by Meagan Hurst
Dyiavea, however, was examining the Shade. Crilyne looked exhausted, wounded even, though that was supposed to be something that Shades were mostly immune to. They could be wounded, of course, but it shouldn’t have taken this much of a toll. Of course, before she could voice her questions or concerns, another voice joined the conversation.
“Crilyne.”
All of them froze at the ice in that voice. Zimliya, looking no worse for her ride through a terrible blizzard, stood in the doorway between her bedroom and the room in which they stood. Power coiled around the woman in a manner Dyiavea had never witnessed before. For the first time since Dyiavea had met the human, Zimliya looked every inch the power everyone had come to realize she could be.
“Nivaradros is correct. You are not welcome. But, since you have chosen to venture here, you must have a reason. Explain. Now.”
Crilyne’s black eyes, still as disturbing as she’d always found them, moved to focus on Zimliya. “Someone has been attacking the wards surrounding Yvsina. I have been using much more magic than most would deem wise to keep the wards from being damaged. Since Zimliya has commandeered the only other Shades with power left to them, I have undertaken this project on my own.”
“You could have called for their aid,” Dyiavea pointed out, glancing at Nivaradros for guidance before realizing what she had done. Cringing, she let her gaze move to Zimliya. To her astonishment, the woman offered her the tiniest of nods and a smile of approval. So. Nivaradros had told her the truth; Zimliya did wish some of the them to back Nivaradros before her.
“They would not have answered,” Crilyne snapped at her, breaking the moment between her and Zimliya.
“Then you should have reached out to me privately!” Zimliya snapped. The woman closed the distance between her and the rest of them and Dyiavea saw her anger sputter and die before she had covered the full distance. A suspicion worked its way into her mind as Zimliya faced the Shade, and she glanced at Nivaradros when it formed.
The Dragon nodded once, but kept his bulk between the Shade and Zimliya. Exhaling in a huff, Dyiavea moved forward as Zimliya fell in step beside her. Zimliya seemed to take strength from her presence, for the woman drew herself up as she regarded the Shade with an anger that Dyiavea never wanted to see again. Stepping forward, Zimliya shocked all of them by slapping Crilyne. A trickle of blood emerged from the Shade’s left nostril.
“If you ever, ever do anything like this to me again I will not only drain you of the years you were gifted, but I swear your death will be agonizing that after hearing of it others will doubt their desire to become Shades,” Zimliya breathed, answering some unknown question.
The Shade, damn him to the depths of whatever hell the undead would be sent to, smiled at her. “Understood,” he said in a tone that sounded bored.
“Good. Then I suppose you can remain,” Zimliya hissed before she nodded to Nivaradros and the Dragon released the door. Arriandin, Dyiavea presumed, slammed the door on the Shade’s face.
Only when the silence had existed for three minutes did Zimliya relax and move to Nivaradros’s side. The Dragon leaned down and brushed his lips over the woman’s before giving Dyiavea a very pointed stare. Bowing to them both, ignoring Zimliya’s glare, Dyiavea excused herself. Nivaradros was seeking time alone with Zimliya and she didn’t want to be in the way. She would speak with Nivaradros at another time, of that she had no doubt.
Chapter 1
Crilyne was still in Arriandie. Hours after she had slapped him Z found herself wishing she could be somewhere else—anywhere else; even Midestol’s dungeons. Instead she had been summoned to breakfast with the Mithane and the Shade. Nivaradros would be there as well—he had taken his leave an hour prior to attend to something with one of the heirs—but as he tended not to get along well with Crilyne, Z had debated on whether to tell him to stay away from the dining hall. She was already dealing with her personal anger over Crilyne’s actions; she didn’t need anything else added.
Why Crilyne had chosen to show up after staying away from her for more than three-quarters of a year was beyond her; she didn’t buy his story. Yes, he had obviously used large amounts of magic, but until she ventured into Yvsina herself she wouldn’t give credit to his story. And that hurt. There was a time she would have trusted him without pause, but now she couldn’t even trust him with the most minimal of things. Shutting her eyes tight in an attempt to contain her anger, Z reminded herself she had chosen some time ago to leave Crilyne alive—so why was it so difficult to accept since she had seen him in person?
