by Meagan Hurst
Formal. Nivaradros was never formal. She could see Veilantras didn’t know how to explain or deny the fact that Nivaradros was getting along with the Islierri and the Mithane, and that the Mithane had spoken to Nivaradros as an equal. The female Dragon continued to gaze at her former student as both the Mithane and Shalion accepted Nivaradros’s offer, thanked him, and moved to take seats at the table. Neither of them so much as glanced at Veilantras, and Z knew well just how cutting such a move was. It meant they were on her side, well her side and Nivaradros’s. As it was a change for the Mithane, Z was grateful for his silent support. Nivaradros’s return to life had caused nothing but trouble for the Dragon, and Z knew Nivaradros’s very tight self-control was losing its strength after being hammered so heavily by so many.
Veilantras managed to find words and they were not what Z wanted to hear. “You have been summoned before the Council,” she informed Nivaradros in a curt tone as she handed him the typical rolled summons, sealed with a ribbon of fire. “If you do not attend…you can fly to war.”
Nivaradros accepted the summons, but he didn’t open it and he didn’t speak. He didn’t tell Veilantras what he had told everyone else in the room; that he had no form. He couldn’t fly to war, and Z could tell by the closed look of his features that he had no intention of answering the order in front of him. He was a banished Dragon, and she knew he didn’t trust her recovery to anyone else. It had been going very well—excluding the events of the previous day—and she had to concur with his opinion on the matter. Pressing her lips together, she sent the being who had saved Nivaradros’s life a curse and moved to stand before Veilantras.
Before she could speak, Nivaradros inserted his answer between them, which Z still thought was a neat trick. “If war is what you have decided must be done, Veilantras, then I will meet those who challenge me with the intent to survive. Zimliya is not strong enough to accept the aid of anyone else, and no one besides me has the training to handle the magic and the damage the wounds can still bring upon her.” Nivaradros put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “She is not my pet, nor my captive. She has remained here because she knows how injured and weak she is and because she wants to be here.”
“The Shade has proof that implies otherwise,” Veilantras snapped. She glanced at the Mithane. “You believe him?”
“Having seen how Zimliya has been interacting with him? Yes, I do. She is here by her own choice, Veilantras. I was as skeptical as you were when Crilyne handed us the “proof” that seemed to make it clear Nivaradros was keeping Zimliya as his own personal pet but having spoken to her—having seen her—I know differently. He is not what we feared, Veilantras.”
“And if you or any of the Council take to the skies to bring war here, you will be dealing with my armies,” Z told the Dragoness with ice attached to each word. “I will fight alongside Nivaradros until both of us are dead.”
“Not just one?” Veilantras questioned.
“Not if he dies first,” Z stated. “I’m not going through that again; the rest of you can deal with Midestol and the end of the world on your own.”
Veilantras blinked but glanced at the Mithane again. “You believe he hasn’t spelled her?”
“Midestol cannot spell her,” the Mithane pointed out. “No, Veilantras, this is the Zimliya we were probably foolish enough to want at one point. Now we have it and, as it always goes, we want the old woman, girl even, back. This is the Ranger we will be dealing with as a power; she protects her own, which in this case, is Nivaradros.” The Mithane played with a ring on his hand in an idle way, but Z knew damn well that ring recorded. “If Zimliya summons her forces, I will add those at my disposal as well.”
“As will I,” Shalion inserted as all eyes turned to him. He smiled as Veilantras’s glowing eyes met his and Z became very still when she realized his hands had summoned shadow. “Though,” he pointed out, “Z is technically the ruler of my kingdom.” He glanced at her. “Will you be summoning Ryelention forces to do battle?”
