by Meagan Hurst
“I was stopped. I know his power when it appears; I was being blocked by one of the ancient powers that was not from this land, but had somehow managed to get here.”
“It was a mistake,” Z commented dryly.
“Perhaps on your end, but it wasn’t on his. I called him out when I returned to my study after that meeting. He arrived and told me I was not to interfere with you the way I wanted to. I could guide you to a point and I was allowed to make you more resigned to being in rooms full of people, but I was not allowed to do more.”
Tensing, Z held the Mithane’s eyes. “And why were you told this?”
“Because with your power and your inborn morals he intended to use your skills to his advantage. If I coddled you or healed you too much the edge he was sharpening would be ruined—according to him. I was to let you be. After you had been fashioned to the degree he sought, he agreed to let me bring a level of safety to the table. Although he had no direct effect on anything that happened to, against, or around you, he did nothing to change it. He wanted you to become a weapon—what he ended up crafting was a sword with no sheath, no hilt, and nothing but a sharp blade.
“He knows how to make a weapon,” Z admitted grudgingly. She had suspected the being’s part in this, but she had never considered the fact that he had placed restrictions on others. “You were to craft the hilt, to continue your metaphor, making me safe to handle. Who was to be the sheath? Did he tell you?”
“No he did not. He informed me I was unlikely to approve and he doubted my confidence in its succession. If you haven’t guessed, Zimliya, I will enlighten you; Nivaradros is your sheath. I do not believe the Dragon was his choice. If I made you safe to handle, however, Nivaradros has made you safe to be around. Your tolerance for just about anything went up immensely when you two first crossed paths, and I am certain you are well aware of just how much you’ve changed since?”
Oh, indeed she was. Nivaradros had managed to turn her into something he had foreseen she could become, and she had had little choice but to give in. Because he was right. And she hated that he was right. Plus there was still a part of her that felt indebted to the Dragon for tolerating her eccentricities. Not to mention—though she struggled to admit it—she was attracted to him. And she cared for him. She didn’t answer the Mithane though; he had given her much to consider.
“When he realized the effect Nivaradros had upon you, he stopped interfering. He wanted someone he could count on who would stop at nothing to achieve their goal, and he could see Nivaradros was unconcerned by any of your actions,” the Mithane continued. “You had been heartless, powerful, unwavering, and distant. Our acquaintance was convinced too much affection early on would ruin you.”
“You still made the attempt,” Z murmured.
“After studying you I realized it would take you quite the length of time to soften. And I was right. Look how long it’s taken you to accept my concern for your wellbeing.”
“You just said wanted to kill me in the beginning.”
“Because I misread you. When I realized you were working as hard as I was to overcome the danger you could be, all I saw was a very young girl in desperate need of some small reassurance that the world was not all one big bad place.”
“I never believed it was,” Z argued. “I just realized it rolled from one catastrophic disaster to another minor disaster to a world ending disaster in a very happy circle.”
“That’s a depressing way to look at the world.”
“It’s accurate.”
“To a point.”
Z snorted, but the Mithane chose that instant to summon warmed cider and he offered her a cup when the servant carried the tray into the room. Inclining her head politely to the Alantaion woman, Z accepted the cup gratefully. “When do you think the storm will end?” she wanted to know. “And did you heal Veilantras? I cannot believe she flew here in that magic forsaken blizzard.”
“Need I remind you that you rode through it?”
“I needed to get here. Besides I survived it.”
“Just because you survived it does not make it wise.”
“And when did I imply it was a wise decision?”
“You are impossible!”
“I did learn from you.”
Two hours later she was still in his study, but the mood of the room had softened. The storm outside had picked up again, but it mattered little since Z still had a few days before she had to leave. Not to mention she was tempted to make a portal. Glancing at the Mithane, she smiled slightly and watched him work on some of the hundreds of documents his position granted him by the day. This, despite all the years that had passed, was familiar.
“Would you like a hand?” she inquired.
“You never have to ask,” the Mithane answered without looking up. “I trust you implicitly with my kingdom. Damn good thing too seeing as it will one day be yours.”
Laughing, Z continued to speak with him about minor things—letting the feel of the room fall back into something much older and familiar. The Dragon joined them an hour later. He didn’t—as always—knock. Strolling in with slightly neon eyes, Nivaradros nodded to the Mithane before choosing the chair next to her.
“Has the Islierre become a problem?” the Mithane inquired.
“The Islierre is resting in our quarters. He has not been a problem. However, I ran into Shevieck on the way here.” Snorting smoke the Dragon glared at the Mithane. “Are you certain he is your son?”
“Regretfully. I have no idea how it happened,” the Mithane said in a mournful tone. “He seems to have inherited traits neither his mother nor I had.”
“Maybe he ate or drank something poisonous as a hatchling,” Nivaradros growled.
Z glanced at him in surprise. The Dragon’s anger was like a tornado made of fire; it was both scorching and twisting at the same time. Clearly Shevieck had done something outside his normal range of foolishness. “What did he do, Nivaradros?”
