by Meagan Hurst
“It never manages to be anything less than amazing, the fact she trusts you as much as she does,” the Mithane admitted. “If it hadn’t been for you, I still would have only managed to heal her perhaps twice. Because of your interference, I have managed at least a dozen times and it hasn’t ruined the tentative relationship we do have.”
“She trusts you,” Nivaradros argued.
“Then you see something neither she nor I do; she has never awarded me with a title, Nivaradros.”
“She would have joined your kingdom if you had but asked,” Nivaradros pointed out in a tone that spoke volumes about how much he would have hated it had that occurred.
“That is true, but she has never offered and I have never asked. I knew she was destined for more than that. As did she. Didn’t you, Zimliya?”
“Yes, I did,” she agreed as she opened her eyes. Sitting up took effort, but she made it and she watched them walk toward her, and it was just the two of them. Eyes narrowing, she glared at Nivaradros. “Is he alone?”
“It was his idea,” the Dragon protested at once. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on me!”
The Mithane shrugged when Z turned her glare upon him. “It is true,” he admitted. “But Crilyne has been spinning stories of the Dragon, his temper, and the fact that he is torturing you to death, so trying to bring some of my guards for ‘protection’ would only have been a disaster. Not to mention, I don’t need to surround myself with guards in your presence.”
“Are you so certain?” she wanted to know as she looked him over. “You look like the picture of a walking dead, Alantaion.”
“You don’t look much better yourself,” the Mithane teased as he left the Dragon’s side and approached her. His eyes were more black than brown and she could feel his worry. “You look better than I expected though.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nivaradros, who seemed to be giving them space. “With your leave, Dragonlord?” he inquired.
“You have it,” was Nivaradros’s formal reply. “Or you would not be here. I trust you with her, Mithane.” The Dragon hesitated briefly and then did something neither of them expected. “And I would like to offer you a formal apology for all the lives of your people I took outside of battle, especially the life of your Mithana.”
The Mithane had been undoing the bandages that sealed her arm, but at Nivaradros’s words he stiffened, then froze. Z felt a small amount of alarm begin to emerge when the Mithane stayed that way for a few minutes before shaking himself and turning to face the Dragon directly. Something passed between them, the Alantaion and the Dragon, and Z wished she knew what it was. What she was granted though, were movement and words.
Bowing low to Nivaradros, the Mithane rose with care and Z felt the tension in the room soften a bit. “I did not realize a Dragon could even form an apology, much less mean it,” he said at long last. “And while it does not change what you did—or lessen the crime itself, Nivaradros—it is still a gesture I appreciate.” He glanced over at her, and she was startled by how soft brown his eyes had become. “You deserve her, Lord Nivaradros,” the Mithane said in a soft voice, using a title neither she nor the Dragon had yet claimed for him. “And I will do everything in my power to make sure my people learn to set aside our anger toward you, as best we can. You have been an ally, a protector, and you have done much to keep us all alive. It does not change what you did, and such things cannot be balanced out, but you are offering me more than I ever expected to receive.”
Turning back to her, he began once more to unwrap her burned arm. “If I am not overstepping my bounds,” the Mithane began with care, “may I ask what has changed about you? Your presence is almost… lessened, but not quite.”
“Oh. That. I am now bound to walk upon the ground,” Nivaradros said dismissively. And it was so without care, that Z thought the Mithane had swallowed his tongue in surprise as the news registered.
Her arm was once again forgotten. Z found it amusing that the Mithane had been caught off guard by the Dragon twice in a row. “You…You’ve lost the form of your birth?” the Mithane sputtered.
“I was badly wounded,” Nivaradros pointed out as Z realized he was clothed again. She assumed he had dressed before he had gone to fetch the Mithane. “My…return was only possible in one form. To remain with Zimliya, I would have to be in this form, and I made my decision because of that desire.”
