by Meagan Hurst
“Is it your turn now?” she asked tiredly.
Nivaradros’s smile was gentle. “No, I am afraid I don’t have enough to say to make it worthwhile.”
She managed a smile and exhaled sharply before glancing around the tent again. “We cannot keep commandeering the Shade’s tent.”
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” the Dragon countered, but as she opened her mouth to speak he crossed over to her and covered her lips with a finger. “But I concede the point. I will make arrangements to have a tent so when you join us we do not keep chasing the Shade out of his. I still think he got it for this purpose though.” He stepped away from her again and regarded her curiously. “Tell me about your grandfather.”
There wasn’t much to tell, but she did oblige his request. Nivaradros listened with more attention than she would have expected, and she could tell her lack of connection with Midestol irritated the Dragon slightly. When she finally fell silent again, the Dragon shook his head, but kept his thoughts to himself. Horns blared around them, and Z stirred—feeling the desire for battle and wanting to join—but the Dragon put a hand on her arm.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “You are going back to Midestol’s lands soon, let’s not tempt his good behavior by killing his warriors with your hands.” His eyes were calm, but she knew hers weren’t. Once again, the Dragon reached up to touch her face, and once more she allowed it. This time though she didn’t keep herself distant—she felt the comfort she hadn’t noticed before. “You are going to hate me, but maybe you should visit the cot for a few hours,” he mused.
She did hate him for the suggestion, but she also nodded and moved around him to head for it. “What do you plan to do with your claim?” she asked while her back was to him.
“As I told the Shade, nothing,” the Dragon told her evenly. “It is something I always intended to make, but I am not going to follow it up with anything now. It is there just to make sure the rest of the camp knows you are no longer up for grabs as a consort, a wife, a partner, a mate, or any other term they use to describe the same thing.”
She didn’t like the word ‘now,’ but she let it pass. Instead she turned to keep an eye on his movements. “What do you plan to do about the Thinyen?”
“This moment? Nothing. You are not staying here, so he, in theory, cannot touch you. I highly doubt you would be willing to give me a pass on killing him, and you are already furious with me. So, I’m just going to keep an eye on him, and hope the Islierre manages to get him to keep his mouth shut about your new condition.”
“As long as the Islierre doesn’t banish him to the shadows, I don’t care what he does,” Z said with a sigh. She really wasn’t tired in the way that required sleep—hadn’t been since the change—but she found a small level of comfort in the notion of sleep now; it gave her space from everyone else. Right now, she needed that space. Especially with Nivaradros’s latest action.
“Will you quit staring at me like I am going to grow a second head? Honestly, Zimliya! I am not going to run over there and attack you. For one, it would be a death sentence for me. And for another, I have already fallen slightly in your eyes for my latest stunt—I have no desire to dive deeper by the side of a mountain.” It was a Dragon saying. In human terms, it meant he had no interest in pushing his luck, but Z didn’t trust him right now, so the saying had less hold than it normally did.
“Am I going to have to sleep with a dagger?” she wanted to know curtly.
“With how you woke up last time? I’m staying over here.”
Chapter 19
He lied. Of course, she woke up screaming, so it wasn’t entirely his fault. Eyes blazing while he looked around for an attack, Nivaradros managed to confirm there wasn’t one before he made it to her side, before she was fully awake. Sitting up straight as the world went from nightmare to reality, Z shivered slightly from the feeling she couldn’t shake due to her immortality, and she allowed the Dragon to throw a loose blanket over her shoulders before he backed away quickly. Apparently, he thought he was going to get stabbed. Closing her eyes since nothing she did or didn’t do would make the image disappear faster—it wouldn’t ever disappear anyways—she struggled to find words, and yet kept them contained when she realized they were the wrong ones.
The silence was broken by Nivaradros in the end. “Z?” He was making something over a fire and Z wondered absently if he intended to drug her. Since he was perfectly willing to attempt to magic her into rest, she wouldn’t have put it past him.
But it turned out to be something much more reassuring and alarming; Nivaradros had made something that could have been called dinner if she hadn’t noticed the brightness of the tent’s walls, the feel of the day, and the fact she hadn’t eaten in some time. Soup seemed to be his chosen form of meal when he was making it for her, and today’s was no different. He offered her the bowl with care—and then immediately claimed it back when it was clear she would spill it. He settled beside her on the cot after once again boosting its strength with magic, and she found she was tempted to lean against him, but she had no idea how he would react.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
It was proof of his lack of temper with her that he didn’t explode over those words. “About whatever caused you to almost break the warding I wisely left intact when you woke up screaming like something was killing you. That was,” he added as his eyes brightened again with worry, “quite the scream.”
She glanced at him sidelong and noticed he was deeply unsettled. It clearly had been ‘quite the scream’ if it had unsettled the Dragon, who had evoked screams in many before he murdered them. “It’s nothing,” she told him.
“It is clearly something,” Nivaradros countered in a tone that was gentle enough to work as a balm over her nerves. Some of them, anyways.
Her lips twitched up into a half-smile, but they quickly fell into a grimace that ended in a shudder. “Remember my, uh, gift, when we were destroying Tenia?”
