by Meagan Hurst
His hint at humor calmed her. “I do,” she told him in an attempt to match his mood. “The third time someone tries to kill me—if they survive the first two times—makes them a target.”
“Until then however…” the Mithane interjected sourly. He looked at her hidden wounds again and then closed his eyes. He was tired still, weak, but his color was stronger, and his voice once again held some of its old power. “You put up with a great deal.” He moved—she didn’t expect it—and he caught her in his grasp. He pulled away the bandages until scars, the long thin white lines, the faded white circles, and other scars in different shapes, were revealed. “Tenia was proof of that.”
She pulled away from him, he released her, but not before she caught Shalion’s expression. “Let it lie,” she warned him.
“You were tortured in Tenia, before you left the first time?” the Ryelention demanded to know. His eyes were now burning with a fire the Dragons would have been proud of. That he had managed to catch on to the fact that not all of her scars were from battles or Midestol was not surprising, but it was a bad time for him to piece together parts of her past she still preferred to ignore. She’d always let the heirs assume her problem with Tenia was simply a clash of her mindset and their culture, that her torture in Tenia had occurred after she had joined the Rangers, and it was obvious that her choice was coming back to bite her.
“Tenia is destroyed,” was her cold and closed reply.
“There are still people remaining,” he shot back at her. His eyes moved to the Mithane. “How many?”
“Mithane…” she growled.
“Somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty injuries total,” the Mithane answered without blinking. “Though there are probably only fifty or so visible scars that time has not erased, or newer injuries have not covered.” His attention was on everything but her. “Of course, none of us knew her when it occurred. None of us but a middle-aged Ranger scholar who perished a decade ago. Not even Kitra was around in the beginning.”
Shalion’s eyes narrowed. “Remind me again why you didn’t burn that damn kingdom to the ground before it threatened the safety of the world?”
Inhaling in a measured pace—hating the corner the Mithane was so good at backing her into when he wanted someone else to know of her past—Z turned to face Shalion full on. “I don’t act upon revenge,” she reminded him. “If I did, I would kill until not even I could withstand a dark call.”
Chapter 6
Nivaradros hadn’t returned. Knowing him as well as she did, Z didn’t believe he was fit for company, but she nevertheless wanted to seek him out. She wanted to make sure Veilantras hadn’t inflicted any injuries that wouldn’t heal without aid. Since she had been exhausted when he had brought her to his personal room, she wasn’t certain where she needed to go, but she was willing to try and get there anyway. It had taken some effort to get both the Mithane and Shalion to allow her to leave her quarters without an escort, but as she had pointed out, there was little that was likely to attack her in Nivaradros’s lair. Unless, of course, one counted some of the magic he seemed to have harnessed.
Which the Mithane did, and that had been his counter-argument. Z had managed to poke holes in it, but it had taken her time, and she was still used to being human; time felt wasted when she was forced to repeat herself. Once she had persuaded the two to leave her room, following the argument that had ended when Shalion had been able to rebandage her, she had changed into clothing that felt natural—Ranger style—and then armed herself for no other reason than so she could feel whole, in a sense; the Mithane’s forced conversation had left her feeling decidedly vulnerable. Of course, in order to feel fine, she needed to be attacked, but she knew her condition and her strength was not adequate enough to challenge Ilentio just yet.
Wandering around aimlessly through Nivaradros’s lair, however, wasn’t helping. Frustrated, tired, and feeling defeated, Z sank down against the wall of one of the halls she had wandered into. Bringing her knees to her chin she closed her eyes and shivered in the chilly air of the cave—though it was hard to remember anything this vast, decorated, and powerful could have anything to do with a cave—Z considered her options. She was lost. Something she hadn’t experienced in years, and the only way to get un-lost on her own was to use magic, and she had used enough magic today. Otherwise she could wait here and Nivaradros would find her—and probably be furious enough that the Mithane and Shalion would be able to hear the conversation from their quarters.
Making a face when neither option appealed to her, Z forced herself to stand and began to wander through the halls once more. She was too tired to pay much note to Nivaradros’s designs, but she was alert enough to know she needed to study them at another time. Exhaustion, however, had her crawling through the final hall. Closing her eyes—shivering with cold—she once again huddled against a wall and gave into waiting for the Dragon. She was now too tired to make finding her way with magic an option. Oh, she could find it, but she didn’t have the strength to get there, and if she was going to use magic, she wanted to have the strength to use the results. Focusing on staying warm instead, Z let her mind begin to run over the laws, taxes, set up, policing force, and everything else that she would need when it came time to claim one or all of the kingdoms that were theoretically hers. It gave her something to do while she waited, and when she drifted off, she managed a small smile over the fact she had at least accomplished something.
She stirred when someone placed a hand against her forehead and then tenderly picked her up. The smell of blood woke her up a little more. “Nivaradros?” she murmured as she shifted her weight with care.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I went to return to your side and found you had left. The Mithane and Shalion both claimed you had gone off in search of me, and when you didn’t return I decided I would search for you.” The lecture and the anger she expected to follow that statement failed to even radiate off his form. “They believed you were trying to find my…quarters?”
