by Meagan Hurst
She tensed but nodded and slowly put the dagger away once more. “I don’t want to go back.” Shoulders stiff with the thought, she turned away and studied the desk full of paperwork.
“He has no intention of harming you now, not while you are there.” The Dragon placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her back against his chest. He seemed slightly pleased that she hadn’t stabbed him over the motion; she was more than delighted over the fact she hadn’t. “If he was, I wouldn’t ask you to attempt this, but I truly think it is safer for you among the enemy than it is among your allies.”
“They have to find out I am immortal at some point.”
“Let it be another time. Go now though; otherwise, I will find it much easier to keep you here.” Nivaradros’s eyes edged towards neon as she glanced up at them.
“Fine,” she told him softly, and she pulled herself into the shadows before he could reply.
Once more she didn’t walk the shadows since it would have required her to create a world. Instead she used them as a portal cheat and emerged back at the campsite Midestol was still at mere seconds after leaving the Dragon. Midestol glanced up at her as she appeared before nodding towards a pot he had placed over the fire. Apparently, he also thought she needed to eat. She refrained from snapping at him, but it was a close enough thing that she kept her mouth shut until after she had served herself.
“Did you manage to work out the kinks in your battle plans?” she asked slowly before grimacing. The Dragon was insane. What the hell were they supposed to talk about? They fought on opposite sides!
Midestol’s smile was slightly bitter. Clearly, he understood what her grimace was from. “Hopefully,” he said quietly. “How about on your end?”
“I just checked in with the Dragon.”
“I approve of him, not that it matters to you, but I do. He’s loyal to you.”
“He is a Dragon; he just wants something.”
“You.”
And that was what she was starting to fear. “I’m a human,” she said flatly. “He’s after power, which I have, nothing more.”
Midestol raised a brow. “He threatened me about your well-being. If he was after your power he would have simply threatened that I was not allowed to steal it, and he may have offered to share. I know that Dragon to a point, Zimliya. If he was after your power I wouldn’t have to worry about killing you; you would already be dead or he would. I would, however, have had to worry about whether or not he would consider sharing what he might have gained.”
Since this was more or less true, Z fell silent and just picked at her bowl of what appeared to be perfectly edible soup. She didn’t want to dwell too much on Nivaradros’s sudden interest in her. It was slightly frightening, and more than a little out of place for a Dragon—for him especially. What she was slowly managing to get him to reveal was even more upsetting, and she knew she probably didn’t even hold half of the pieces.
“Dragons threaten as easily as they breathe.” She spoke a little louder than she wanted, but Midestol’s approval was a bit much to accept. She didn’t know whether she was offended, worried, grateful, or just plain angry—and she certainly didn’t know where she stood on what his approval was for.
Midestol’s knowing smile caught her off guard. “You could do much worse,” he pointed out.
“I’m aware of that. Nicklyn, remember?”
The Dark Mage’s laugh once again was uncomfortable to hear. It had to be a sad thing to say that she preferred his deadly laugh to this one, but she honestly did. “He wasn’t right for you at all. Not nearly talented enough in anything you would have needed him to be. The Dragon at least is a fighter. His temper is the only thing I would worry about.”
“His temper is my favorite thing.”
“You’re bound to get burned if you play with fire.”
“I already have been.” Z finished picking at her meal and set the bowl aside. When Midestol vanished it, she managed to give him a dark look, but her heart truly wasn’t in it. “So where are we going? If you say ‘it’s a surprise,’ or something equally stupid, I may be tempted to stab you.”
“No patience today?”
“When do I ever have patience? I believe we live on different worlds—patience and I.”
Midestol shook his head. “You have an extraordinary level of patience, you just lack it in certain areas. I have seen you wait for four days for my men to attack you. Four days. You didn’t even flinch. I was starting to believe you were under a spell and not truly yourself, until Vaenir attacked you.” He whistled to summon his beast and fell silent until the creature was ready to go. Swinging back up onto the abomination’s back, Midestol leaned down to offer her a hand.
Z accepted it with more ease than she had the day before, but once she was settled behind him she once again made sure there was no way to brush up against her grandfather accidentally if the ride got rough—well rougher; his creation’s gaits left much to be desired. Letting her body move with the creature’s jerking walk Z waited for Midestol to speak once—wondering absently what had driven him into silence.
“We are heading to the house I had built for you, your mother, and your father,” Midestol said at long last. “It is some place you were meant to be, and as you have never been there before it shouldn’t lend itself to negative experiences unless we desire them.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Will we be able to not walk on ice around each other, Zimliya? We have our reasons, but I would like to be able to create some sort of a connection with you.”
“Promise not to rape anyone while we’re attempting to bond?” Z asked cuttingly. She immediately felt bad for her words, but with what she had been forced to see and hear during her many stays with Midestol for non-family reasons, it was the first thing that came to mind.
She saw him stiffen in surprise. “Fine. I find it highly unfair that I cannot think of a single thing to ask of you.”
“I promise not to kill anyone else that seems to be fond of torturing anything female that moves. Well, anything that moves, period.”
“We are going to a house, Zimliya.”
