The Price of Survival

by Meagan Hurst

  “One of the dried you’re-not-sure-what-it-is sounds good,” she answered teasingly, though half-heartedly.

  Shalion flashed her a small smile in response. “I don’t know how you stand this stuff.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Of course you have—humans can’t make anything competently, and you may be the worst human cook I’ve ever dealt with.” Shalion’s nose wrinkled with open disgust as he started to soak one of the dried meals the Syallibions had supplied.

  Fresh meat was hard to come by now; supply wagons had been ordered to cease attempts to reach them given the large masses of the mysterious, venomous bear-like creatures running around, and most of the native game had been scared away by the extended battle or eaten by the creatures. Z was certain they came from another world which meant she would have to find the portal they had come through at some point. Crilyne, however, was also searching for it, so if she failed to find it, he would.

  She didn’t suspect Midestol’s hand in this; he had been as shocked to see them as she had, but she didn’t suspect the enemy within her army either, unless they were truly planning against her and the other kingdoms. She assumed one of Midestol’s warrior-mages had gotten bored and played with magic they couldn’t control. It was how she had gotten the scars across the front of her, after all. She was just grateful this time the creatures were slightly easier to kill—although it was barely easier to kill them. They were certainly causing more damage than the creature that had nearly killed her.

  If she was being entirely honest, fresh anything food-wise was hard to come by now. The gardens the army had been able to raid originally had been destroyed in the war—leaving Z scrambling to find a way to feed the Syallibions in the upcoming winter, since they normally had winter crops—leaving them without fresh fruits, grains, and vegetables.

  On top of that, it had been a dry year for much of the lands, and Z found extra food scarce and even harder to come by than normal. She had a feeling she was going to have to cheat a little and barter with other worlds for the extra supplies she needed to get everyone through the winter, spring, and summer. By summer—if the rains this year were good, and the snow was exceptional—she was slightly optimistic that the realms would be able to support themselves once more, but it was a very optimistic stance, and it involved the war ending in a reasonable time.

  Well, the battle ending anyways. Z wasn’t a fool. The war itself hadn’t even truly gotten under way yet; Midestol was still playing with them. Still testing her. As her thoughts turned to him, she wondered absently how he was doing—if he had fallen prey to any injuries. She doubted it, but as he had recently been wounded it was a thought she couldn’t easily dismiss. Nor could she easily forget the healing—the amount of magic—he had required after he had saved her life. If only she had been able to do the same thing for Nivaradros.

  “You’re thinking of the Dragon again,” Shalion said with a scowl as he offered her a bowl of ‘something.’

  It was noodles tightly curled up despite the several minutes of soaking in boiling water. Added to the noodles were pieces of now rehydrated vegetables, as well as small bites that tentatively looked like some sort of meat. She tasted it uneasily and relaxed. Beef, if she was any judge, and sadly, she wasn’t.

  Once she had taken the bowl, Shalion retreated over to the table—the war table—and sat down to eat his own portion well away from her for once. His expression was also slightly pinched, which was odd, but she didn’t do more than make a small note of it.

  “It’s hard not to,” she sighed. “As he was only social for a year or so, you would think I could just shake this. But, I can’t.”

  Shalion raised a brow. “You really did fall for him,” the Ryelention breathed in surprise. “And here we all thought you would remain forever heartless.” His tone was gentle, but teasing, and his eyes were dancing pearls. “You’re not going to do anything foolish, and it is okay to care for someone, Z. Even openly; you are still human even if you’re no longer mortal. Besides, it’s reassuring to see you still have the ability to feel something so precious and powerful. Of all the fates I feared, the inability to experience a close connection was one I desperately hoped would not fall upon you.”

  She forced a smile to surface, and she managed to eat most of her rations, but it was hard to swallow again, and Z wanted nothing more than to find a way around this whole thing.

  “He’ll make an attempt to kill me soon,” she said at long last, when she grew tired of feeling sorry for herself—which wasn’t long after she had managed to start.

