by Meagan Hurst
To his amazement, Zimliya hesitated and then nodded slowly as she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think that would be best,” she added. Walking over to the chair on the off side of his desk, she settled into it as if her weight had suddenly become too much to bear. Still hiding his astonishment, he also took a seat. He watched the woman before him attentively, waiting for her to speak first. He would not press her here; he needed her to take the first step.
“I didn’t want to come back,” she whispered as though the admission was unforgivable. “I was happy where I was,” she added with a bitter and edged smile that was outlined in self-loathing. “The fact my past was here and not there—I was able to set most of it aside. The parts that weren’t useful I could just leave behind. Here … here they are known. I am known.”
She continued to talk, and he let her do so in absolute silence. Never before had she been willing to reveal any sort of a weakness to him. She had changed while she had been gone, but was it a change that could pull her away from those—like himself—who cared for her.
He watched her expression as she talked, and he listened intently to her words. She always gave away more than she intended with him, but even he still had to work hard for information she didn’t wish to offer freely. She spoke briefly of the world she had found herself in; of the races, the customs, and its laws. She had—as always—placed herself in a position of little power, but a position which allowed her to help others. She had been happy there. Happy in a way, he admitted to himself bitterly, he feared she might never achieve in her home world.
He watched as the words slowly turned her from the woman he hadn’t recognized to the woman he knew well. She began to relax at long last in his presence, and the detachment she had been implementing to keep a wall between them crumbled as the last of her words faded into silence. The sun was setting now, and he would delay the Council meeting until the follow day. He sought to keep Zimliya here, in a place of comfort, until she was whole enough to face the world she no longer felt she belonged in.
When her shoulders slumped, the Mithane watched her in silence until she met his eyes. Holding hers with his own he offered her a gentle smile and spoke to her rapidly in his people’s language. It had the desired result. Zimliya’s eyes lit up, and she replied fluidly in the language he had a feeling had become her small sense of home. She had always preferred the Alantaion language and forms to every other race’s, and the way her eyes danced as she spoke told him that hadn’t changed since she had been gone. Good. It gave him something to ground her with.
He continued the conversation for an hour or so before he fell silent and kept his peace after she answered his final question. She was more of the Zimliya he knew, and her posture and presence were much more willing than they had been when she arrived.
“Why did you return?” he asked as he switched back to the common human language.
“Because I wasn’t truly needed there; I am needed here,” she replied with a smile. It wasn’t the bitter, self-loathing one she had offered him earlier. This one was at ease and certain. “Besides,” she admitted at long last, “I missed the Alantaions, the Rangers, the heirs, the Shades … and Nivaradros.”
She whispered the last name with a hint of longing and the Mithane blinked in surprise. She had come back for the Dragon above all else. Their friendship meant that much to her, and it was merely friendship. Humans would foolishly read into her tone falsely, and perhaps in the future their relationship would become something else, something more—the Dragon certainly sought something more—but then again, perhaps not. Friendship to Zimliya was sacred, and while she pretended not to be close to her heirs, she was, and nothing had ever come of those close relationships. She wouldn’t even give them the title of ‘friend.’ He knew why; she feared that title would inadvertently lead them to betray her, and she knew she couldn’t handle such an event in her life yet.
So far only the Dragon claimed her friendship, and the Mithane could sadly think of no one better to have it after the Dragon’s actions on Zimliya’s behalf over the past year. He still didn’t trust or like the Dragon, but when it came to Zimliya, Nivaradros had gotten closer than anyone else ever had managed.
“He’ll be happy to see you,” he informed her honestly. “They will all be happy to see you—I am terribly relieved and excited to see you—but he will probably be the one most ecstatic at your return.”
Zimliya’s head tilted to the side slightly in surprise. “He pesters you often?” she wanted to know.
“As he occupies a wing of Arriandie for the time being? Yes, he questions me about your homecoming often.”
He had the pleasure of seeing Zimliya absolutely stunned speechless. She stared at him almost incomprehensively for a surprisingly large amount of time before she swallowed hard and leaned forward in her chair. “Nivaradros has a … wing in Arriandie?” she managed to whisper.
The Mithane worried briefly that Zimliya was distressed by the thought of Nivaradros in his kingdom. However, the longer he watched her, the more he realized she was delighted, but astonished, by the news. He decided to explain.
“Nivaradros offered his services to me as Shevieck’s protector while you were away. He did not trust the Tezéracians,” he informed her with a small smile. “He’s been a blessing in disguise. Our past made his offer hard for my people to accept, but he has saved Shevieck’s life no less than fifteen times in your absence, and he is surprisingly good at solving the minor disagreements that have arisen between Shevieck and the humans. I do not think Shevieck would have made it without him,” he admitted quietly.
“And what does he get out of this offer in return?” Zimliya asked of him. He could tell she was still entirely taken back by Nivaradros’s offer, enough that she couldn’t understand why the Dragon had offered it.
“You,” he told her softly. “He assumed you would come to the Alantaions first, and he wanted to be one of the first to know of your return. Given your less-than-conventional entrance into Arriandie, I assume he will be one of the first to know—if you do not mind me summoning him?”
