The Danger with Allies

by Meagan Hurst

  The fight lasted the better part of two hours before the Dragon managed to slice a thin cut through her shirt to her chest. He instantly disengaged and stepped back; she immediately fell. Pushing herself up with shaking arms as she realized just how tired she was, Z yawned before regaining her feet.

  “Nice one,” she muttered as she touched her chest. Seeing the Dragon was agitated, she held up her hands. “It’s just a scratch, Nivaradros, I am fine.”

  He said nothing, but his silence wasn’t the normal calm-before-the-storm, so she assumed she was out of danger. A few minutes later the Dragon’s tension began to ebb, and he inclined his head to her to signify that he agreed—sort of—with her words.

  “Come then,” he advised. He watched her while she watched him. She was shocked when he made no effort to move her, no attempt to touch her. They stood there in silence for several more minutes before Nivaradros grimaced.

  “I will explain,” he told her at last, in a tone that hinted at frustration when she was unable to grasp the meaning behind his words. “I will no longer touch you or do anything for or to you without your verbal permission. If you want me to carry you, you will have to ask. If you need me to carry you, you will likewise have to ask. The same goes with any wounds you come by. And if you decide you want some sort of…” Nivaradros hesitated, eyeing her with unease, “comfort, you will have to ask.”

  She stared at him in utter dismay. “Why in the world?”

  “I am tired of fearing that anything I do will upset you. I’m therefore changing how I approach our relationship. This way the power is more obviously in your hands; if you cannot handle it you, in theory, won’t ask. If you do, and you have one of your moments, I can blame it on you. This has to be your choice, Z, you have to want this. I am going to start holding you accountable for your part of this relationship. I need to know I am not making you do something you don’t desire. If you want our relationship to continue or progress you will have to make your desires clear. We’ve past the point where you can remain neutral on your own future. Zimliya, you must decide what you want.”

  It was very, very un-Dragon-like and she absolutely loathed it. Continuing to stare at him, she struggled to figure out what was so angering about this. Unable to pinpoint it, she glanced at the ground and closed her eyes. “And what happens if I cannot make a decision?” she asked, fearing that this would be her path.

  “Then your inability to decide will be an answer in its own way,” Nivaradros answered. “Zimliya, this cannot continue in the manner it has. Otherwise all those accusations Veilantras threw at me are too close to reality. You have to decide. I have waited long enough.” Shaking his head as she struggled to respond, the Dragon sighed. “I will meet you in your rooms.”

  He was going to leave her there. Cursing him, she hesitated and struggled to form the words she wanted to but couldn’t. “Damn it, Dragonlord!” she snarled at long last. He turned to regard her, but he kept his word—he didn’t offer her anything. And because he didn’t, she couldn’t. In the end, she bowed her head and exhaled in frustration. “I will see you back at the room then,” she said through clenched teeth. She glanced up in time to see him bow to her and vanish through the door.

  By the time she made it back to her room she was angry—she was, in truth, past being vexed. Cursing the Dragon, herself, Tenia, the world, and the magic cursed being who had put her up to this, she spent more energy cursing than she did moving; and it therefore took her hours to get back.

  Nivaradros—damn him anyway—was standing outside her door. She opened her mouth to snap at him, to question why in the hells he hadn’t entered her room, when she remembered his words. This, at least, was easier.

  “You are welcome to join me inside,” she told him as exhaustion sank in. He nodded but waited until she slipped into the room before following her. He said nothing, did nothing, and felt more distant from her than he had in the past seven years. She hated that. Hated it, and yet couldn’t bring herself to correct it.

  At least, not until she realized the scratch he had given her had bled some and she was covered in dry sweat. She would have ignored it, but the sight of the ready-made bath made it difficult to. The problem was, with her current level of fatigue, she worried if she entered the bath, she’d be unable to exit it Unless she had help. That brought out a new wave of curses. She glanced at the Dragon, but he didn’t even blink over her words.

  “Lord Nivaradros?” she called without thinking, slipping into the formality that made most immortals cringe.

  “Zimliya de le Nepioa?” Nivaradros met her eyes and raised a black brow.

  She wanted to hit him. Knew why he was torturing her this way—knew he was right to do so—but loathed him for it. “Will you join me?” she asked, her voice lowering with nerves until it was a whisper at the last.

  “I would be honored to,” the Dragon replied as he stood. He did not, however, so much as pull any of this clothing off, and she gritted her teeth to keep from snarling a rude Dragon phrase at him.

  “Clothing is…” she hesitated on the word ‘optional’ because it wasn’t. Closing her eyes, she shuddered. “Just keep your pants on?” she requested of him instead, feeling like a moron.

  His smile was kind. “Harder on you than you thought it would be?” he wanted to know.

  “Not harder than I thought it would be, no,” she snarled, but she was at her mental limit and he was pushing her past it.

  He chuckled as he removed part of his clothing. “You’re exhausted,” he told her as he waited for her to both undress and beat him into the water. He followed only when she was submerged, and he kept his distance from her even then.

  He was just asking for her to hit him. “I am going to have to voice any request?” she demanded of him.

  “Yes,” was his neutral reply.

  She told him what he could go do and he raised a brow in response. Closing her eyes to keep from attempting to kill him, she focused on the job at hand—getting clean. She managed it without too much effort—thank the hells for small miracles—but when she moved to get out she ran into the trouble she had expected, and ignoring the Dragon was no longer an option.

