When Forces Rise

by Meagan Hurst

  “Pardon?” Z managed to ask in a voice that didn’t reveal her horror.

  “There has been some apprehension and disbelief surrounding your relationship despite all of the positive aspects that have come out of it. Your display today—of which I approve entirely—put their fears to rest. You should consider occasionally doing that or something similar, especially after you two fight, since fighting for you two means shedding blood instead of just flinging words at each other like almost every other race does to show their displeasure or difference—”

  “Not including when you all decide to assassinate each other?”

  “That is entirely different.”

  “Naturally,” Z replied dryly. “Because you assassinate people for existing. Or because you want to shift the political power of a family line. Or you are bored. Or they offended you. Or you want to make a point—Shall I continue?”

  “I do believe I am well informed on the immortal traditions.” The Mithane moved to her side before reaching out and embracing her. He didn’t, however, release her completely a minute later. Since she had managed to not react to his abrupt contact, the Mithane left his arm over her shoulders. She leaned against him without thinking and saw Nivaradros give her the smallest of approving nods.

  “One would hope your several millenniums would give you some insight,” she agreed as she allowed her eyes to close despite the fact she was still leaning against the Mithane. “Though your son has been around for centuries and still seems to be rather clueless.”

  “He is—what is the human word? Special?”

  “He is beyond special,” Nivaradros grumbled, Z opened her eyes but found the Dragon was wandering idly around the Mithane’s study. He paused as he eyed an object on the Mithane’s desk. “I haven’t seen one of these for millenniums. How did you come by it?”

  “You can touch it,” the Mithane assured the Dragon as he glanced at the glass globe that contained small trapped weather fragments. Someone with a weather talent had trapped the pieces at some time, and Z was surprised the Mithane had kept it. It contained every type of weather possible and it swirled between all of them constantly, often doubling up at the same time.

  About the size of a grapefruit, the glass globes were hard to create and were considered a hazard by anyone with a brain. They often were spell guarded because of their dangerous nature; breaking one was considered suicide for small kingdoms. For all their dangers though, they were highly useful and beautiful, which is why they still existed. Nivaradros picked up the Mithane’s and smiled as lightning followed his hand around the globe as he rolled it in the palm of his hand.

  “Lightning seems to be an element that is attracted to you,” the Mithane noted.

  “Yet it never struck me down when I flew within its reach,” the Dragon answered as he set the globe down and continued to wander the study. He froze when he reached the shelf where the Mithane kept the husk of her offering from years before, but although his eyes brightened, he didn’t comment on it.

  “Ask, Nivaradros,” the Mithane requested in a soft tone. “I can almost sense the question, but I am not as adept at reading you as Zimliya is.”

  “If you were, I would be concerned—alarmed actually,” Nivaradros replied. “I want to ask you what Zimliya will not; will you survive this battle?”

  The Mithane stiffened, but didn’t answer the question with words. Z moved away from him to regard him with a horrified expression. “Mithane? Father?” her voice cracked on the last word, and she saw the Mithane flinch.

  “It’s war, Zimliya,” he reminded her.

  “So find a way around it,” she hissed, anger taking over for the grief and fear that were not fast enough to beat it.

  “There is no way—”

  She turned and stalked not from the room, but over to the wall that led down to the one place she knew she could prove to him there was a way around this. The wall helpfully opened to the passage she sought and she spun to hold black Alantaion eyes. “We’ll see.”

  The Mithane sighed but nodded and gestured for Nivaradros to precede him. The walk to the water beneath Arriandie was tense and silent, but when they reached its edge, Z reached out with the other talent she generally ignored. Neither of her companions spoke as she sought answers and solutions to something she was willing to admit she wasn’t going to allow—if she could prevent it.

  Images, sounds, and even scents passed through her as she went further and further into a battle for which she wasn’t present. She suspected she was fighting Midestol on another world or in the shadows but, for the first time, she fully understood just how vulnerable everyone else would be without her presence. Deaths stacked up before her eyes and she forced them out of her mind as she searched for the one death she wanted to prevent. If she could. She couldn’t risk the world to save him, but she would risk much to try.

  Finally she found the death she was searching for and flinched at the damage the Mithane would take. No matter which piece of the future she took, the results were the same and Z decided to interfere. Exercising her control over this ability she loathed she began to test possible ways she could fix this—change this. Maneuvering her way through the battle, she watched the cost of the war from a commander’s standpoint. Hours later, thousands of possibilities later, Z had her answer and stepped back from the water and her power.

  “Z?” Nivaradros called as she forced herself to inhale.

  “You should have told me!” she half-yelled at the Mithane before turning and fleeing the room.

  “Z!” the Dragon shouted as she left them both behind.

  The Mithane never spoke, but he didn’t need to; she knew he felt remorse over her pain. He was also resigned to this—his death—and she didn’t want to speak of it. As a seer and an immortal, death wouldn’t be high on his list of concerns, but she didn’t want his kingdom, and with everything she had been subjected to lately, she didn’t want to lose him. She still wasn’t proud of her reaction on the Isle when she had believed she’d lost him.