“The one that nearly killed you by overloading your senses with pain? I wouldn’t forget it even if I were a mortal, with their memory deficiencies—it was painful to watch.” His eyes flickered with understanding. “Your immortality makes you relive it, in full.”
She nodded as she shuddered again. “Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t feel pain again, but I can remember how that felt, Nivaradros. I remember your wounds,” she fell silent and this time she did lean against him without thinking.
She jumped when his arm landed over her shoulders. The Dragon appeared to be at a loss for words, and he covered it by trying to feed her. Glaring at him without much heat, Z grabbed the spoon from his other hand and began to feed herself—shaking hand and all. Or at least she did until Nivaradros suddenly grabbed her hand and turned it over to reveal bruises. She refused to meet his eyes.
“What are these from?” he demanded to know softly, dangerously. “Midestol?”
“No.”
“Anyone here?”
“No.”
“Do I have to keep guessing until I lose my patience or get bored of this?”
“No.”
The Dragon snorted, but he fell silent rather than losing his temper, and he released her arm a moment later. “Will you tell me if whatever it is becomes life threatening?”
“It won’t.”
“Does it have to do with when you healed Midestol?”
Z blinked and sat up slightly straighter next to the Dragon—or tried to. His arm refused to move and she wasn’t about to win that contest; he had a bit more weight in his arm than she did. “Yes,” she whispered slowly.
“Your nightmare is also a result?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder you hate healings, on both sides of the matter.” Nivaradros glanced over at her again and she saw he was considering something once more.
“I’m not up for many more surprises, Dragonlord,” she warned him. His smile was faint, but he did incline his head bef
ore he resumed his attempts to feed her.
Cursing at him briefly, she also managed a small smile and felt the hold of her nightmare fading—for now—until its presence was not so heavily felt. She reclaimed control of the spoon though and was pleased to see this time she could feed herself. She managed to eat a third of the bowl before the Dragon made his next move. She felt the world around them shift slightly, but when she glanced up nothing had openly changed. She felt the spoon drop from suddenly nerveless fingers though as she realized what the Dragon had subtly just done.
“You can control the shadows!” she exclaimed in astonishment as she turned to regard him with something close to awe mixed with fear.
Nivaradros’s answering smile was anything but reassuring. “You doubted?” he asked softly. He glanced around the tent—that was only an image of the tent since he had left the real one back in the true world—as his smile grew. “Yes, Zimliya,” he confirmed then. “I can control the shadows—quite well. Not, however, to the point I could consider training you; I have no patience for that sort of thing. This is one of my many secrets, but it was time to reveal it to you.”
“And why is that exactly?” she asked after a careful pause.
He didn’t answer. Getting up, he took the bowl and vanished it without concern. “Come,” he advised. “Let us walk for a time.” He left the tent then and she followed him because she doubted she could break out of this world on her own.
His land in the shadows was fully formed and she could sense his control everywhere. His control, that is, and his power. Once again, the sheer scope of power Nivaradros held—and she still didn’t know all of it—was mind boggling. He had played his game very well for all his previous millenniums. She, and everyone else, had assumed he was an almost undefeatable fighter and a skilled mage for a Dragon, but nothing more. This, however, made him much, much more. She wondered then why he rarely used his magic and planned to ask him eventually. She suspected he was an Arbais mage as well, and that, in itself, was something she could have never imagined. Four. She now knew of four Arbais mages in their world, including her.
The meadow he had carved into the walls of his lair was here in full. The grass was still stone, the wind was still capable of moving said stone, and the blades of grass still bent. When she bent down finally to touch one she jerked back in surprise. It felt like grass, and she knew it wasn’t. Turning to regard the Dragon in amazement again she caught him watching her in return.
“Nivaradros, this is incredible,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “It is not as impressive to make as it is to look at—really Z, you are giving me too much credit. Come, though, this is not what I want you to see.”
His words weren’t a comfort, but she followed him anyways. They passed his forest as well before they came to an ocean. Z tensed at once. “Your underwater room,” she breathed.
Nivaradros smiled approvingly and then stepped forward as the water—and it was water here—parted inches in front of his step. She followed without thinking and accepted the hand he held out behind him without hesitation. The parted water rose above their heads by hundreds of feet as they continued to walk down, and eventually it closed above them while still giving them room. Throughout it all the Dragon never once glanced up, gestured, or spoke. Perfect control. He was a master she had never thought to see while she had lived, and she had known him for mortal years without even suspecting he could manage this.
An hour or so into their walk, she finally caught sight of their destination rising from the bottom like a mountain that had forgotten to rise above the sea. “Does this exist in our world?” she asked him softly as they approached—trying hard to ignore the creatures that swam beside them. If she reached out with her arm she could touch them, but she had a feeling she would have lost that arm right after. Most of these creatures of the depths were not friendly.
“This is our world,” was the Dragon’s amused reply. “But if you mean does it exist outside of the shadows then the answer is yes, it does. I don’t travel to it often, as it takes a great deal more effort to reach it there than it does here, but it is mine, and I hold it.”