He watched the play of emotions that she allowed him to see. Apprehension followed by desire, and then back and forth between the two. She pressed her lips together as she considered her options, and she ran her fingers through the hair she had tied back.
“No,” she said softly at long last. “I do not mind,” she added when he raised a brow.
The Mithane let out a breath of relief and sent out a touch of magic to the Dragon’s rooms. He made his request basic and uninformative. He didn’t want Nivaradros prepared when Zimliya obviously wasn’t.
They waited in silence for at least twenty minutes. He returned to his paperwork and Zimliya hesitated briefly before slowly reaching out and stealing part of his stack to work on herself. He hid a smile as she blushed. But his paperwork had always been of interest to her, and he was pleased to see that fascination return.
She was fast, she always had been fast, and when she put her mind to it she could practically rule his kingdom without even taxing herself. He kept one eye on her and his ears on the door, but what he saw within her now was none of the anger and discontentment she had arrived with. She was content to be here, and her longing for the world she had left had all but vanished.
“Are you injured?” he asked suddenly, as he recalled the bargain Zimliya had made with the Dragon he had summoned. Nivaradros had gotten the skittish human to agree to allow him to heal her when she was injured. As it was something he had sought for years, he intended to ensure Zimliya did not get out of that agreement.
The look she gave him could probably kill most humans. “It’s a scratch,” she told him flatly.
“Since your definition of ‘scratch’ comes from the Rangers, I think it may be best if I take a look before Nivaradros arrives. I seem to recall your definition covering everything from a small scrape of skin all the way up to anything that hasn’t killed you instantly. That is not
how the rest of us classify that word, and I would rather avoid upsetting Nivaradros as he has most likely been tried to the max by the humans already. My people have tolerated his presence, but that will only go so far.”
Zimliya grimaced, but she did put the papers she was working on down as she slowly stood. Turning so her back was to him, she removed her cloak and then pulled off her shirt. A surprisingly shallow wound ran from her right shoulder to midway on her spine. It was, as she had said, a scratch, but it was more akin to his version of one than her normal outlook tended to be. Still, the Dragon would smell the blood, so he stood as well.
Moving to her side, he lightly traced the injury with a finger—not because he needed to, but because he wanted to test her—and watched as she twitched at the contact but said and did nothing more. She had grown much more tolerant about contact during her time away. Lenient enough that his touch didn’t truly startle her, although he knew she had previously allowed contact when she expected it. It had just been surprising her that had been the most dangerous to those around her. He was both pleased and impressed, but he wondered if she would return to her more cautious state as she adapted to being back within her world.
“Finished,” he told her evenly as he returned to his desk. He sensed the Dragon’s approach and watched as Zimliya dressed with speed and drew her hood back over her face.
If Nivaradros gave her more than just a passing glance the effort she used was pointless but depending on how much his patience had been tried during the day, there was a small chance he would only identify her as a Ranger and not as the person he had been waiting to return for months.
She shifted in the cover of her clothing as though she wanted to speak again, but at that instant the door to his study opened and Nivaradros strolled in. The Dragon didn’t, apparently, believe in knocking, and his guards no longer tried to prevent the Dragon from just entering a room. Today the Mithane could see the Dragon’s temper had been tested to its max and he barely glanced at Zimliya as he made his way over.
“You sent a message that you wanted to see me?” Nivaradros’s tone was a mere inch from snapping, but the Mithane knew he was truly trying to keep his anger in check.
The Dragon was, like always since his acceptance to stay in Arriandie, in his lesser form. As Nivaradros wouldn’t fit in the room in his native form, this was a small blessing. But it was astonishing. Nivaradros had gone from never taking his lesser form to practically living in it.
Closing the door the Dragon hadn’t bothered to shut with a thought, he watched the Dragon with care and considered his words before he spoke them. “I take it the Tezéracians were exceptionally difficult today?”
“They are still alive,” Nivaradros huffed as he crossed his arms. “Your son, after all, has rules regarding my actions in response to threats towards him.”
His words, however, caused the Mithane to hide a wince. “What did they do?” he asked with a sigh. The Dragon clearly needed to vent, and the Mithane was one of the few whom he was willing to talk to.
“Start a list,” was the Dragon’s tight reply, “and I will stop you when you mention something they didn’t do.” He turned away and began to pace the room—a rarity for him. “Every evening I return here I try to convince myself the former Tenians cannot get any worse, and yet every morning my thoughts are proven wrong. They are decidedly difficult, and beyond foolish. If I wasn’t keeping an eye on your son, I would fear he would pick up bad habits, but as I am keeping an eye on him, I believe I will limit how many dangerous things he can learn from them. Not,” Nivaradros continued tiredly, “that he can get much worse than he already is.”
“You have done well in your chosen task,” the Mithane agreed politely.
It was hard to understand Nivaradros when he was like this. It was almost as if this side of the Dragon was who he was, and the face he publicly displayed was meant to turn others away from him. Nivaradros did care about others. About Zimliya foremost, of course, but the loyalty he displayed to Shevieck implied he was fond of the Mithani as well. It was curious, and it made his newfound required relationship with the Dragon much harder to define.