“Probably because you got verbally attacked for that decision by the people you hold close to your heart. That is a dangerous thing—by the way—to do.”
Her uninvited visitor had a second’s warning before lightning struck the spot where he had been. “What,” she growled, “do you want?”
“Well I was hoping to give you a warning…but I am not going to deliver it if you keep attacking me,” the being told her slyly as a smile touched his perfect—and annoying—features. The desire to attack him faded and Z curled her fingers into a fist to keep herself from lashing out a second time.
“Warn away then,” she told him through clenched teeth.
“Thank you,” he said in a gracious tone. “You know what’s happening to your missing troops—”
“One of your kind is snatching them,” Z inserted accusingly.
“As I am not the being responsible, I would appreciate it if you redirected your anger!”
“You’re the one who’s within reach,” was her retort, but she did let some of her fury fade. “What about him?” she pressed tiredly as she began to change back into the dress that she’d noticed had caught Nivaradros’s attention. Although she wasn’t fond of it herself, she couldn’t bear to wear her Ranger attire, and had therefore resorted to the only practical clothing option that remained to her.
“He wishes to meet with you.”
“Not interested,” Z snapped. “Knowing you is enough of a headache. Do warn him that when we do meet I am going to destroy him—it will save me some time when I catch up to him.”
Golden eyes regarded her with concern. “I really need to speak with your Dragon about what he seems to have turned you into these past few months. You are looking for a fight, and you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep it up.”
At this point she wasn’t certain that was a bad thing. “Sorry,” she told him with a growl, meaning it. “It’s been a rough…”
“Believe me when I say I know,” her visitor assured her. His eyes focused on her attire, reminding her that she had decided to wear a dress he had given her years prior. “I am glad to see you finally are wearing that,” he added. “Judging by your reaction when I gave it to you, I thought you had burned it.”
She offered him a tight smile. “It is very practical, and I thought I could gift it to someone if nothing else. I am one of the very few who disapprove of dresses.” His smile was kinder, and she could tell he was trying very hard to keep her from reacting again to his presence. “You might as well join me,” she said finally. “I am already late and the Mithane would probably like to see you.”
“Your Dragon won’t.”
“I’ll handle Nivaradros. You, however, can handle Crilyne.”
“You should give him a break,” the being insisted. “He was trying to help you.”
“I am giving him a break—I didn’t kill him.” She sighed and offered him her hand. He accepted it and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
She led the way. They drew stares, especially her since she was in a dress and walking with someone other than Nivaradros. By the time they reached the dining hall, they had a curious crowd following them. Since this meal was the most populated she wasn’t overly surprised, and the added Alantaions would make her arrive on time, which was at least one win. The doors opened before she reached them and Z suppressed a cringe at the populated room. At least three-fourths of those living and working in Ar
riandie were present, and at least half of the Arriandri population was as well. Feeling out of place—hating the fact she had chosen to wear a dress no matter how unrestrictive it was—Z allowed her companion to take the lead.
Tables had been placed throughout the enormous hall. Z was certain it had expanded to make room for everyone, since it was still spacious despite the several thousand Alantaions. There was a lot of magic in the air as well; spells to moderate noises were in place and Z felt her skin crawl as a result. They were handy bits of magic to use, but she found something unnatural about being able to hear conversations from all angles of the room if the speaker was directing their words at you, and yet being able to ignore the person next to you if they were not speaking to you. But she could easily circumvent the spell if she chose. Sometimes letting your enemies plot right beside you was not the best course of action.