  “He will,” Shalion agreed, and then to her surprise he hesitated. “Z, Shevieck wasn’t the only one Nivaradros was protecting that day.”

  She moved to stare at him. “You were there?” she demanded in a whisper. Shock, a hint of betrayal, and a wave of questions all flooded her at once. He’d lied to her. Shalion had been beside Nivaradros when he had fallen, which meant he must have known something about their relationship. She could understand why he had lied to the masses with the threat of an enemy in their midst, but why had he lied to her?

  Shalion hesitated, but his expression went to its blankest. “I noticed Shevieck was in trouble,” he admitted. “I had been trying to keep tabs on this battle as best I could without alerting anyone that I was close. Few of my people can access a shadowland, but all of us can sense them, and call the shadows as an element; I didn’t want my presence known. Shevieck, however, I sensed was in danger. By the time I got to him, he was surrounded by both Midestol’s forces—or so I thought—and the creatures. I couldn’t safely pull him into my shadowland without others following us. Hells, I couldn’t return to my land without being followed. I do not yet have the control of the Islierre.”

  He played with a glass of water he had summoned from the shadows. The lingering feel of the sub-real world it had come from clung to the glass. That was the one minor drawback to the shadows; they clung to anything summoned for a moment making true surprise almost impossible if others were paying attention. Taking a light sip, he glanced at her and sighed.

  “And then the Dragon came,” he said quietly. “I will say he is always impressive—was always impressive,” the Ryelention corrected softly. “We would have had no chance at surviving if he hadn’t come. Fully a half of our enemies were slain before they realized the Dragon was upon them, and I could have fled to my land at once and easily, but Nivaradros had come to help us, and I could not surrender the battle to him alone.”

  “You stayed.”

  “I stayed, yes, and I fought beside Shevieck while Nivaradros did everything within his power to protect us. I don’t know when I noticed he was wounded—I don’t know when he noticed he was wounded—but when the battle was ours and he was able to land upon the hill we had been surrounded upon, I saw the wounds, and I saw how much blood he had lost.” Shalion took another sip of his water before red began to bleed into it; apparently something stronger was required.

  “Damn it, Zimliya,” Shalion breathed as his eyes closed. “There was a gash the size of a good human head in his chest. I could see through to the heart the arrow had hit, and I could see that heart had already ceased to beat. He was reckless though, furious, and without concern for his health. ‘Get on—both of you’ was all he said, and we obeyed because staying there even with the battle won was a death sentence, but that wasn’t his only wound, and it wasn’t his worst one.

  “Those arrows, Z, are nasty—if you even see one being pointed at you get the hell out of wherever you are immediately. They are entirely metal—the head all the way to the feathers—and they are made to go entirely through their target. It didn’t work with the Dragon, but it didn’t need to. Z, when those things hit, the head extends—pulling it out will kill anything non-Dragon, and it clearly kills even them—and if it doesn’t go all the way through, pushing it through is impossible as well. The shaft is barbed all the way down as well to create maximum damage. These things are meant to kill
no matter what or who they hit. And that is just their basic design.

  “They are also heavily infused with magic. Nivaradros was fighting it, but he warned me—warned Shevieck and I both—that it truly could not be fought; it was using his magic against him. On top of their initial design, and the magic, Nivaradros said the head of the arrow was poisoned, and that he didn’t know if it was native to this world.”

  Z was fairly certain her eye color would be at its worst—Shalion’s certainly were. “They were created to kill me,” she said quietly. “Nivaradros was just the test subject.”

  “That was his belief, yes,” Shalion admitted heavily. “We dropped Shevieck off nearby—after I forced him to swear to me in blood that he would make no mention of my presence. He was to inform everyone Nivaradros had arrived in time to save him, had dropped him off, and then headed off to presumably try to get aid for his wounds. Nivaradros, however, wasn’t done talking to me; most of what I just told you was not spoken of in front of Shevieck. Neither of us was willing to risk the Mithani trying to do something stupid if he knew you were the intended target of these weapons. Nivaradros crashed when we tried to find a safer place to talk.”