And she wanted to hit him. Veilantras glanced at her in open surprise. “Naturally,” Z drawled as she rolled her eyes and summoned shadow not just to her hands, but to the room. Shadow encased her body like a threat, but she wielded it like a sword. Veilantras took a step back from her and Z’s smile turned a little malicious. “Didn’t realize just how much of the shadows I could call did you, Veilantras?” The desire to protect Nivaradros was almost overpowering and it was a reminder. Calming herself enough to keep control, she stepped forward again and felt Nivaradros step up behind her. On the off chance her strength failed her, he intended to be there. “Will you challenge him still?” she demanded. “I am fine, damn it. He hasn’t harmed me, and he has my permission to do everything he has done for me or to me. Go back to your isle and tell them as much. Whatever Crilyne has said, it isn’t correct. The Mithane and the Islierri are guests.”
“And we are honored to be so accepted,” the Mithane inserted from his seat. “It is the truth, Veilantras. Nivaradros gave me the choice of bringing some of my guard, but with Crilyne’s words floating around, I thought it was far wiser to leave them behind and attend to Zimliya on my own. He has made no threat to me or my people since I arrived and I am certain he carried me when I collapsed from healing Zimliya.”
“I wasn’t about to leave you on the floor,” Nivaradros pointed out in an affronted tone before he eyed his mentor with annoyance and snorted. “Veilantras, follow,” he demanded. Without waiting to see if she would, Nivaradros headed to the door. “Mithane, it would please me greatly if you looked after Zimliya. Don’t let her push herself too much.”
“I would be honored to, Lord Nivaradros,” the Mithane answered at once. “Between the Islierri and myself, we shall see that no harm comes to her.”
That was probably stretching it, but Nivaradros didn’t say a word. Instead he headed out of the room with Veilantras as she decided to follow. The minute the door finished closing behind the two, the Mithane and Shalion exchanged a glance before their eyes found her. Oh dear, she knew those looks.
“What?” she asked warily.
“Nivaradros seems to have been unaffected by his brush against you while you were carting shadows around,” the Mithane observed. “Though I will understand if you decide to lie, does the Dragon control the shadows?”
Shit. She hadn’t even considered that, and worse, Nivaradros hadn’t considered it when he had come to her support. “Yes,” she admitted after a pause. “But to what extent I don’t know.” Which was sort of true. She did not, however, want to let the Mithane know how much she guessed the Dragon could call and control. “How did you two know to come?” she added, changing the subject.
“We were summoned,” the Mithane replied after a pause. “Nivaradros is far more powerful and far craftier than I suspected. His home is quite impressive. I received a wordless request for aid, and I heard tidbits of the conversation at hand. I don’t know if you were awake for the part where Veilantras threatened to try to get past him to kill you or not, but she meant every word of it. I have a feeling Crilyne is waiting for your death again so he can try to change you into one of his kind.” He looked her over and she recognized the signs of him calling on his seer talent.
“What do you see?”
“A crossroad,” the Mithane answered in a distant sounding tone. “You are undergoing a change. You’ve softened—lost your edge almost—in response to Nivaradros’s open affection and concern for your wellbeing. If you survive what is to come, you will have your edge and the ability to soften it when needed.” He blinked and shook himself as he watched her. “You’ve changed greatly for him, Zimliya.” He opened his arms as he stood. She didn’t even hesitate, she went to him.
Arms enclosing her tightly—protectively—but without harming her; the Mithane’s chin touched the top of her head as he brought it down. “Oh, the years I have wanted to be able to do this without upsetting you,” he added as he held her close. “I owe the Drag
on more than I suspected, it seems. Even when I hugged you last year, you were still tense.”
Z managed a thin laugh, but she concentrated on not reacting to the Mithane’s presence. She trusted him—part of her was now willing to tentatively admit she considered him something akin to family—but his touch was frightening even though she was willing to accept his embrace. Closing her eyes, she struggled with herself until a soft feeling of peace caused the desire to attack to fade. Nerves ran through her like lighting, but she managed to move her own arms up to return the hug, and she felt the Mithane’s delight.
“And that is something I would have not thought you’d be able to do yet to anyone but your Dragon.” She glanced over her shoulder with difficulty to raise a brow at the Islierri. Shalion’s smile was amused, but also relieved and pleased.