The Mithane stared at the Dragon again before shaking his head and returning for the third time to the task he had been summoned for. “You have changed, Lord Nivaradros,” he breathed as he concentrated on the thousand—and it wasn’t that much of an exaggeration—bandages Nivaradros had wrapped her arm with. “Your choice would have different in the past.”
“Indeed,” the Dragon agreed. “But she is worth it.”
“She is also conscious and tired of being spoken of in third person,” Z inserted as she glared at them both.
Nivaradros chuckled. “I was waiting for your temper to rise,” he admitted. Turning his attention back to the healer in the room, the Dragon grimaced. “There is a reason I wrapped it heavily; the damage was excessive.”
Right at that moment, the Mithane reached bandages that were stained with blood and tensed. “What did you do?” he demanded of the Dragon.
“I showed her my room,” Nivaradros said with a high level of unease. “And she decided she wanted to touch the family crest of an ancient Dragon lineage.”
The bandages fell away, and the Mithane began to curse when he saw the damage. He did not, however, turn his anger on the Dragon. “You thought touching something made with fire was a good idea?”
“I know, I know,” Z growled. “It only seemed wise in the moment.”
Chapter 5
The Mithane stared at the damage to her arm, and Z shared his concern. Since Nivaradros had cleaned it, bits of tendons showed through some of the flesh and the stupid thing started bleeding again the second air touched it. He chose not to lecture her, however. Instead he pressed his lips together and reached for the injury, letting her know how exhausted he still was. She moved the hand out of reach with care, and then held his eyes when he looked at her.
“Are you up for this?” she wanted to know. “And you have to swear not to try and heal anything other than the arm.”
“I thank you for your concern, but I am in better shape than you are,” the Mithane chided. “But, yes, I will only try to heal the arm. I have no intention of nearly killing myself again.” His eyes held hers, and he smiled. “You seem more resigned to healings than you used to be.”
“Blame the Dragon,” she murmured as she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see him work.
“Perhaps I will,” the Mithane replied as she felt the magic in the room swell. It took a longer time for him to heal her than it normally would have, and his voice was exhausted when he finished. “I believe there should be no lasting trauma from your injury—” he began to explain, but she felt a shift in his presence and her eyes flew open as it took a sharp dive.
The Dragon was there before she could even cry out. Catching the Mithane as the Alantaion collapsed, Nivaradros lifted the unconscious ruler with care and held her gaze at the same time. “He’ll be alright,” the Dragon assured her. “He’s just tired. He warned me he wasn’t at his best yet. I will place him in a room and check on him often. He’s exhausted, Z. He will recover with rest.”
But she couldn’t suppress her fear. The Mithane was in the Dragon’s lair, and although their relationship had been positive for the past two years, there were no guards and Z was well aware of how the Alantaions would view their ruler’s decision to trust Nivaradros. But the Mithane had come, and it told her more than most could grasp. The Mithane trusted Nivaradros to protect him. Trusted the Dragon enough to leave a neutral setting or an Alantaion held one, even though the Dragon had caused him so much harm. She would never have expected such a gesture from the Alantaion ruler so soon, if ever, and she still couldn’t grasp the lack of an escor
t for the Mithane. She trusted Nivaradros with her own life, but she wasn’t as certain as the Alantaion that she could trust the Dragon with the lives of those she cared for; perhaps she needed to reconsider that.
“Where will you put him?” she demanded.
“In a safe room. Believe me, Z, when I say I have no intentions of letting any harm come to him. You care for him, and I would not risk his life because of it. He overextended himself, and that’s all that is wrong. I will check on him myself whenever you command it of me. But you need to relax, you’re bleeding again.” His last words were pinched in tone, and he supported the Mithane’s form with more caution than she would have ever expected to see. “I’ll return as soon as I am certain he is out of danger.” Without another word, the Dragon carried his burden from the room.
He returned an hour later. A very long, very nerve racking hour later. Z had managed to get up and pace, but it took an annoyingly long time to make one pass, so she abandoned the effort and returned to the bed to wait for the Dragon’s reappearance. Partially because it was comfortingly warm. She was just starting to drift off when the door opened, and she sat up as the Dragon strolled into the room. Seeing her face, he sighed.