  Shalion finished the wine in his glass and refilled it with a thought. “Do you need something more than water?”

  “At this point, Shalion, I am not even certain I want water. What happened after you crashed?”

  “Nivaradros took more injuries in that landing. He was trying to keep me from getting harmed, and he was barely able to stay airborne at that point. I’m not even sure he was alive with anything more than willpower at that point. When he couldn’t stay airborne any longer, we crashed through the trees. He couldn’t control his landing. I heard bones shatter,” Shalion added softly.

  “When we finally hit the ground, I leapt off his back to try to assist him, but he was in such terrible shape, I knew there was no chance at saving him. The wound I had seen before was the smallest wound those arrows had created. He stayed in his Dragon form, and he made no effort to rise. He wanted to make sure I knew just what you were up against.”

  Z closed her eyes, hating this. “His wings?”

  “Irreparably damaged. I’m sorry, Z,” he added quietly. “He couldn’t have moved. I don’t know where his body went, but he was incapable of moving. He was barely alive when we spoke at the end. But he wanted me to tell you about the arrows … and he asked me to look after you. He believed you wouldn’t survive long if you didn’t realize we had an enemy—and he didn’t tell me he suspected one of our own allies—that could hit you so powerfully.”

  “What in the world did he promise you?” she breathed as she listened. “Shalion, you’ve done a lot for him—what did he offer you?”

  “He offered me nothing,” Shalion told her softly. “I owe him a great deal—no I will not clarify as to what I owe him. I will, however, tell you this. He asked me to look after you, and to keep you from becoming closed off from everyone. He knew you would,” he added with a bitter smile. “He requested that I use my talent to get close to you. If you wanted to know why I keep forcing the issue: the touches, the kissing, the being in the same tent and bed with you, he asked it of me.”

  Her eyes were probably not getting any friendlier. “Why?”

  “Because he knew you far better than I expected. How many letters for a union between you and an immortal of power have you received since you returned?”

  Since this was both a sore spot and a spot of irritation, Z made a face. “Fifty-two.”

  Shalion blinked. “Fifty-two?!”

  Nodding glumly, Z summoned her own elegant glass of liquid to drink—like Shalion, she opted to go with something stronger than water. “Some of them are repeats, but it seems everyone and his brother has decided I am on the market, which,” she added coldly, “I am not. I have no intention of accepting anyone’s offer. I claimed the Dragon—”

  “The Dragon is dead.”

  “—and I am not going back on that. Not for anything.”

  “That is touching. Possibly foolish, undoubtedly disappointing for many, and I should have suspected it, but, Z, Nivaradros wanted you to—”

  “Seeing as he’s dead, he no longer gets to call the shots—any shots—if they pertain to my life.”

  “Will you ignore the warnings I just gave you about those arrows?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid or suicidal, but I am not letting him decide whether I do or do not end up with someone else. I’ve made my choice, Shalion—I was a damned fool for considering getting involved with a damned Dragon to begin with—but I am not going back on it!”

  The silence could have been murderous if it had suddenly sprouted fangs, claws, weapons, or magic. The Ryelention heir watched her intently, but without expression, for several minutes. Clearing his throat, he eventually refilled his glass with wine and raised a brow.

  “You intend to isolate yourself.”

  “Since Zyrhis decided to surrender his kingdom to me, there is a limited amount of isolation I can easily grab!” she snapped.

  “You will do a wonderful job,” Shalion said in a tone of voice that managed to defuse most of her anger; it was hard to direct it back at a compliment from him. From anyone else, yes, she could have thrown more anger back after that comment, but coming from Shalion it meant something else entirely.