  She headed to the gardens. It was the place she had gone when the Alantaions had overwhelmed her during her younger years here. Climbing the ancient tree she had often sought years ago for the comfort of its branches, Z found her nook in the branches and leaned back against its trunk. Closing her eyes, she let everything go in the manner she could only manage here. Forcing all of her thoughts and emotions to quiet, Z felt her body relax when she had accomplished it. The wind fluttered harmlessly around her, causing young leaves to lightly brush over her face. Becoming lost in the absolute silence and stillness this place offered, Z didn’t even feel the passage of time.

  “I thought I would find you here,” a cautious voice said from below her after the sun had set.

  Blinking, she glanced down from her branches and inclined her head politely to the Mithane. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t trust herself to contain the accusations she felt resurfacing in her thoughts. She also didn’t move from her spot in the tree. Memories of many conversations beginning like this made their way to the front of her mind, but not even those stilled her anger, fear, and pain.

  “Please come down. I wish to speak with you and I would prefer to do it face to face. I would rather not climb a tree, but I will if you force me.”

  Z sighed. The Mithane would climb the tree as he threatened if she didn’t join him on the ground, and Z didn’t want him to climb, no matter how angry she was at him. Walking the branch until she reached its edge, she leapt down to his side and held his eyes with hers. He didn’t speak—waiting for her—before taking a seat on one of the benches that had been sporadically placed in this area. She consented to sit beside him, but she sat perched on the edge of the bench, similar to the way she had sat on the chair offered to her during the Alliance meeting Nivaradros had so thoroughly controlled.

  “You should have told me,” she said at last.

  “Perhaps,” the Mithane admitted. “However, you have been stressing over this battle, and I
didn’t think you needed anything further to worry about.” He held up an arm hesitantly and Z exhaled loudly before sliding over on the bench to let his arm settle over her shoulders as she leaned against him. “You will do fine here,” he insisted. “The Alantaions will support you, and Nivaradros has gained much in the way of standing.”

  “That’s not the point, Mithane,” she growled.

  “Indeed. Shall I speak of it? You intended to die before I did and when you were mortal that was a very, very easy thing to expect.”

  “I haven’t even hit thirty yet,” she pointed out.

  The Mithane nodded and closed his eyes. “I would change it if I could, Zimliya, but you will be fine. You have the Dragon.” His eyes opened and their gaze went toward the sky.

  “The Dragon didn’t adopt me!”

  The Mithane flinched, but didn’t offer her any argument. “I am sorry,” he whispered as he hugged her. “But you cannot tell me you won’t recover from this.”

  “Actually I can. I am not sure I will recover, but I will endure.” She shook her head. “I was starting to get used to this,” she added. “You realize what this means?”

  “I do. I shall expect you to be distant—more than distant—with me, yes, but perhaps you will forgive me before it is impossible for me to offer you any more apologies.”

  Rather than answer she broke away from his hold and walked off. Anger was still present, but it was giving way to grief. Fear had vanished in the wake of the truth in the Mithane’s words and the visions she had asked for. The desire to push the Mithane away was not as powerful as she had expected it to be, and instead she had a feeling she would try harder to act the part of a daughter since it wouldn’t be long before that would no longer be a possibility. Once again, she’d lose someone she cared for. Z felt fear tighten around her heart as her thoughts turned to Nivaradros. Would she lose him a second time to war as well?

  Chapter 22

  The next two months were hard on everyone. Midestol began raiding any kingdom he could get an army to before she could mount a defense and, as a result, thousands of people perished. Frustrated, Z had finally switched tactics—arguing her way around the various rulers—and ordered the remaining civilians of each kingdom be evacuated to Ranger lands. Rangers showed up in force wherever she decreed a mass evacuation, and although the refugees were often attacked on their way to a safe destination, Z’s solution spared more people than she lost.

  And, in all honesty, there weren’t many people who were remaining outside the battlefield. The Syallibions, for example, had lost the youngest of their race in spite of her efforts. Apparently the slaughter had been occurring since she had left for the Isle, but rather than telling her about it—not wanting to sound incapable of handling it themselves—the Syallibions had kept it under wraps until it was far too late for her to prevent it. As this was also the same logic that had cost them Zyrhis’s mother, Z couldn’t comprehend their thinking. Unfortunately, the Syallibions decided as a whole that due to this they would all be on the field, and nothing Z said had any effect on their decision. Not even the fact she was unofficially their ruler had an effect. Nivaradros finally stepped in to remind her it was their choice and since none of her words had made a dent in their decision the best that she could do was to turn her mind to something she could change.

  Eventually she had, but given the tremendous amount of death she had seen on the battlefield while searching for a way to save the Mithane … whole races would be lost to this war. Whole races. The thought had horrified her enough that she had considered calling an Alliance, but Nivaradros had managed to veto the idea. As a compromise, Z spent the better part of eight hours a night—when the mortals who were currently large part of Arriandie slept—with him going over every type of battle plan she could think of in a desperate attempt to limit the losses.