“The Mithane is resting, Z, he is in little danger.” Still Nivaradros was willing to join her. Staying above the blankets as he always did, he nevertheless gathered her close. “Sleep,” he advised. “I will wake you if he should rise. Until then there is nothing either of us can do to help. Healing takes far too much from you, and you’re not in any shape to sacrifice your strength.”
She opened her mouth to speak anyway and found the Dragon had picked up the annoying habit of kissing her to silence her. It worked because his displays of affection still threw her off guard. Chuckling as he drew away, Nivaradros shifted so he wouldn’t place any pressure against her wounds. He never followed up his spoken or implied interest in her and she couldn’t grasp why. Injuries aside, she wondered what else held him back, but she didn’t ask because his possible answers worried her.
“You’re thinking too much,” Nivaradros sighed, and she felt his hand reach out to touch her cheek. “Whatever it is, it cannot be that important. Sleep, Zimliya,” he added. “He will be fine.”
“I don’t require sleep, Nivaradros,” she snapped as she allowed him nevertheless to start to use magic on her.
“No, but humor me. When the time comes that sleep is no longer beneficial, I will not force it upon you, but until then it helps you recover, and I want to see you well.” The Dragon exhaled in a huff of impatience. “You’re healing. Next week we can go back to your training. I’d like to join you, if that is alright?”
Surprised by the question, she fought off a small amount of sleep to answer. “Of course, it is, Nivaradros. It will be fun to spar against you.” Before she could hear his reply, she gave into his magic, and fell into sleep.
~*~
She awoke to something she had awoken to far too often lately: yelling. A female voice she recognized viciously verbally flayed Nivaradros, and Z could tell the Dragon had about had it with visitors that took out their fear and frustrations on him. He didn’t, however, respond back with anger, and that worried her. Opening her eyes, she sat up with care and stared at the two mortal-formed Dragons who were circling each other. Nivaradros, she noted with dismay, was already bleeding from a gash on his cheek and a wound on his side.
“Veilantras, leave him alone!” she snarled as the Dragoness closed once more on Nivaradros and he didn’t block her attack. Thankfully, this time, he didn’t need to, as both of them became motionless at the sound of her voice. Nivaradros, however, moved first. At her side in an instant, he tried to keep her confined to the bed, but when she fought against him, he instead picked her up and carried her to a couch while Veilantras followed them with her eyes glowing in her anger.
As he lowered her to the couch, Z reached up to touch his face but missed as the Dragon jerked his head back before she could make contact. The wound bled black heavily, and she knew it was sizeable for a facial injury. His side was likewise covered in blood, but his clothing hid the damage.
“I’m alright,” he reassured her. “She’s just been listening to the Shade.” Straightening and turning to face his mentor, Nivaradros waited with his chin lifted high, as though he expected to be attacked again. Z wasn’t having it.
A blast of power—honed and gathered with rage—knocked the female Dragon off her feet and sent her back a good ten feet. “Leave. Him. Alone,” Z hissed at Veilantras as the Dragoness pushed herself to her feet. Z was furious enough that she didn’t stop there, and she sent a second wave of power, then a third and a fourth. Each time Veilantras tried to stand, Z knocked her feet out from under her. There was no bloodshed, but it was humiliating, and Z was enraged enough that she didn’t care about the Dragon’s temper. She would weather it when it came.
“Enough, Zimliya,” Veilantras growled. “I get it.” She stood with care this time, seeming to expect another attack. When she managed to straighten, she shot Nivaradros a venomous look but remained in the spot where Z had knocked her. “It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your edge or your power.”
Nivaradros grabbed her shoulder as she went to stand. “Z…” he barked in a low tone that was felt more than heard. “Relax.” Nivaradros’s own eyes, however, were as neon as Veilantras’s and his stance was one that Z used to associate with him attacking the nearest living object—plant life included. “Veilantras, now that Z is awake and coherent, why don’t you ask her what you are so willing to accuse me of?”