  And she hated him for that. “I don’t want it,” she whispered. “I never did. I barely was willing to be a Ranger in the beginning. I fled Tenia even when my grandfather was dead, though Nivaradros wanted me to step into the mantle I was born into.” She sipped her chosen drink with care and cringed at the taste. “I don’t want to have any part of leadership, Shalion. I want a tame life, and I want people to quit thinking I’m remarkable.”

  “Zimliya, you always have been incredible. Even when we first met. I will admit your reception by most of the races wasn’t the greatest, but none of us were completely happy to learn the Rangers were not extinct. It was a failure all of us shared, and none of us wanted to admit to; we had abandoned the one race that had always stood beside us to what we thought was their utter destruction because we couldn’t be bothered to send out even a small detachment of warriors to assist them.” Pearl edged towards orange—the yellowish color it hit getting there wasn’t that attractive. “How many died, Zimliya? How many Rangers were murdered because we did not raise our hands in aid?”

  She shook her head. “It is in the past,” she reminded him. “Let it stay there. I have spent years making it a part of everyone’s past. There are still Rangers that would love to drag it up and throw it before everyone. They are still furious at the lack of aid you offered. They come because I ask, and they come because to aid others is part of our calling, but they have not forgiven any of the races for turning their backs on us when we needed your help the most. We went underground, and we have remained there ever since, but few of us like it.”

  “You do.”

  “Hence the word ‘few’ in my previous sentence.” Z finished her liquor with a grimace.

  She wasn’t heavy into the whole alcohol thing, but she had resigned herself to drinking in formal settings, and she did have to admit sometimes it took enough of an edge off her that she could calm down. She had never been foolish enough—and would never make the attempt out of curiosity—to get anywhere near drunk. It wasn’t an immortal pastime for one, and as most of them couldn’t get drunk, only an idiot would consider getting drunk around them. It also just didn’t interest her. She’d seen enough of the results to wonder why it appealed to anyone at all. She would never understand the human desire to purposely make themselves sick for only magic knew what reason. There were easier ways to forget things.

  His smile was cool and guarded. “You’ve always been one of the shadows.” Standing at long last, he approached her. Knowing what was coming, Z managed to steady herself to avoid rewarding Shalion’s kiss with bodily harm, but she still tensed. He had asked, after that fir
st day when he had caught her off-guard, for her permission to kiss her, and everything else he thought might set her off. She had given it, but the verbal yes hadn’t changed her instinctive reactions. “You have got to learn to relax,” he chided stiffly when he moved away. “Honestly, you’d think I was torturing you to death by slowly peeling your skin off—while keeping you alive I might add—instead of trying to do something most people enjoy.”

  “I’m not most people,” she reminded him flatly. “If you want to go around and practice kissing someone, I can point you at a number of your own kind who would be honored and happy to be on the receiving end of such a display of affection.”

  “You learned your sarcasm from the Dragon, didn’t you?”

  “Not all of it, he simply fine-tuned it.” Z moved to stand up and was relieved when Shalion didn’t argue this time. “Why didn’t you make yourself known to the others when you and Shevieck were attacked?”

  “Because Shevieck wasn’t considered a threat to our attacker, and I would have been. I wanted to stay alive long enough to warn you. Besides that, what I said earlier was true. My father doesn’t have any Ryelentions here for him, they are all here for me. I did not want there to be a conflict of power unless you were here to keep things from turning into a turf war—or a liege war—when we were already in the middle of a battle.”

  “Because my presence truly makes that much of a difference?” Z asked sarcastically.

  “Something like that, yes,” Shalion’s eyes were dancing. He grabbed her arm when she took a step and staggered. “Just how many immortals did you attempt to heal?” he demanded.

  “I didn’t attempt to heal any of them,” Z murmured as she turned to the wardrobe and began to dig through the pile of clothing she had thrown in there a couple days before for something clean to wear. By now ‘clean’ meant ‘not stained with blood.’ Finding a suitable shirt, tunic, and pants, Z stripped carelessly before slipping into the cleaner clothing.