The Mithane released her—reluctantly—but he didn’t fully release her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her eyes for a minute before he stepped back. “Oh, the world has no idea what’s in store for it. Trenis quanits leiantias.” He whispered the last to her before he bowed with the highest level of formality to her—palm to palm, fingers touching the opposing wrists while holding both hands to his heart. His gaze moved to Shalion. “What did you mean, when you spoke of your kingdom?” the Mithane asked.
“My father plans to officially abdicate his throne to me when he feels it is safe enough to do so,” Shalion began to explain.
“The Islierre plans to surrender his rule to you—with no bloodshed?” The Mithane looked like he had seen the Islierre’s death right at that moment. “Why, why would he step down?!”
“Because he and I made a bargain,” Shalion answered as he took a step back. “I’m not as interested in killing him as I should be and he’s willing to agree that that course might not be the best one, since Zimliya was already off balance from both Nivaradros’s death and her immortality.”
The Mithane’s brow rose with surprise. “He is stepping down so there is no conflict of interest…?” Turning to her, the Alantaion’s eyes pinned her to the floor. “He meant for Shalion to hand the reins of power to you, or should I say he means for Shalion to hand over his kingdom to you. Will you accept it?”
“I’ve not been given much of a choice,” Z pointed out with a grimace.
“Yes, well, when one offers you choices, you generally manage to back out of all options and come up with one that suits you better,” the Mithane teased her. She saw the look in his eyes and knew he was worried as to how she would take his jest. It had never been a problem before, which meant she needed to walk with care in how she responded.
“Someone once told me that if you don’t like the rules of the game, you change them,” Z retorted with a smile that grew as the Mithane bowed to her again. This time though, his bow was not formal in any manner, and a sense of familiarity emerged.
“Where is the Islierre at this time?” the Mithane wanted to know.
“In his shadowland.” Shalion spoke before she could. “Until one of us managed to speak to Zimliya personally, so we could decide the best way to approach this. It’s hard to surrender a kingdom to someone when you currently don’t have control of it, but the Islierre was more than confident we could regain control while Zimliya recovered. Unfortunately, he was wounded in the battle—”
“Where he requested my aid. Yes, I presumed as much when he reached out for Alantaion assistance,” the Mithane murmured. “He would never have lowered himself to ask for my forces unless he was absolutely certain he required it.” His eyes went to Z. “And before your arrival, he would have died before making such a request. You have changed the rules of the game quite often, Zimliya, but I certainly wouldn’t have it any other way. And now, you are coming into your own. Regaining some of the humanity that you have long denied yourself.” His eyes were a warm brown, and she could sense a heavy presence of approval. At one time it wouldn’t have mattered to her—or the lack of it wouldn’t have, and its existence would have alarmed her—now she accepted it as a gift and discovered she didn’t ever want to lose it.
I became immortal to become mortal; that makes a lot of sense. Sighing, she forced a smile in response to the Mithane’s words. She had worked so damn hard from the time the Rangers had rescued and rehabilitated her to be someone who could keep up with the immortals, someone who had lacked a range of emotions because that had been what had been required of her by them. And, to be honest, by herself as well. Now that she had the time to perfect it, she was acting more like a human than ever before. She hated it and yet knew it was necessary. What had the Mithane said? She would have to learn to balance herself once more? Perhaps this time—this time—she could consider herself an adult at the end of it.
“Will you accept the Islierre’s throne?” the Mithane wanted to know, bringing her out of the dangerous thoughts she had been inching toward.
“Yes,” she replied without thinking. “It is required of me at this time. I seem to be in the midst of building an empire, and I haven’t even had to fight over the lands.” Her joke fell flat, but she had expected it to. Closing her eyes, she shook herself, and then froze when arms encircled her once again. But that was all she did, freeze at the contact. She didn’t react with the intent to harm. She was both pleased and horrified; that skill had saved her a few times after all, and losing it meant surrendering a small measure of safety.
This time it was Shalion who had decided to touch her. His hold was more friend-like than anything, and that alone helped. Shrugging out of his embrace, she slugged his shoulder—harder than she meant to, judging by his grimace—and then bowed to the Mithane.
