The Danger with Allies

by Meagan Hurst

  The Danger with Allies

  Journey of an Arbais Mage: Book Three

  By Meagan Hurst

  Journey of an Arbais Mage

  by Meagan Hurst

  When the Kingdom Falls

  The Price of Survival

  Table of Contents

  Kitra

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Midestol

  About the Series

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Kitra

  Immortals were not her favorite companions. They were arrogant, they had no problems killing to get a step ahead, they considered friendship something akin to a myth, and she felt they lacked compassion and other emotions she considered important to experience. She had cared about one immortal throughout her years, but as he was missing and presumed dead, he was a case in point.

  Yet, here she was, heading into the heart of an immortal’s kingdom to seek out not only the immortal ruler of the land, but the many other immortals he was currently housing. Stabbing herself in the heart was more appealing, but dealing with the various races was part of her job. Especially since the Ranger’s de la Nepioa was fighting for her life in a location no one could breach. No one, that was, but the damn Shade who had fled with Zimliya after her injury.

  Which was why, Kitra thought glumly, she was heading to see the Syallibions. And everyone else. Growling obscenities under her breath as a group of Syallibion scouts appeared before her, startling her as always, Kitra reined in the grey gelding she was riding and sighed.

  “Kitra le Tribarn, here to speak with King Zyrhis, the Mithane, the Islierre, and probably others as well, depending on which ousted rulers are still within your walls,” she declared in a formal tone though she spoke in her own language. She was fluent in five of the many languages their world used, but she preferred to speak either her native tongue or the common human one most of the races knew.

  There was a flicker of annoyance in the eyes of her greeters, but Kitra ignored it. Immortals. Why did it always have to be immortals? Why had Zimliya insisted on bringing the Rangers back out into the world? Fighting to keep from rolling her eyes as she waited for permission, and undoubtedly an escort, Kitra shifted her weight on the horse’s back as the immortals made her wait for far too long.

  “We grant you entry, Ranger, to our lands,” one of the scouts said at last. “The King is awaiting your arrival. We will escort you.”

  Of course they would; she’d called that. Scowling, she nodded and clucked to her tired gelding as the Syallibions led her to the people she had both been summoned to and sought out. It took two hours to reach the ancient tree that the Syallibions called home. Again. Immortals. Having convinced the scouts that she could, in fact, reach the tree once they had escorted her through the densest part of the forest, she was on her own, but it meant less than she had hoped.

  Oh, Zimliya, why must you do this to me? Kitra wondered as her heart ached at the thought of her charge. Former charge. The child she had been forced into a co-guardianship with upon Zimliya’s arrival to their people, and Nivo’s refusal to let the Council kill the young, dangerous child.

  She’d been furious over the guardianship. She’d been eighteen, still recovering from Nivaradros’s murder of her parents, and barely free from needing the guardianship of a fellow council member herself. She hadn’t wanted Zimliya, and even then, she had known that she would never have children. But because she had a talent in weapons and Zimliya had been suspected of having the same—though a much higher talent—Kitra had found herself recommended. And then Nivo had begged her to take Zimliya on, and she found she couldn’t turn the man down.

  She’d resented him, and Zimliya, for the first several months. And that anger, in the end, had damaged the relationship she could have had with Zimliya. Shaking herself free of thoughts she normally kept beneath the surface, Kitra noted she had more than just a Syallibion ruler awaiting her. Shalion, the Islierre, the Mithane, Dyiavea, and Sabaias’s father were also there, and she dismounted before her ride had halted.

  “I’ll have my people tend to him,” Zyrhis told her before she could speak. The young ruler was different from the heir she had known for around a decade. He had a commanding air to him that had previously not existed, and Kitra wasn’t as accepting of the change as most of the Rangers were. Zyrhis had gone out of his way to be supportive of the Rangers, but Kitra didn’t trust him. Still, this was not the time to dwell on her suspicions.

  “Thank you, King Zyrhis,” she said as she inclined her head, grateful she wasn’t required to bow in the formal Syallibion manner.

  “Zyrhis,” the former heir insisted with a smile. “Kitra, please, my father is dead, but I am still as loyal to the Alliance and Zimliya as I was when I was only the heir.”

  She didn’t believe him. Zimliya would have, but Kitra could not. Immortals had promised the Rangers alliances, support, and refuge, and immortals had delivered nothing when the Rangers had called upon them. Zimliya had overlooked with ease. It was, to her, far too distant to be relevant when dealing with the immortals today. But they were the same rulers for the most part, and Kitra would not forgive the races who had betrayed her people a thousand years before. Not ever.

  “Zimliya would insist upon formality,” Kitra countered with a forced smile. She nodded to the rest of her greeting party but turned her attention back to the man she wished to address. Of course, someone else interrupted.

  “Nishiene, we must speak,” the Islierre inserted in his smooth, dangerous voice. Zimliya, Kitra knew, thought the Ryelention’s voice was beautiful for all its darkness, but Kitra felt the ruler could not perish soon enough.

  “I had planned—” she began in a cool tone.