“With servants, or should I say slaves?”
“Well, of course.”
“Then I am going to have to make that promise. I know what goes on all too well, Midestol.”
“You’re lucky the Dragon came with you. I am tempted to kill you now.”
Z shrugged. “Go ahead and try. I am perfectly willing to end this now. Neither of us knows who is more powerful. I am willing to bet it’s not you.”
She had a second’s warning. Vaulting off the back of the creature she drew Kyi’rinn and parried the magic Midestol sent her way. It was powerful, but it didn’t even cause her weight to shift, and it should have. Giving Midestol a black stare, she held his gaze intently, but didn’t follow up his attack with one of her own. They stood there for several minutes—each studying the other—until Midestol’s hand finally dropped.
“Don’t push me, Zimliya,” he growled. “I do not—now—want to harm you. You make it incredibly difficult for me to keep my word.”
His words caused her a moment’s regret, and she lowered her sword slowly. “Sorry,” she told him honestly. “It’s just, damn it, Midestol. I prefer you as an enemy.”
Orange eyes held hers. “Do you?”
And she surrendered again. “No. I just fail at any other kind of relationship. Ask the immortals I run with. Any of them would undoubtedly kill to be in the position you’re in now, and you’re probably thinking this is some twisted punishment the Dragon thought up.”
“I just find it irritating that the fact that you’re my granddaughter seems to have made our relationship worse.”
“That’s not your fault,” Z whispered as she closed her eyes. He was no threat to her now—she had felt his interest in attacking her vanish. “It’s easier to trust an enemy to harm me, far easier than to trust anyone else not to. I’m used to the former; the latter I believe is a trick.”
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“If the former Tenian kingdom wasn’t destroyed, and its king still lived, I would kill him myself. You are truly one messed up woman, Zimliya, do you know that?”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Midestol shook his head but held out a hand. And that was all he did. He made no movement forward, and he kept his threats contained. His eyes watched her, but even they were not demanding. It was, she realized in astonishment, entirely her choice. Pressing her lips together with anger, Z finally put Kyi’rinn away and stepped forward. Accepting Midestol’s hand, she put the power in her control for a moment and pulled him sharply from the world and into the shadows—it was the one of the two elements she knew he would never be able to control.
He let out a strangled cry of surprise and released her hand at once. Looking around them sharply as her world began to form without her so much as asking it to, Midestol turned to regard her with frank admiration.
“Impressive,” he breathed. “Imagine what I could have done with you at my side—for a second,” he added as she raised a brow. “We could have ruled the world before you were seven.”
“I don’t want the world, Midestol. I never have. I have a hard enough time just living in it.”
Her mind returned, briefly, to the lands she had gone to when he had forced her to flee almost a year ago now. That had been a world she had been willing to live in. It had had its own races—including humans, who magic knew somehow ended up almost everywhere—and she had gotten over much of her mental and emotional scars during the time she had lived and worked there. Or so she had thought. Coming home had brought them all to the surface again. Now she had to deal with this, and immortality apparently didn’t come with anything that would help with something like this. Since it seemed to come with everything else as a built-in talent, Z clung to this lack with bitter anger; it gave her something to do.
“Where were we going?”
“I told you—”
“Destination-wise. I am not riding that—that thing again. We will travel through here.”
“And if I protest?”
“I can make plenty of rocks for you to vent your frustration on. But if you attempt to kill me, or manage it, you will either be trapped here forever, or you will perish when I do if my control is not strong enough for the world to continue upon my demise. It is only a sub-world after all, and it is sustained entirely by my magic and my mind.”
Midestol stared at her as a tree started to grow, withered, and then vanished as though it had never been. “I think you need to work on this slightly.”
She grimaced. “I fully intend to take up the Islierre’s offer to train me if I am ever allowed to see them again.”
“The Dragon?”
“Apparently he’s concerned they’ll be tempted to kill me.”
“You can take care of yourself.”
“So we have discussed. Evidently, he doesn’t like my odds.”
Midestol snorted and began to walk. “Follow,” he called over his shoulder.
“Why? You don’t hold any power here, I do, and this would be a fairly easy way to kill you.”
“The Dragon would be disappointed.”
Cursing him loudly, Z scowled and kicked a loose rock as she did as he had ordered originally. The Dragon and she were definitely going to have to have a very long talk about interference in her life.
Chapter 17
They spent the next two hours discovering Midestol’s sense of direction left something to be desired. Cursing in seventeen languages under her breath, Z leaned against a boulder and watched as Midestol once again paused, grimaced, and then started in a direction for a few steps before he would once again pause, grimace, and start off in a different direction.
As he had been doing this particular dance for the better part of an hour Z remained where she was and practiced her use of the shadows while she waited. Her world was once again becoming more realistic, but she had managed to kill no less than seven trees while she had waited for Midestol, and it irritated her. Her world never vanished completely—she had that much control at least—but she had to remake and extend parts of it.
“If we weren’t in the shadowlands I would have a better idea of where we need to go!” Midestol finally snapped at her.