She nodded, because she was that tired, and then tried to open her eyes. “I thought perhaps you would seek solitude after Veilantras’s visit.” And accusations.
“Ah, well you were correct in your assumption,” Nivaradros admitted. “While I…appreciate—and that’s not the right word—the support I received from Shalion and the Mithane, their presence here is…difficult. I am not used to others in my lands much less in residence within my mountain, and I find it taxing to accept. Furthermore, it is challenging to award them the formality they are due. I am not good at it. I detest it and given half a chance I would rather have killed them—even Shalion—than have had to deal with them. But,” he added before she could speak, “their presence here has been good for you, and I did need their support. Veilantras was willing to be reasoned with once she heard both the Mithane and Shalion back the reasons for your presence. The Mithane’s words had more weight of course—our past is tainted with blood after all; he has no reason to lie.”
She recognized where he was carrying to her even though she couldn’t open her eyes. “You’re taking me to your rooms?” she murmured in surprise.
“So long as you agree not to touch anything until morning, or whenever you wake up from this.” She felt the halls pass as Nivaradros lengthened his stride. Sometime later, she felt a familiar sense as they passed through something—she assumed it was the double doors that led to his private quarters—and she felt herself lowered with care onto something that felt suspiciously like a bed. Since she hadn’t seen a bed in his rooms before she assumed it was either new or she had been too distracted before to notice it.
“Will the Dragons fly to war?” she heard herself asked as she struggled to stay awake.
“At the moment, no, but Veilantras is unsure of how long that will last. She was…upset,” Nivaradros added. “But she believes you are in good hands here, and she is convinced that you are not being held against your will. As if I could ever manage that.”
“Right now, you could,” she pointed out sleepily. “Anyone could keep me.”
“I rather doubt that. I’ve seen you bleeding to death—and on the brink of it—while managing to escape from Midestol’s forces. You’re only still here because you want to be.” Lips brushed her forehead. “Sleep, please. I am rather hopeful tomorrow you will be in much greater form.”
Then he would have to be in possession of a miracle. She didn’t voice that opinion aloud. Letting the Dragon hold her without even thinking about it, she began to fall into a deep sleep—and felt the Dragon’s magic force her ever deeper into it. Deep enough to bypass dreams and too deep for her to waken from without fighting him. Curious, rather than being upset, Z let him win once more. The words he had spoken before she had slipped into sleep implied he intended to end her ridiculously slow healing process, and if that was the case, he was welcome to do almost anything to her.
To her surprise, he drew her out of the deepest part of her sleep hours later. Since this wasn’t the first time he had done this, and she could tell he wanted her to hear something, but not be able to get involved. His reason was clear moments later; she heard a familiar and unwelcomed voice begin to speak.
“I admit I am surprised to hear from you, but not as surprised as I am by your request. Are you certain you are willing to give this up?”
“She’s needed,” Nivaradros replied to his visitor. “While I would like to keep her here and continue to work on her issues, I cannot ignore what is going on. Neither can she. She’s been very careful not to ask too many questions, but she wants to fight—needs to fight—and I am unwilling to keep her here since I also kept her out of the last battle until my disappearance. Plus, the Mithane and I have spoken at length; her presence boosts morale, and she has two kingdoms officially and a third one unofficially to run. But, if I cannot keep her here, I can likewise not let her out in the condition she is currently in, and I do not have the means or the power to heal her. It is not one of my skills.”
“Dragons heal fine on their own in most cases, so a healer within your race would have been pointless, especially with the history of your kind.” She felt Nivaradros’s guest—well, her guest—approach her and she felt him pull the covers back. “They are healing, Nivaradros. If I accede to your request you will be surrendering at least two months of time you would have had to work with her.”
“I may regret it,” she heard Nivaradros say. “But her presence is required, and I fear keeping her will make her angry with me in the end. I am willing to surrender this period of time for the moment, in the hope that I can make it up later. Besides, until she had recovered, I was limited in what I could accomplish.”
“Then I will have to accept it. There are a thousand possibilities—more than that if I take the time to consider them all. Crilyne may succeed in turning her against me. Either of us could be injured again or killed. She may decide to pull away from me. But it won’t matter if we don’t start winning battles. Midestol is moving his forces again—I can sense them—and she is the only being who has a chance to stand against him. Will you help me, or have I wasted my time calling you here?”
“I feel you are making a mistake, Nivaradros, but you know her better than I, and she may surprise me. I will heal her, yes, but in return I ask that you keep her here for two more weeks. Her form will not return to its best without training.”
“Done. I have long wanted to train in earnest with her,” Nivaradros replied. “Especially since we are going to be fighting alongside each other; I need to learn her style. I’ve seen it, I’ve admired it, and I’ve even feared it, but I have never truly fought beside her in battle. Not as her partner. Two years ago, the Tenian disaster required a different skill set than this will. So, it is past time I learn how to best fight at her side. And I am still adjusting to being able to fight only in this form.”