“I’d tell you, but I am fairly certain you would kill him. Which I wouldn’t mind, but I have a feeling your Alantaions would. You would also regret your actions, and since you are already wallowing in guilt I would prefer not to add to it.”
The Mithane raised a brow. “If you would like to ensure he does not make the same error again—in front of Zimliya next time—you should consider at least informing me of the event that has managed to make you the angriest I have seen you in some time.”
The Dragon actually hissed. “He inquired whether or not Zimliya would have an heir.”
“And that is bad because…?” The Mithane’s features were puzzled.
“He was not implying she would pick a candidate out of those already in existence,” Nivaradros spat. “He was inquiring as to when she would have a hatchling!”
Z stiffened while the Mithane winced. “I will speak with him,” he promised at once with a sidelong glance at Z. “But that question will arise so you both had better accept that you will hear it.”
“I am not even married!” Fuming at the idea that people could not just let things lie for the smallest amounts of time, Z glanced at Nivaradros and found the Dragon’s attention was locked on her. “Yes?” she inquired.
“His question was brought on because while neither of us are known for liking hatchlings, there is the small problem of them liking us.”
She shuddered at the thought and closed her eyes. That did not, however, prevent the two immortals in the room from speaking.
“What are the chances of you ever considering the idea, Nivaradros?”
“Faint. Had you asked me before I met Zimliya originally, however, my answer would have been dependent on whether or not I considered anyone worthy of me.”
“I am surprised that you didn’t respond with a flat no,” the Mithane admitted.
“I learned a long time ago it is never wise to give black and white answers,” Nivaradros said dryly. “Unless you plan to kill someone within the next second and are informing them of that
decision.” She felt him leave his chair and move around the room. “Z?”
“Present,” she said sourly as she opened her eyes—not wanting to be returned to a conversation she hadn’t asked to be involved in. Luck was on her side; Nivaradros changed topics with enough of a whiplash Z was reminded of why the Rangers often hated dealing with immortals.
“Veilantras wishes to know when we will be embarking on the wonderful journey to the Isle.”
“When the blizzard stops. I’ve already been through the damn thing once.”
“I believe she doesn’t plan to leave Arriandie until the storm passes herself. She offered to travel with us if you would be open to the prospect of her company. She promised not to worry when we decided to spar against each other.”
“Did you warn her that both of us always end up bleeding?”
“I did.”
“Well if she thinks she can accept it, then I suppose she can travel with us. I am certain it will afford us some protection if we arrive on the Isle with Veilantras. If nothing else, it lends to the illusion that we plan to play nice with others.”
“Ah…you don’t plan to play nice with others?” the Mithane wanted to know with a small smile.
“I don’t intend to start anything, but if something is started I intend to be the victor. I am not about to surrender any of my assumed power to Dragons.” She knew her eyes had probably gone through three colors, but with her nerves and her anger over how the Dragon Council viewed and treated Nivaradros, she did not make the effort to suppress her emotions.
“Your power is assumed?” Nivaradros drawled. “Funny. I thought it was undeniable. I am certain several Dragons on the Council would likewise believe your power was anything but assumed.”
“I was referring to my position as a ruler of various kingdoms. The Dragons know of my power and its results firsthand; if they attempt to ignore our history, I will remind them.”
“As you’ve previously destroyed half of the Hall, I do believe not even the very optimistic would try.” Nivaradros pretended not to notice the Mithane’s surprise for about fifteen minutes. Surrendering, the Dragon sighed. “Z had spent the better part of five days listening to mortals being insulted. She was attempting to gain permission to borrow some of the adolescent Dragons for a skirmish. When Jarysirtros implied her tiny mortal brain could not possibly grasp the complications of magic, she decided to both prove him wrong and ensure the entire Dragon race remembered Rangers were once the foremost of threats to Dragons.”
“You destroyed half of the Hall on the Isle?” the Mithane demanded to know from her.
“Not quite half,” Z corrected in a sugary tone. “And I have never understood why they made such a fuss over it. They were always complaining that the Hall was too small. I was being helpful.”
“Remind me never to leave you in charge of remodeling,” the Mithane murmured.
“As if you would forget.”
Glancing out the window at the storm that was once again becoming visible as a small amount of light leaked through, she sighed and slowly stood. Stretching, she glanced at Nivaradros. “We might as well make sure the Islierre didn’t destroy the room.”
“…Is there a reason he would be likely to do so?” Nivaradros wanted to know in a tone that bordered on apprehensive.
“I may have blocked him from entering the shadows while he was in Arriandie.”
Nivaradros actually cringed. “You pick the worst times to exercise your power. Couldn’t you have waited until after he left?”
“I was making a point. I didn’t invite him. The Mithane didn’t invite him. And he ought to know better than to wander through the shadows in other people’s kingdoms. Besides, it looks like we’re going to be doing extensive traveling for some time. The Islierre displayed a hole in Arriandie’s defenses. I took it upon myself to put a permanent fix upon it before someone else uses it for purposes much less innocent.”