  “And it will have to wait. Shalion, attend us,” the Islierre ordered as he turned and began to walk away. His tone and his stance allowed no room for argument, and as she followed, Kitra cursed the immortal in the safety of her mind. Shalion, to her relief, fell in step beside her. For all she didn’t like him, Shalion was a comfort to have when speaking with his father.

  “He wishes to speak with you regarding Zimliya,” Shalion told her in an undertone. “And because I am in correspondence with the Shade, he likewise wishes to hear of any information I may know; he is therefore offering you the chance to hear my words as well.”

  Kitra said nothing, not trusting herself to speak. It had been a difficult eight months since Zimliya had fallen, and Crilyne’s refusal to speak with any save Shalion had grown old the day it had started. Knowing she needed to speak with Shalion, and therefore his father, she allowed herself to be led into the Islierre’s private wing in the tree.

  The Islierre turned to her once the door had closed behind them. Or, more accurately, been closed by the guards who shadowed the Islierre. Kitra shifted her weight as orange eyes examined her in a face that displayed no emotion. The Islierre was impossible to read. He also had no love or empathy for anyone. Not even his own son. Glancing at Shalion, Kitra noticed he was injured. She had no doubts regarding the culprit behind the injury.

  The Islierre’s lips shifted into a smile tha
t gave her a chill. “Shalion and I have been conversing more than we are accustomed to and it has been…challenging.”

  Kitra snorted, not concerned if the sound offended the Islierre. She would never understand why Z liked these people. “Whatever,” she muttered. “What did you want to discuss?”

  The Islierre’s eyes flickered to a brighter orange. “You are not the only person who is dealing with circumstances that they find arduous. I am offering you—to paraphrase a human idiom—a branch. Be wise enough to accept it.”

  Embarrassed and angered by the reprimand, Kitra frowned for a moment before exhaling. “You are correct. Islierre, please excuse my previous words. I will endeavor to behave more appropriately from here on out.”

  Shalion raised a brow. “Islierre,” he began, “perhaps we should strive to display more tolerance for the cultures of others?”

  Kitra almost swallowed her tongue in surprise. Shalion, she suspected, had a bit of a crush on Zimliya, and therefore backed the woman without question, but Kitra would have never guessed the Ryelention heir would back her. At least, not without Zimliya present. She glanced at Shalion and noticed how tired he looked. Pity, something she hated to feel for any immortal, began to emerge.

  “Why did you wish to speak to me?” she inquired of the Islierre, making the effort to sound formal and polite. It hadn’t been too long since some of the heirs, including Shalion, had called an Alliance meeting, the first meeting not called by Zimliya since the Alliance’s resurrection. Since that meeting had gone shockingly well, Kitra doubted the Islierre would harm her. At least in front of his son.

  “Because Shalion is our only link to Crilyne, who is the only being with Zimliya, and because with Zimliya’s demise still possible—it is a possibility, Nishiene, do not delude yourself into thinking her survival is an absolute.”

  Kitra’s jawline tightened and she forced herself to exhale. Zimliya had to survive. Kitra had lost too much in her lifetime, and Zimliya had surrendered everything time and time again. Including, to Kitra’s mixed emotions, the Dragon. The Dragon Kitra had wanted dead for over a decade and a half. The Dragon who had stolen Zimliya’s heart and would have, Kitra was certain, ended up as Zimliya’s permanent partner if the relationship had progressed. Nivaradros’s death had ended any chance of Zimliya accepting love of that nature from anyone. Kitra knew her charge; Zimliya would never risk her heart a second time.

  “The Dragon,” the Islierre broke into her thoughts with ease, “saved her. She would not have survived the price of awakening the Shades without him. But he is dead, Nishiene, and with that death goes my certainty she will survive.”

  She wished she could kill him. “What do you want, Islierre?!” she demanded again in exasperation.

  And the Ryelention ruler seemed to decide at last that he had wasted enough of her time. “Our attempts to reclaim our lands have yielded results that are not…preferred. As a result, Shalion and I will be proceeding in a more aggressive manner. I am requesting aid, Nishiene. A fair amount of it. What can your people offer?”

  How did Zimliya handle such disrespect? Such dismissal? Kitra felt her anger rising further and felt her people respond to it as a result. Unlike Zimliya, Kitra was always in sync with the Rangers. They could sense her thoughts, her emotions, and view a fair amount of what she was experiencing. Their understanding of her frustration surfaced, and with that simple understanding came the presence of support, and Kitra was able to force a smile as the Rangers gave her an answer to deliver to the immortal before her. At least he had asked for general aid, as Ranger terms dictated, rather than demanding something specific.

  “At this time, we are stretched thin, but we can offer four thousand.”

  The Islierre surprised her, he bowed. “We will be in touch,” he assured her before nodding once to Shalion and vanishing into the shadows.

  Kitra waited a couple of minutes before glancing at the Ryelention heir. “Is he dead?”