She glanced up to the slightly raised area of the hall and felt a brow rise in surprise; the Mithane’s nobles had tables on the platform but she did not spy the ruler himself, nor did she see Shevieck or Nivaradros. Letting her eyes roam, she sought their location while making it look as if she was curious about who had attended the meal. She knew everyone in Arriandie fairly well, and she knew those in the nearby area of Arriandri by first name, but she didn’t know the outer lands of Arriandri enough for her liking. She knew some of the villages, but in honesty she had probably not even seen a hundredth of them.
Her name was spoken often as she wove through the small tables—and ‘small’ was up for debate; each table held twenty to twenty-five Alantaions—and she replied with either a softly spoken greeting or an inclination of her head. As her companion led her to the dead center of the hall, Z finally caught sight of those she had been searching for—and one she had not. At a table that was surprisingly small—with only nine chairs—sat the Mithane, Shevieck, Nivaradros, Isneitane, Kahreisa, Vysiste, and Crilyne. Two chairs remained empty and Z ground her teeth at their position. She could sit to the right of Nivaradros, but that placed her on the left of Crilyne; or she could sit on the left of the Mithane which placed her on the right of Crilyne. Apparently no one wanted to sit next to the Shade—there was a surprise.
In the end her decision was made for her. A few feet before they reached the table Nivaradros rose and moved gracefully to approach both her and her unwanted visitor. Z could feel the aversion between the two and wondered how and why the Dragon had surrendered himself to the care of someone he clearly loathed, and why the being had made the effort to heal the Dragon. Reaching them with eyes a bit too bright for her liking, Nivaradros offered her escort a curt nod that almost passed as polite—until one took in the fact his arms were crossed.
“I wouldn’t have the audacity to come between the two of you,” the being assured Nivaradros in a low tone as he picked her hand up and offered it to the Dragon. “I came to see how she was doing—and to give her a warning.” As Nivaradros accepted her hand her visitor turned to her. “Recall what we discussed,” he advised before leaving her with the Dragon and moving to sit beside the Mithane. The Mithane was quick to engage him in conversation, and Z felt a momentary relief fill her before Nivaradros dragged her toward his seat—and hers.
“You’ll let me know what he meant by that warning?” Nivaradros asked in an undertone as they reached the chairs. Z grimaced at the elaborate designs carved into the backs of the chairs; they were uncomfortable to sit in for long periods, but she did allow Nivaradros to exercise the courtly manners the Dragon seemed to enjoy utilizing.
She opened her mouth to reply, but had to swallow it as a cool hand touched hers. “Hello, Zimliya,” Crilyne said from beside her. She turned and something in her eyes must have caught him off guard for he quickly withdrew his hand and fell silent.
But it was not the time to let the rest of Arriandie know she didn’t trust the Shade. “Crilyne,” she stated with a forced smile. “I trust you enjoyed your travel here?”
“Even I am not fond of a blizzard, Zimliya—Z,” he corrected as his stance relaxed and his smile returned. It softened his features—made him seem more approachable—yet it was almost a blow. He caught it and his lips parted as if he wanted to add something further, but in the end he fell silent and returned to the food he had yet to touch. Apparently the colors were fascinating.
“Z’s fine,” she told him after a long pause. She could feel Nivaradros’s eyes burning a hole in her and she laughed as she turned to face him. “What?!”
Nivaradros nodded at the Shade. “You don’t have to force the issue if you don’t wish to,” he reminded her. “Small flights done correctly are wiser than a large flight ending in death.”
She glared at him before turning her attention to her food. Which was a mistake. Turning food into small works of art was something she would never understand or appreciate. All it made her want to do was throw her plate at the nearest immortal. Since she was sitting next to a Dragon and a Shade, and was across from a Saer it would be easy to accomplish—it also, however, would be slightly inappropriate, and she was trying to act like she had manners. Except she needed to do something to break the mood. She needed something less serious. Between surrendering her position as the de la Nepioa and fighting almost non-stop to regain kingdoms in which she had very, very little standing, the only moment she’d had to herself had been when she had ridden from Karllsih to Anhrin for the council meeting—refusing to go to Tyresani—and the time Nivaradros had managed to steal for her when he had fought one battle alongside her.