Chapter 5
The storm broke just over a week later, leaving behind walls of snow. The Mithane was proactive enough during storms to not allow his kingdom to become snowed in, but it was a close thing. Giving the Mithane two days’ notice of her departure, Z began to ready things in her room. Nivaradros spent most of his free time with Veilantras, catching up with his mentor and probably having conversations about her issues that only a Dragon could comprehend. Considering how little Nivaradros got to interact with his own kind, Z didn’t mind that he was absent for much of the time she spent packing.
And oh how she hated packing. She packed light because she always had, and she was of the mind that if she needed something, she could just buy it as she needed it. But she did take extra weapons because there was a flaw in every dagger she owned that wasn’t crafted by immortal hands. The damn things melted, broke, evaporated, chipped, or simply lost their edge too quickly. She could have accepted immortal blades and spared herself the irritation, but something inside of her still preferred the mortally crafted daggers. She stiffened abruptly as she sensed someone else in the room.
“You’re thinking too much again,” the Dragon said from behind her as she turned. His eyes were a shade brighter than his calmest. “Tell me what troubles you this time.”
Z hesitated. “I was just lecturing myself on my attachment to inferior daggers.”
“I noticed you seemed to prefer them despite the fact you can get daggers of a much superior quality, if you imply to any of your immortal allies that you want them.” To her surprise, Nivaradros took a seat and watched her with such interest she realized he intended to see this conversation through.
“I have Kyi’rinn,” she pointed out. “And—though I would rather never use it—I obtained Tresine. I have two immortally crafted and magicked weapons.”
“Both of which are noteworthy and remarkable.”
“And both of which I still feel undeserving to have. I will not, however, argue with a weapon.”
“Wise decision.” Nivaradros smiled and moved from the chair to her side by her packs. “Your interest in the inferior daggers is entertaining, especially when one becomes useless and you swear over it despite knowing they would come to that end quickly.” Kissing the top of her head, the Dragon chuckled before giving her space. “It is almost morning. Despite the fact the storm has just broken, the Mithane has received word a party of Rangers will be arriving tomorrow, and they wish to speak to you.”
She froze. “Tell them I am unable to meet with them—” she began.
“I shall do no such thing,” Nivaradros said shortly. “They have come to see you, and despite the fact I will accept some of your workload—if and when you shoulder it—now is not the time or place. You should at least do them the honor of hearing them out; they are Rangers after all.”
Gritting her teeth, Z allowed herself to glare at him, but the retorts that came to mind went unspoken. Instead she turned back to her packing; ignoring him rarely worked, but she could hope this time it would. Unfortunately, long term exposure to the Dragon allowed her some insight into his silences. This particular one told her he wasn’t allowing her to end the conversation in this manner.
“I understand how you feel,” Nivaradros said unexpectedly, surprising her. “The sense of anger and betrayal you undoubtedly feel, the desire to keep distance between you and them for some time. I experienced all of them—still hold onto most of them—when it comes to my kind.”
His words pulled her anger at his interference out from under her. Left standing on nothing solid, Z forced herself to inhale and exhale slowly. He was, regrettably, right. He understood this; hells, he had gone through worse. His own kind had branded him as a traitor and a Warlord, an outcast and a danger. They had denied him a seat on the Council, they had hunted him, and they had sent others to hunt him. Nivaradros had ended up being close to what they had created him to be, but he hadn’t fully transitioned into it. She knew it had to do with his lineage, his link to the single bloodline that had ruled the Dragons in this world for
some time.
It was worse than everything she had gone through recently with the Rangers—especially since most of it was her choice—but it was on par with what she had undergone in Tenia. Turning to face him, she met his eyes and held them. “Counsel me,” she gave in after a lengthy pause.
“There is nothing to counsel you on,” Nivaradros remarked as a brow rose. “Just accept their presence here and listen to them. It is apparent there is a group of them that is unsettled by your resignation. I have a feeling the Rangers are at a point in their history where another break might occur.”
“It would doom us if that happened,” Z murmured without thinking. Covering her eyes, she sighed. “But I will speak with them when they arrive. How is Veilantras?” she asked in a vain attempt to change the subject as she removed her hand from her eyes.
His expression soured, but he didn’t refuse her not-so-subtle request. “She is looking forward to traveling with us once more. Apparently the little spat you two had in the lair worried her. With what she didn’t know, she thought I had corrupted you, and reported that to the Council. I am hopeful now that she knows the truth, she can change some of the minds on the Council. She is,” he added with a dark smile, “immensely pleased that you are well and used to your immortality. If I were you I would expect to be on the receiving end of Dragon games.”
“Oh joy,” she groaned. “The highlight of my year—Dragon games.”
Nivaradros’s eyes danced. “She won’t kill you.”
“She can’t,” Z pointed out. “But that doesn’t mean I am going to enjoy spending the entire trip diving to the ground if she decides to test my reaction time.”