When they reached the mouth of the mountain’s cave—which, unlike the Dragon’s lair, was located at the bottom—Nivaradros paused and offered her a bow. “After you,” he said softly. When she paused at the door, the Dragon chuckled softly. “We are here for you to learn to trust me—start with this.”
Nodding as her mouth went dry from nerves, Z walked through the entrance first. Darkness encased her. Surrounded her and made something akin to a suit of armor around her body. Forcing herself not to react—not to fight—Z waited for the Dragon, and a moment later the darkness vanished as though it had never been, and the Dragon appeared at her side. Offering her a pleased smile, he stepped forward and swept his arm around them.
“Would you like to spar?” he asked softly as two swords—bladed, not training weapons—appeared on the sandy ground beside them.
She blinked, wanting to spar, but questioning his motives. The swords, however, were far too tempting. Picking them both up with care, she picked the heavier of the two. It felt more like her type of blade than the other, though both swords were of exceptional quality. The Dragon said nothing more but picked up the other sword with ease. He seemed comfortable with the weapon now—comfortable in his lesser form—and his practice swings told her he was also going to be fast.
He didn’t give her warning, he just attacked. Their blades met with a heavy clash even as Z automatically pulled her strength as she would have had she been sparring with a mortal. He relentlessly hounded her—forcing her to give ground, to take ground, to injure him, and to accept wounds herself.
“Don’t pull your strikes,” he told her at last. “Throw everything you have into this, Z. We are both immortals, we can take a lot.”
Growling at him under her breath, she nevertheless did as he commanded. She stopped holding back her strikes and just focused on keeping him alive—not on keeping him from bleeding. Time became a background thought as they danced. Z had never fought like this in a match—had never fought one creature this long period—and after what must have been weeks, her strength finally broke. Stumbling after Nivaradros delivered a strike to her ribs with the flat of his blade, she tried to catch herself and felt her muscles turn to water instead. Collapsing in the deep sand of the makeshift arena she closed her eyes and breathed heavily as the Dragon’s blade came to a halt inches from her throat.
“Yield,” he told her calmly.
She tried to grab her sword, tried to stand up again, but the Dragon kicked her legs out from under her, and kicked her sword out of reach. Giving in wasn’t something she generally considered, but she couldn’t even stand, and Nivaradros clearly would beat her in a fight that had lasted, well, however long this had lasted. She hadn’t used any disarming tricks or tried to kill him—had she this would have ended long before now. She suspected she could still beat him if she’d been out to kill him—he was a good swordsman for having just begun, but she had experience and her talent over him. Staring at the point of the blade that hadn’t wavered at all, she finally nodded.
“I yield,” she whispered as her eyes closed for a minute before she forced them open again. She half expected him to kill her.
He didn’t, and seconds later he vanished both swords and gently gathered her into his arms. Carrying her with ease—partly because she had no strength left to protest—he headed back the way they came. She leaned against him without thinking and listened to the steady offbeat of his many hearts. His warmth radiated through her and she found herself almost drifting off to sleep, but the sight of the water once again parting with ease kept her from slipping away completely.
“I was supposed to meet Midestol days ago,” she murmured tiredly.
“It has been less than two full days since you returned,” the Dragon replied. “Time—in that cave—doesn’t apply. We fought for a month and a half, had time been
going past us, but it was not. Did you not notice that although you are exhausted you didn’t starve to death?”
“I am far too tired to care.”
The Dragon chuckled quietly. “That was,” he admitted softly, “the point.”
He carried her through the entire shadowland until they reached the tent, or the duplicate of the tent, once more. Gently placing her upon the cot, Nivaradros brushed back the hair on her forehead before letting his hand fall until it rested at the edge of her shirt.
“Trust me,” he told her quietly, and it was only because she could barely stay awake that she managed not to react. He lifted her shirt to reveal the old scars from the creature—and every other scar—that had nearly shredded her in two and had ultimately left her with her lightning.
Exhausted to the point of collapse or not, she still managed to flinch. “Nivaradros—” she started wearily.
“Trust me,” he repeated patiently. “I hate having to exhaust you to the point of almost no return, but if you had even an ounce of energy you would probably attack me over this.” He didn’t point out she hadn’t before, but then again, she had made the attempt to harm him, so his description was accurate.
And she fought her fatigue even now. He wasn’t hurting her—he wouldn’t hurt her—but a decade and a half of keeping people from doing anything even remotely close to this drove her to continue to keep someone from doing this, and all he was doing was tracing her scars.
“This isn’t about trust,” she whispered.
“Everything with you is about trust, or a lack of it,” Nivaradros countered. “We are not leaving here until I resolve a small portion of this.”
“You told Crilyne you wouldn’t push this,” she accused.
“I lied,” he admitted blandly. “Damn it, Zimliya, I am not harming you!”
“I know!” she snapped back at him. And what was worse was she had accepted things she couldn’t accept here while she had been gone; another world had made some of her problems instantly vanish or lessen greatly in a short span of time. It was embarrassing, frustrating, and yet something she just couldn’t shake. Immortality hadn’t fixed it, would anything?