  Shalion, much to her relief, was not his father, and was not a fan of torturing mortals. He knew who she was referring to. “I spoke with Veilantras. There is no way to confirm Nivaradros’s demise, but the body of a Dragon can disappear. It is a spell the Dragon Council casts on exiled Dragons. It has something to do with Dragon culture, and she would not elaborate further other than to confirm the Council did place such magic on Nivaradros when they exiled him. I am not sure such a decision is wise; were I an exiled Dragon I might falsify my demise because there would be no body required for my death to be declared. I could easily vanish and plan my revenge.” Shalion’s eyes closed for a minute as his shoulders slumped. “But that is not,” he exhaled with dismay, “what happened here.”

  Closing her eyes own eyes, Kitra sighed. She opened her eyes to find Shalion’s pearl eyes were watching her. “I hated him. Oh, for what he cost me I would have killed him without hesitation if I’d had the ability, but he meant something to Zimliya and, for her sake, I learned to accept his presence. For her, I would have fought beside him had the situation presented itself.”

  “And you would have died, which would have been equally as wounding,” Shalion chided. “But I do not believe Nivaradros was behind the death of your parents and those villagers, and your anger with him is therefore misguided.”

  Her rage was swift to rise and harder to emerge from. “You know nothing about what he did,” she told Shalion in a low tone, the loudest she could manage without screaming at him. “My parents, the village, Diolantros…”

  “Who?” Shalion interrupted.

  “A Dragon I met right after the attack. Nivaradros slew him when Diolantros tried to avenge the deaths of the village.” Kitra closed her eyes for a minute, but the memory of Diolantros in his human form had erased itself from her mind. She assumed, had always assumed, that because of her grief over the loss of her family she had blocked out anything about him but his words.

  “He was a black Dragon, was he not?” Shalion pressed.

  “What does that have to do with it?” she demanded through clenched teeth. “He attempted to stand up to Nivaradros, and Nivaradros murdered him.”

  Shalion hesitated and her anger froze as a result. He knew or assumed something and she wanted to know what it was since he had been idiotic enough to start this conversation. “Tell me,” she ordered.

  “I have suspected, based on how Nivaradros acted during the war, that he was not who we believed him to be. He was too concerned for our wellbeing, too attentive to everyone else’s presence, to be the same Dragon we all thought he was. Do not deny it, Kitra, he saved you at least twice while he was with us.”

  Shalion hesitated again. “I would like, if you are interested, to help you bring forth the memories you have of the day you met…Diolantros.”

  Kitra coughed to hide her astonishment. “You have a talent with memory?”

  Shalion made a face. Of all of the heirs—save Shevieck—Shalion was most relaxed with humans, and it was clear he was willing to offer her some of the familiarity he normally only offered the other heirs and Zimliya. She was, in spite of herself, touched. It meant Shalion liked and trusted her to a point, and if Shalion survived his bid for the throne of his people, perhaps she could learn to work with him. If she was still alive when Shalion challenged his father.

  “I do. It is not an ability I exercise often. Immortal memories never fade, so this talent has no advantage with my people, and it is not considered a talent worth tuning. Zimliya, of course, refused to allow me to use it upon her, but I am offering it to you and I offer it freely. Would you like to remember that day?”

  Every fiber of her being told her to turn down his offer. Every fiber, that was, except for her pride, which wanted to prove him wrong. Nivaradros had murdered her family. Nivaradros had murdered the village. Diolantros had tried to avenge the mortals and lost his life to the murderous black Dragon Zimliya had fallen in love when—albeit much later.

  “I’ll allow you to exercise your talent,” she said at length, �
�but only to prove you wrong. Nivaradros fooled you, Shalion. He was not who you think he was.”

  Shalion shrugged. “There is only one way to find out,” he replied. Extending his left hand, he waited. “I will combine this with my shadow talent,” he warned. “That way we can both view the events as if we were a part of them while remaining separate from them as well.”

  Nodding without thinking his words through, Kitra reached out and grabbed his hand. As the past formed around them in the shadows, Kitra staggered in pain as she found herself immersed in a memory that she had kept suppressed for almost two decades.

  “There have to be survivors!” the sixteen year old version of herself shrieked as she ran through the smoldering ruins of the village her parents had moved them all to scant days before.

  She’d been at another village when the attack had gone down and, even now, she wished she had been with her family when Nivaradros had attacked.

  Pausing at the sight of a hand, her sixteen year old self began to try to lift the wood off the body pinned beneath it. The weight was too much, and though she could move the beams an inch, she couldn’t hold them, and she couldn’t shift them further. With tears streaming down her face as she continued to struggle, she was too caught up in her grief to notice someone approaching.

  A figure waded through the debris with caution. His eyes swept over the ruins of the village before he continued his approach toward her. Kitra noted with disgust that her younger self didn’t even notice she was being watched, and she forgot to watch the figure herself until he cleared his throat.

  Her younger self started with fear; Kitra gasped in horror and disbelief. Nivaradros. Nivaradros stood before her. He was, obviously, uncomfortable in his lesser form, but he was human in appearance, and his eyes were a medium green as he eyed the young human—her—before him. Before she could speak, Nivaradros leaned over, picked up the debris, and tossed it away from the person she had been trying to rescue. A rescue that was not needed; the woman was dead.