Veilantras’s hands were fists—and turning white—and her eyes blazed as they focused on Nivaradros, but she did incline her head stiffly to him before turning those fierce eyes on Z. “Has he harmed you in any manner?”
The question was expected, yet still shocking. Feeling like she had been slapped on his behalf, she shook her head. “No, Veilantras, he has done nothing of the sort,” she replied in a tone that was forced to be even and level. She decided not to mention the incident in his room with the crest, since that hadn’t been his fault.
“And you are not being kept here as a chained pet?” Veilantras demanded with frost encasing every word.
The female Dragon’s accusation got to her. Snarling in Dragon, Z stood and pushed off Nivaradros’s hands. Using magic, she cut through her bandages and pulled them aside to reveal the two shrinking holes Nivaradros had been so apprehensive to tend. “No,” she told the Dragon as Veilantras stared at the wounds. “I am not a caged bird. He is trying to protect me. I am barely able to stand. I can scarcely manage to walk. I am healing, but I am far from well. He’s been working hard, Veilantras, and yes, he has been overprotective, but I was dying when he came, and it took everything he had to keep me alive. He hasn’t done a thing wrong.”
“And he has not kidnapped the Mithane and the Islierri?”
“I believe ‘kidnapped’ is inappropriate, although I would not argue the use of the word ‘borrowed,’” a tired, but dry and familiar voice inserted before Nivaradros or Z could respond to the shocking accusation. All eyes were drawn to the doorway where the Mithane leaned on Shalion as though his weight was still too much to bear, but he was managing to walk on his own. “I came here without so much as a rude word from the Dragon, who requested my presence to aid Zimliya.”
Shalion continued to support the Mithane as they entered, and the ancient Alantaion met Veilantras’s stare without wavering. Her expression, however, didn’t gain much warmth. “And your condition? You were stronger yesterday.”
“Ah, well, Zimliya had a small problem that required outside assistance, and since I am also still recovering from my own injury several months ago, healings take more from me than usual. I will be fine, Veilantras,” the Mithane informed her, though his tone dared Veilantras to challenge that statement.
“What injury?” Veilantras asked as she unclenched her hands to avoid the talons that had decided to grow.
“I fell
while trying to take a bath on my own,” Z lied with a shrug. “Nivaradros frets whenever I am bleeding, so he decided to fetch the Mithane—if he would come—to tend to it since it was a wound that could be healed without harming the healer.”
The Mithane didn’t miss a beat. “It was a head wound. Although it wasn’t fatal, it required attention due to the extent of her remaining injuries.” He nodded at the wounds she was displaying and sighed before turning his gaze to Nivaradros. “She is going to catch a chill; cover her with something, please.”
Nivaradros followed the Mithane’s order without even a hint of offense. Removing his outer robe, he wrapped it around her shoulders with care and Z leaned gratefully into the heat it radiated.
“You and I are going to have a long discussion about your modesty,” he teased as he kissed her forehead. His eyes were darker and he inclined his head formally to the Mithane. Veilantras just stared at the interaction, at a loss for words at last. “Mithane,” Nivaradros greeted the Alantaion. “I see your health is returning. Did you eat anything before our shouting caught your ears? If not, this room has benefits you are welcome to take advantage of.”
“I am afraid I declined the offered food in my room in order to arrive before too much blood was shed,” the Mithane replied. His eyes moved to Nivaradros’s injuries and the Alantaion scowled. “My apologies, Lord Nivaradros,” he continued as Veilantras stiffened at the title he awarded the Dragon, “but I do not believe I am in any condition to aid you today.”
“They are flesh wounds, Mithane, but I thank you for your offer regardless.” Nivaradros turned and gestured as the table and chairs began to emerge from the walls. “I would be honored if you would choose to dine here. Islierri, you are more than welcome to do the same.”
