “What in the hells was that?” she demanded.

  “Evidently the spell I placed in here during my younger years still exists,” Nivaradros answered with a shrug. When she gave him a black look, the Dragon’s smile turned more toward amusement. “With my social status at the time, I wanted a spell that would keep me from being tricked into believing anyone I happened to care for—though I thought it unlikely—also cared for me when they did not. You passed, so there is little to be concerned about.”

  “If I hadn’t, would I have been another layer of ash in your corner of death over there?” she wanted to know as she spied a section of the room that was stained in blood, and covered in ash and the occasional bone fragment. Fire was present even there though, and it danced through the ash and bone in a disturbingly enchanting way.

  “I would have intervened,” Nivaradros replied, looking at her with a strange light in his semi-bright green eyes, “but I would have killed you myself.” His words betrayed nothing, but his eyes and his stance told her he was lying. He would not have harmed her. She had no idea how he would have reacted, but he wouldn’t have touched her. After a few minutes of silence, Nivaradros offered her his arm. When she accepted it, he moved her away from the floor that had threatened her and led her further into the room; so far, she hadn’t even made it a fourth of the way through it.

  “Is that your family crest—the one on the left?” she asked as the blue-black flames of the wall receded from something that was equal in its color, but carried a different form of fire to it, and was therefore detectable from the background. “And the one on the right, is that one your personal one?”

  “Correct,” Nivaradros breathed, but something in his tone caused her to pause and pull away from him.

  As he turned to face her, Z took a second step back. His eyes were neon, and she saw a hint of the Dragon as she had first met him, and more than a hint of him as the Warlord. He was still considering killing her, and it was all she could do not to react to it. Something about the crest was a touchy subject. Then again, Dragons, in theory, hadn’t had or used any type of crest since the fall of the Dragon Empire millenniums ago—though some of the eldest of the race still had theirs—so the fact that he had a personal crest and still had his family one said something. What it said she wasn’t sure, and she was unwilling to push him further.

  For a time, they stood there. Nivaradros with his threatening presence and power, and her making every attempt not to respond to it. Her instincts told her to attack him; her training showed her how to attack him in multiple situations, and yet something deep down—deeper than she was used to reaching—told her to wait. And for the first time in her life, Z found herself able to resist her instinct to attack.

  The Dragon blinked and the sense of danger passed. “Good girl,” he whispered as he seemed to lose a few inches of height. “Very good girl.” Taking one step toward her, he offered her hi
s hand once more and just waited. Dark green eyes met and held hers, causing her to wonder what had just happened. When she didn’t readily accept his hands, the Dragon smiled. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he told her with care. “I just wanted to see your reaction. Z, it is alright.”

  Nodding, she accepted his hand again and let him lead her over to the crests of fire on the wall. She had always loved seeing Veilantras’s, and she had always loved getting summons from the Dragon Council. They sealed their letters with fire, and it had fascinated her to receive a message that was sealed by a spot of burning fire that somehow never touched the rest of the letter. Crests in general, however, no longer existed. But at least Veilantras still had hers, and it was now clear Nivaradros had kept his family’s and made one of his own. The family crest held a collection of that line’s power, and it was calling her. Raising a hand without thinking, she stopped herself from touching the family crest of Nivaradros with effort. Nivaradros, however, chuckled.

  “You are welcome to touch it, if you think it is wise,” he told her as he moved to stand at her back. “I want to see what it thinks of you.”

  “Joy,” she muttered as she nevertheless reached out with her left hand and placed it in the center of the burning display. Immediately the fire burned her—she noticed the smell—and magic surged up her arm.

  This time though, Nivaradros was behind her as a wall to hold her up as the power hit her and her knees began to buckle from the backlash. She felt and heard voices of anger fill the room and she struggled to hang on, struggled to stay conscious as something with power continued to strike her over and over again. Straightening, she forced herself to stand against the onslaught of power, but the smell of burning flesh grew stronger, and when she looked at her left hand she found the flames were now up to her elbow. Anger took over for annoyance and she began to fight. Forcing the flames back to the crest, she shouted her own challenge in Dragon—for that was what was being loudly shouted in almost incomprehensible words, but since half of understanding Dragon was by feeling the words, it wasn’t as limiting as it sounded.