  This was going to be a war of fatalities. Between what she had seen and what Midestol would put on the field, Z expected the war to cost no less than fifty percent of her army or at least a third of the population—not including Midestol’s forces. And that was the best-case scenario, assuming they won. If they lost…Well, Z doubted many, if any, of them would still be standing. No one wanted to end up a slave to Midestol. Because of that fact, Z was constantly working with those around her to form solid battle strategies for those not under her command, in order to save as many lives as she could.

  Therefore, most of her time during the day was spent in meetings. Lots of meetings. Any ruler who wasn’t riding—any ruler whose army was still in Arriandie—likewise found themselves in meetings. Z found to her relief that Nivaradros had been accepted, as much as any immortal would accept another immortal, and his comments were met without any hostility. Leaving the armies in his command if their rulers awarded him power was no longer a concern; he had their trust.

  But Z also forced herself to spend a few hours privately with the Mithane each day as well. Those meetings were not, however, for personal reasons. She had insisted he train her in the use of the poisons she had skipped the first time they had worked on her immunity. She wouldn’t put it past Midestol to coat his blade thoroughly with every poison imaginable and she intended to be as prepared as possible. The last thing she wanted was to inadvertently deliver Midestol an advantage.

  Having successfully passed the final poison, Z returned the vial she had just emptied back into its holder as she turned to face the Mithane. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

  Eyes moving slowly toward brown—the Mithane hated when she insisted she do this—he nodded and glanced around the very small room he had turned into a room of danger all those years ago when she had decided to try for a place in the Nialtian court. There had been an awkward silence between them since Nivaradros had demanded to know whether or not the Mithane would survive the war. She was still reeling over the thought, and the Mithane was trying to give her the space she needed while clearly hating the void that was growing between them. But the space between them would be nothing like what would exist upon his death.

  Death. The thought still crippled her when she let it. Closing her eyes, she struggled to master her emotions, but a gentle arm around her shoulders dissolved that attempt. She didn’t—wouldn’t—cry, but she wanted to. This was why she had always turned down his offer; she hadn’t wanted either of them to be in a position where one of them would live past the other. Never mind that she had expected it would be her that perished. This was worse in her mind. She had agreed to allow him to formally adopt her via the human way—his people had considered her his daughter long before she had agreed—but she had thought they would at the very least have centuries before something happened. Not less than a year.

  Leaning against the Mithane’s shoulder, Z let him hold her. The triumph she should have felt over having not even the slightest urge to stab him was ruined by the event surrounding it. She trusted him. Yes, she could admit she trusted him. But this was a hollow victory because it would no longer matter; he would be gone.

  “Mithane,” she whispered as she opened her eyes. “Father.”

  “I’m sorry, Zimliya,” the Mithane replied. “I appreciate your efforts not to shut me out. As well as your carefully spoken words that have prevented anyone else from learning of my upcoming demise.”

  “It is not your fault,” she answered at length. “Thank you for letting me turn Arriandie into a kingdom of war.”

  He actually laughed. “You are most welcome. It is good for the Alantaions to have things shift. Especially since you are my heiress.” He kissed the top of her head, but refused to release her. Which was fair since she refused to move. In a rare instance, Z felt almost human and recalled a time in her past when she had felt the same way. She had been six. Before everything had changed. Before she had changed into the person she had become.

  “And how has your opinion of Nivaradros changed? If it has,” she added.

  “Always seeking my approval of him. Based on what I have learned, many
human fathers would kill to be in my shoes,” he teased her with a smile. “He’s perfect for you, Zimliya. I will always hold my wife’s death against him, but I could not ask for anyone better for you. And that is far more important to me in the present than the death of my wife and the unborn child she carried.” The Mithane tilted his head and gave her a sour look.

  “He’s a Dragon,” Z said with a laugh—knowing he could sense Nivaradros’s pacing outside the door. “I couldn’t change everything about him even if I wanted to.” Breaking free of the Mithane’s hold, she went to the door and yanked it open. “Yes?” she drawled.

  Nivaradros paused in his pacing. “If you are done, I have something that requires both of you.”

  Z cringed. “Nicklyn?”

  “You ought to just kill him and be done with it,” Nivaradros growled. His eyes found the Mithane’s and they narrowed as they returned to her. “Maybe I should come back.”

  “No need,” the Mithane said quickly. “It is quite alright, Nivaradros. We weren’t discussing anything of importance. What has the Wraith done this time?”

  Nivaradros snorted. “He seems to have become friends with Shevieck—not that that is any great accomplishment—and the two of them have successfully managed to insult pretty much everyone in the castle. I am not joking. I had to stop the Islierre from attacking them not less than thirty minutes ago. It is a rather large problem since that wasn’t the first attack to occur; it was just the most recent.”

  Z didn’t know which one of the two would be more difficult. Shevieck was horribly naïve and was easily led, but Nicklyn had taken her relationship with Nivaradros as a personal slight. If he had managed to convince Shevieck that there was something wrong, Shevieck would be impossible to reassure. She knew this from bitter experience.

  “I’ll speak with them both,” she assured Nivaradros. To her surprise, green eyes edged closer to neon. “I won’t speak with them both?”