“Thank you,” she told him, “for coming with Nivaradros, for coming to help me when you shouldn’t have.”
“You are my unofficial daughter,” the Mithane answered with care. She flinched, but she didn’t voice the protest she normally would have at his words, and when she didn’t, he continued to speak as though she hadn’t reacted at all. “I will always try to help. Alantaions, after all, are known to be foolishly sentimental for an immortal race.” His gaze was upon her again, but it didn’t bring fear, just comfort and a sense of concern. It was something she had managed to ignore up until the last five years or so, but today she found herself drawn to it powerfully. What the hells was wrong with her?
“You have Shevieck,” she forced herself to say as she took a step back.
“Who leaves something to be desired, and has become somewhat of a—what do you call it? Ah, yes, a running joke if you will.” The Mithane’s expression shifted to something akin to pain, and Z rolled her eyes. All of the immortals could be stony faced when they wanted to be, but most of them chose not to be so around her. The display of emotion said less than it should have, it just meant they wanted to throw her off or pull her leg. “I care for him,” the Mithane said. “But I care for you as well. And Shevieck is not you.”
She glanced uneasily around the room. “Should I be concerned about the lack of noise coming from a conversation between two Dragons?!” she wanted to know as it occurred to her that Nivaradros had left with Veilantras—who had been trying to kill him—and yet they hadn’t heard or felt the outcome of that discussion.
“Nivaradros is treading with caution, he doesn’t intend to risk or endanger your life,” Shalion replied at once. “He implied he was willing to leave you in my care, but only after you reached a certain point in your recovery, which you haven’t obtained yet.” He glanced at her hidden wounds. “My guess would be he will leave you in my care, or perhaps the Mithane’s if he chooses to remain in the Dragon’s lair, if he feels he needs to speak with his people. He loves you far too much to risk you unless he absolutely has to.”
“Please don’t use that word,” Z almost whined.
“Which word—Love?”
“That would be the one, yes.”
Shalion exchanged a glance with the Mithane. She ignored it since she felt it was undeserved. “Why? He does love you. You, I believe, l
ove him as much, or more, in return. So why is it a problem?” Shalion’s eyes inched toward orange. “Does it have to do with the fact you were told in Tenia—and by most Tenians I encountered with you—that you are incapable of love? Or is it because, again by Tenian definition, immortals don’t feel or know what love is because we have the ability to kill anyone or anything at a drop of rain should they prove to be in the way of our goals?”
Pressing her lips together kept her words from them, but it didn’t matter. Her motions—the ones she couldn’t contain—told them more. Every time she heard the word ‘Tenia,’ she flinched.
“I think this conversation is at an end,” she snapped as she forced herself to speak.
“Is it?” Shalion wanted to know. “Why is it so hard for you to accept—?”
“Because I don’t deserve it!” she retorted before she could swallow the words. Anger took over everything else, and she turned away from them both and began to pace. “Not that—not…anything! Damn it, Shalion, he gave up his form! He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have been asked to do that. I am just a stupid, human small being!”
“I believe in all the immortal and mortal lands you are considered to be an adult,” the Mithane inserted with caution. His eyes were edged with black and she could tell he considering his words with care.
“An adult because humans attach the term to a number, not because I am one!” she threw angrily at him.
“Zimliya…” Shalion glanced at the Mithane and her anger faded as she realized how well the two of them were getting along. In the lair of a Dragon. With their history. Anger came back though, and Shalion gracefully handed the reins over to the Mithane.
“Should I point out it only took you a decade and a half to remember—and remember is the correct word here, Zimliya—how to care for someone else? How to let yourself love them?” He ignored the shudder the word invoked. “Zimliya, it has taken Nivaradros millenniums to learn and accept the same damn thing! If there is one of you who does not deserve the other—and I don’t believe it for a second—it is not you who is undeserving. Your Dragon has a lot to redeem himself for in the eyes of others; he has nothing to redeem himself for in your eyes though.” The Mithane gave her a mockingly disapproving look. “You might want to consider having a list of taboo behaviors.”