Z struggled against Nivaradros’s spell, but she felt the Dragon tighten his hold on her, and the cost of fighting his magic became too high. She wondered what he was giving up this time—feared what could also be demanded from him—but due to his blatant opinion of the matter at hand, she doubted being alert would have changed his mind, or changed whatever was about to happen. Which was a healing, joy to the world! She wondered if the being in the room could break through her shields. Pulling them tight around her, she waited for his magic to strike.
And it did. Lightning against stone would have had less of a response. She felt her magic stir with fury as his magic reached out to heal her, and when it began to try and take hold, she felt her magic and her defenses slap his power away.
“Nivaradros, put her into a deeper sleep or get her shields to fall. I cannot breach them.”
“Interesting. That says much about her power and yours,” the Dragon observed, but she felt his magic reach out to push her deeper into sleep again. An undercurrent of permission to let her barriers fall was also there. The desire to fight with him was present but it was slight. Her last thought was that they needed to discuss this when she woke, and although she heard Nivaradros’s voice ring out once more, she couldn’t make out the words he spoke.
~*~
A light touch on her chest brought her back. Blinking as she sat up, the first thing she noticed was the increase in stamina. Meeting and holding the dark green eyes of the Dragon for a moment, she brought her hands up to her stomach and chest and traced the deep pink scars that were the only remains of the wounds that had brought her so low. Like Nivaradros’s, they resembled thick spider webs, but unlike the Dragon, she only had two. Tracing the raised skin, she met his eyes again and pressed her lips to together in a vain attempt to keep from speaking. She failed.
“What did you surrender this time?” she wanted to know.
It wasn’t the question he expected. And it wasn’t one he liked; his eyes brightened in shade and she felt his presence shift into something almost threatening.
“It doesn’t matter,” he growled.
“It matters to me,” she countered. “What did he ask you to give up?”
“Zimliya, it does not matter and there was nothing to surrender this time. And all I did was relinquish some of the allotted time I was supposed to have you to myself in order to allow you to return to the world, and to battle, in a timely manner. You’re needed, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep you here—injuries be damned—much longer.”
“You’ve lost six weeks,” she whispered as she recalled what she had overheard.
“It is irrelevant in the long run and I do not consider it lost,” the Dragon contradicted. “I will still be with you and, as you overheard me tell him, I was limited by your injuries. This is more of a win than a loss, in my eyes. You’re well enough to start to train, and I’ve still got you for two weeks.”
She eyed him with care but could sense nothing other than truth to his words. “And what do you want from me?” she demanded.
“Well, I’d like to actively be a part of your conditioning program for the next two weeks. I have to finish adapting to this limiting—this form,” Nivaradros corrected himself. She could see the struggle in his eyes for a minute before it passed. “You’re considered a Master by—”
“I am not a Master!” she snarled.
“—by others,” Nivaradros continued, ignoring her. “And Chevello told me to work with you, before his death,” the Dragon added as she flinched. He pulled her close in response. “It bothers you still?”
“Chevello and I were close,” she admitted. “He accepted me once I proved myself. He was the first Alantaion, besides Shevieck, to trust me as a warrior. He assigned me to protect the Mithane when I knew an attack was going down. He barely knew me,” she added as the memory surfaced, “and he hated mortals, but he gave me his blessing to go to the Mithane’s side when he was delayed. He gave me a token to show—it didn’t work because I was mortal, so I ended up taking a different way in.”
“A window?” Nivaradros asked with a crooked smile.
&nb
sp; “It is the quickest way in most places, but no, I appealed to the Arriandin,” she added as her eyes closed. “It was then I had to deal with the Mithane.” Shaking herself free of the memories, she sighed. “Chevello always let me tag along when I asked. He never once questioned me, and whenever I needed to burn off some steam, he arranged things so I could challenge someone, someone challenged me, or he would fight me himself.”
“He was tolerable for an Alantaion,” Nivaradros agreed. “When I took you to their kingdom after your return a couple years back, it was Chevello who smoothed things over.”
“He trusted you; you protected his people in battle after all.”
“He trusted you; he knew I had your unvoiced permission, despite your words to the contrary at the time, and I had brought you to them for aid. I had made no move against them once you were well. I was also in the center of their kingdom without any backup. He knew they had a good chance of defeating me.” She glanced at Nivaradros as she realized what he was implying.
“You expected them to kill you.”
“I expected them to try. I did not anticipate that Chevello would give me a chance. I was even more surprised when the Mithane backed him. It was a display of your power, and it was subtle. I was certain you missed it. You’ve always known your power over many, you just never use it.”
“Sometimes the truest display of power is the ability to know when to, and when not to, use it.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood with care.
Nivaradros was ready to catch her when her knees buckled. “You’re healed,” he explained as held her. “But you need to learn to move slowly for a day or two. Your healing wasn’t natural and as a result your body will take time to adjust. Trust me, I went through this myself.”