Z raised a brow, but shrugged coolly, and the world vanished. They emerged from the shadows about thirty miles north of where they had been. “Know where we are now?” she asked in exasperation.
He turned to reply; Z sensed the attack right as he saw it, but there wasn’t enough time to respond. Midestol was instantly beside her, and Z had Kyi’rinn out of her sheath by the time the creature—if something that gruesome could be called a creature—had impaled Midestol with its fangs on his left side. Its head was missing its body a second later, and Z pulled the head and its fangs away from, and out of, Midestol’s sides. A fire burned the remains while she grimaced at the smell, but she kept her attention on their surroundings in case there were more of the creatures in the area. Silence, magical and physical, greeted her senses, and Z let her attention turn to the man who had just willingly taken an injury for her.
Midestol’s condition, at first glance, was far more severe than she wanted to see. The mage was pale, bleeding profusely, and Z could see the telltale sign of venom along the edges of the wounds.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” she shouted at him. She was furious, confused, and uncertain what would have caused Midestol to protect her. She didn’t know how to respond.
“It would have bitten you,” Midestol replied in a tone that was too even. “What the hell was it?”
“I don’t know. Someone’s failed attempt at a bear? I don’t go around creating monstrosities, that’s your thing.” Z glanced briefly at the ashes her fire had left of the creature, and then turned her attention back to the more important matter: Midestol’s injury. “How bad are you?”
“I am fine,” Midestol insisted, but as he took a step forward his legs crumbled. Z rushed to support him as he made the effort to straighten. He didn’t even attempt to wave her aid away. Placing his left arm over her shoulder, he leaned against her as little as he could. She could feel his body trembling from either pain or venom.
“You are far from fine.”
They made it another couple of steps before Midestol collapsed completely, and Z knelt beside him at once. His breathing was shallow, and his skin was white enough to make snow look cream.
“Where are we going?” she asked him urgently. “And is there help available there?”
She felt him brush up against her mind and stiffened, automatically blocking him out. A glance down at him, though, began to thaw her instant revulsion to the idea. Midestol’s eyes were closed and his breathing was getting weaker. Lowering her mental barriers with care, she reached out to him; she could always block him later on.
Where are we going?
His answer was a mental map, and she felt him shudder in silence as the poison raced dangerously fast through his veins. In his state, he couldn’t control what she touched in his mind, and Z constantly pulled back as images from his life pressed against her. She felt soiled. Violated. Deadly. Disgusting. Pulling away sharply, she exhaled slowly and then reconnected with the Dark Mage. Her grandfather. The man who had just saved her, which made it harder to justify inaction. It would be so easy to let him die. So easy, and so painful. Plus, she still wasn’t certain she could let him die without a disaster occurring from his stolen power as a result. Touching his chest with her hands for no other reason than because she felt like it, Z shoved a small amount of strength into him.
“Stay with me,” she whispered before enfolding them both in the shadows again and moving them from where they were to where they needed to be.
Exhaustion hit her hard when they returned from their rushed travel in the shadows. Glancing up at the castle Midestol had apparently built for her mother—there was no way in hell anything like that could be considered a house—Z struggl
ed to her feet.
Stay down. I will summon help. In my condition if you rise, you will be seen as a challenge, and I am in no condition to keep anyone from trying to claim you.
She took his advice. When help came Z pretended to be somewhat meek, and she followed the men who carried their lord into the ‘house’ in perfect silence with her eyes lowered. Inside they went, down several halls, and up two flights of stone stairs before the halls began to reveal doors that Z was certain were meant to be rooms.
When their small escort finally paused and gestured one of the doors open, Z found she was correct, and let out a sigh of relief. She was delivered to the same room as Midestol, and her concern for his health grew as he was placed on the bed. It was only when the room had been left to the two of them that Z moved forward again. Grabbing Midestol’s right hand in a loose grip, she channeled power towards him.
You need a healer, she told him softly.
They would not survive the attempt. The venom of the creature is quite potent.
Z struggled to keep Midestol’s tainted feel away from her while maintaining contact. She felt his desire for her to aid him. I am not a healer.
Perhaps not, but you know poisons and venom. Even better, you have a history of survival. Do what you can. At this point I highly doubt anything you do—and I know you enough to know you will try to save me regardless of what I have done—will make things worse.
That decided her. Pulling away the clothing that blood, air, and venom had attached to the wound, Z hissed softly at what she saw, but drew one of her daggers and began to work. The creature had managed to bite Midestol’s left side with a bit of depth behind its strike, and Z could tell ribs were damaged on top of the deep puncture marks the fangs had left. Cutting deep into Midestol’s side, she used magic to drain the venom that had been forming pockets along his muscles—he would have to fight what was in his bloodstream on his own.
She worked where she could. In the end her hands, the bed, and his side were soaked with blood, but he was still alive, that had to count for something. Bandaging up what she could, Z’s gaze continued to flicker back up to Midestol’s face. He was unconscious—had been for the past hour she had worked—but his breathing was no worse than it had been. They would have quite the battle to fight together if he was to survive, but Z wasn’t about to leave him now, and she couldn’t shake the knowledge that he had taken this wound to protect her.