He was almost starting to like Nivaradros, and he didn’t want to. The death of his wife—and his unborn child—at the hands of Nivaradros wasn’t something that was forgivable. Yet he was now tolerating Nivaradros’s presence as an ally. Partially because of the Dragon’s obvious effort to become, or return to being, something else—someone else—for the human woman he was clearly fond of. The Mithane was starting to suspect that if something disastrous struck his kingdom the Dragon, without being asked, would assist, and that was a curious thought in itself. That thought wasn’t something he was willing to investigate with his talent though; he didn’t want to be right, and he didn’t want to be wrong.
“I have kept your son alive, yes,” Nivaradros agreed. “I am not entirely certain that makes it as much of a success as you have granted me.” His eyes were tired again, but he was still highly irritated, and a hint of worry began to emerge. Watching Nivaradros curiously, the Mithane waited for him to speak.
“Have you had any word?” Nivaradros asked in a soft tone. A tone that shouldn’t have been possible given the level of quiet seething the Dragon was displaying.
Here was the chance to change that anger into something else. Hopefully something good. Provided the Dragon didn’t startle Zimliya into stabbing him. He debated the ways to break the news to the Dragon—a Dragon who was so irritated that he didn’t sense who was in the room with them.
The temptation to make Nivaradros misstep was there, but it wasn’t strong enough to act upon. Especially because he knew the Dragon before him could heal the woman he cared about if everything went perfectly. However, that required him to allow the relationship—the friendship—between the two to grow, and he was still suspicious of it. What if he was incorrect about Nivaradros? Perhaps the Dragon was only playing a very long game.
Dragons were beyond skilled in such things, and Nivaradros had been mentored by Veilantras. She could have unintentionally provided him with the skills to master this deceit. If that’s what it was. He was torn over how to proceed. But Zimliya was already here and because of that he stayed his hand from attempting to sabotage their friendship.
“I have,” he admitted softly.
Nivaradros whirled. “A vision?” he asked at once. The blazing green of danger in his eyes faded to an even deeper shade of worry.
He was tempted to draw this out. The Dragon made it entirely too easy to do so, but the look in Nivaradros’s eyes brought out a pathetic amount of pity as well. He found himself unwilling to exploit it in light of everything Nivaradros had been putting up with for the past eight months. Gesturing at the woman who was pretending to be a statue—and succeeding—he saw the Dragon’s eyes narrow for not even a breath of a second before they widened again in recognition. How Nivaradros had missed Zimliya’s presence up until this point he did not know.
“You’re alive!” Nivaradros cried out with relief evident in his tone. The Mithane watched as Zimliya once again lowered her hood and turned to meet the gaze of the Dragon.
The tension in the room could have been cut with her sword—if she put her full force behind it. It was almost painful to watch. Zimliya’s eyes were ice out of defense. She was worried, it was clear, that Nivaradros would be angry with her, and she didn’t speak while she watched him. She held herself stiff in her chair, but the Mithane saw the slightest of trembles present in the hands she had clasped in her lap. The moment surfaced again where he could have easily done something to sever the relationship between the daughter he would have done anything to have and the Dragon he despised. He chose not to. What was happening before him was almost magical, and the fact he could witness it was far more rewarding than its destruction would have been.
It was incredible to watch, this reunion. Zimliya’s uncertainty registered quickly—surprisingly quickly—to the Dragon, and Nivaradros took a step back
at once.
“How long have you been back?” Nivaradros asked in a quiet and careful tone. As if she were a starved and frightened animal, and he the patient being willing to waste the time to attempt to mend it.
“A couple of hours,” she replied at length. She managed a smile, but it was still hesitant, unsure, and cautious.
Nivaradros’s gaze flickered to him and he found himself nodding once so slightly he doubted Zimliya would have caught it if she had been staring directly at him. She wasn’t; she had eyes only for the Dragon. Nivaradros’s gaze returned to hers and held it.
“You look well,” Nivaradros managed to say in a tone that gave away just how awkward the words were to him.
The Mithane hid a smile. Nivaradros definitely was trying, and it finalized his decision. He would not interfere with this relationship. For whatever reason, Nivaradros was trying to be socially acceptable, and so long as it didn’t endanger Zimliya, or the world, he would assist the Dragon.
Nivaradros’s inelegant tone caused Zimliya to laugh softly, but it wasn’t a cutting laugh, and the Dragon replied with a smile. The Mithane still said nothing, but he desperately wished he could stand back further from the two. Zimliya was clearly trying to decide on something, and it was apparent Nivaradros wasn’t about to make a move until she did.
The Dragon’s anger had vanished into the air when he had realized who was sitting in the room with them, and it was enchanting to watch the two attempt to regain what time had stolen from them: a chance to figure out how to handle their friendship.
And how will your scars affect you? How will your time away have changed you? He thought as he continued to watch them.
He wanted to offer the Dragon some advice, but he feared anything he did or said would ruin what was occurring before him. His attention was caught by Zimliya again. She was fighting something or some thought, and not even he could divine what it was. She didn’t leave him questioning though. It became clear what she had been debating on rather suddenly.