A brush against her mind caused her to recoil for a second; Crilyne gently pushed again and she lowered her barriers a hair. What do you want? She demanded.
I would be happy to start the food fight if you need me to, the Shade offered within the safety of her mind. I rarely get to see you act as anything less than someone who has to carry the whole world on her shoulders.
Touched—and surprised—a smile materialized before she could help it. Alright, but I highly doubt the Mithane will thank you.
It’s not like I can fall much further in his regard. Apparently I have managed to make the Dragon look like the model of perfect behavior overnight.
Before she could reply Crilyne pushed his chair back as though he intended to stand—and then he threw the small bowl of fruit he had been holding at the table where another one of the Saers was seated.
Z had been under the impression Alantaions wouldn’t know what a food fight was, but she was curious to see how they would respond to Crilyne’s actions. She learned something new about Alantaions that day; apparently, they were very knowledgeable about food fights.
Tables flipped sideways faster than any mortal eyes could have perceived. Spying Ryedrin, Z felt a moment’s pity for the confusion she saw touch his features before his tablemates yanked him down behind their table. Laughing with delight as she knelt beside the Dragon—who was giving her an extremely dark look—she offered Crilyne a slight bow of her head in silent thanks as he offered her a smile. For a minute she could pretend nothing had changed between them, and she could tell he was appreciative of that as much as she was.
Four hours later, Z concluded Alantaions had far too much fun with this sort of thing. They also had a very strange assortment of rules. People could switch allegiances, alliances were formed, certain food or beverage items had a higher point system than others—yes, they did keep score—and since the hall was circular in nature Z wasn’t sure how her team managed to keep from getting assaulted from all angles. Actually, she did know. Crilyne had stolen a table from their neighbors ensuring they only had to block from two sides. It didn’t shield them from food and dishes launched from the two uncovered sides nor did it hide protect them from objects that came in over the top, but it provided partial shelter, and with the chaos in the room Z was happy to settle for it.
And she did have fun. Fun was so out of the ordinary for her that she hadn’t been able to summon any memories to repress it. There had been no death threats, no actual
danger—unless one counted the dishes—and nothing that had to be completed. About halfway through the battle even Nivaradros had gotten involved—although she could see he didn’t quite get the whole thing—and he had worked alongside Crilyne to keep her shielded so she could throw. All in all, the battle was a win even though she was still shocked that the Alantaions were into such a childish game.
When it finally came to an end, Z had no idea if there was any true victor. Getting out from behind the tables she offered the Mithane a tired and apologetic smile as she began to clean up some of the mess. Despite the forty-foot ceiling, food had still managed to reach it, and Z glanced up with a grimace and began to consider how to clean it. A hand landed on her shoulder as she once again knelt to pick up pieces to a broken bowl. She grabbed it, but only twisted it away from her as she turned to face the Mithane.
“Leave it,” he advised. “Word has been sent—you are needed elsewhere.” His eyes were worried and Z glanced around the almost abandoned room; Nivaradros and Crilyne were nowhere to be seen.
“What happened?” she demanded as she let the plate slip through her fingers.
“Azabell is on the east side of the city,” the Mithane told her as he led her in haste from the dining hall. “Nivaradros and Crilyne have gone to escort her here—or I should say Nivaradros is getting a room ready for her and Crilyne is fetching her.”
Her heart stopped. “You let Crilyne go get her alone?!” she asked as her voice rose.
“He will not harm her, Zimliya,” the Mithane chided. “And the Dragon refused to go outside. Apparently he doesn’t like getting wet.”
She smiled. “He’s not fond of the snow, but what happened to Azabell?” she wanted to know.
“I don’t know—I just received a request to grant her entrance into Arriandri.” The Mithane hesitated and then gave her the news she had been dreading. “She is wounded, and she insisted on speaking with you immediately. I am overriding that request; we’ll see to her health before I let you send her to an early grave with questions.”