  “Lord Nivaradros?” she inquired. “Would you be willing to help me get out?”

  “Of course,” he replied in a polite tone that forced more distance between them. His aid, however, made a liar of his tone. He carried her tenderly from the bath, but he put her down the moment she was out of it.

  Damn him for the millionth time! “Lord Nivaradros, I—” she tried. She honestly tried to ask him to carry her to the bed, but she couldn’t even ask that. “Never mind,” she mumbled when he glanced at her. “Thank you.” She stomped her way or attempted to; stomping took too much work, over to her bed. She forgot to ask him to stay and, as she gave up on dealing with him, she surrendered to sleep instead and knew he would be gone in the morning.

  The stubbornness of a Dragon showed through during the next several days. Their training became habit, and while Z lost battles to the Dragon the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth day, she didn’t lose after that final battle when Nivaradros’s sword was just a hair faster than hers. Her strength seemed to be returning much quicker than it had been and her muscles were rebuilding at the same speed. Nivaradros no longer nagged her at meal times, but she often requested his presence for them anyway. Worse, his silence carried weight, even if he’d thought it wouldn’t. Her weight also increased, until even the Mithane seemed to be less concerned with her condition.

  And the Mithane stayed. Nivaradros and the Alantaion seemed to have reached more than just a mere truce; the Mithane often joined them for meals. Shalion had left three days after the first battle with Nivaradros, claiming he needed to speak with his father again and that he wanted to attempt to discover the location of the missing warriors from various races. He had, however, offered her some advice before he had left, and as a result, Z was more than grateful for his absence.

  Nivara
dros was likewise happy the Ryelention had chosen to leave, but his reasoning was much simpler than hers; he just hated company. She hadn’t managed to convince him to bring Shevieck to his lair yet; the Dragon had flat out refused. She was worried about the Alantaion heir though. Shevieck made humans seem tactful and intelligent, and Shalion had already told her Zyrhis’s castle still enjoyed eating him on occasion. The Dragon wouldn’t budge, though. She assumed the eight or so months he had spent guarding the Mithani had been more than enough for him. And, in the end, it was probably wise. If both the Mithane and the Mithani went missing, the Alantaions who supported them would panic.

  On day eight, however, a visitor arrived without invitation, but Nivaradros’s hadn’t been willing to deny her accommodations. Z felt this was because of Kitra’s wounds and because of Kitra’s relationship with her. Z was also certain the Dragon did more than tolerate their guest since he didn’t even tell her that Kitra had arrived until after the Mithane brought it up. She was told Kitra had been scouting the border along Midestol’s lands when she had been spotted. They hadn’t managed to catch her, but they had managed to injure her. The Mithane’s aid was the only reason Kitra survived and the information she awarded them made Z ready to head out to war.

  And yet she couldn’t. She still owed the Dragon a few days. His new stance on how he had decided to approach their relationship was maddening, and she had stopped asking him anything, so the only time she saw him was in their daily sparring match and training routine. She both feared and wanted to ask him for something further, but she could no longer even force herself ask him to enter her rooms.

  There was a giant gulf growing between them that he wouldn’t breach and she was unable to cross. The Mithane was worried about it, but whenever he tried to speak of it, she ignored him until he fell silent. She knew this was her fault, but she had been better—in her mind—when the Dragon had just done things. Deep down, she knew if she didn’t manage to bridge the growing distance between them before they left, it would never be closed, but she couldn’t make herself take a step forward. She only took more steps back. The thought of trying—and inevitably failing—had paralyzed her.

  On the tenth day, Z felt the weight of the separation gaining even more substance and knew she either had to sever ties with the Dragon forever or offer him something before the fourteenth day arrived. Bringing up Kyi’rinn to both parry his strike and lock his blade, she pivoted and kicked the Dragon back a step with her left foot, before spinning and bringing her sword up to his throat.

  “Match,” she whispered as the Dragon lowered his sword.

  “Indeed,” Nivaradros replied. “Well done, Zimliya—” She was always Zimliya to him now. “—I look forward to our match tomorrow. If you’ll excuse me…” He didn’t even finish the sentence. Heading for the door without so much as a glance back, Z felt the weight triple and knew if she didn’t do something this second Nivaradros would be lost to her.

  “Lord Nivaradros?” she croaked as his hand caused the doors to vanish.

  “Zimliya?” Oh, his tone was distant. Cold and unforgiving with his controlled anger at her.

  “I…would you…” she felt the words jumble and cursed herself mentally while she tried to sort them out. She expected him to leave—he had before when she had tried to speak—but instead she found he stood with his back stiff and straight to her waiting for her to speak. “Lord Nivaradros…” Once more, she couldn’t speak, and again she fell back upon cursing herself out thoroughly in her mind. She wondered if he knew what he was asking of her and she wondered if making it her choice had been the worst idea he had ever attempted.

  But he waited, and with the distance of the last seven days, that was more than she should have expected. She tried again and went for something simpler. “Would you be willing to escort me to my room?”

  He turned, his expressionless mask back in place. “Of course, Zimliya, I would be honored,” he told her formally. She wanted to hit him. To scream. To say something constructive. But her lips remained sealed and while she accepted his offered arm it brought her no comfort and no closer to him. He was like his mountain: stone, unyielding.

  Still, he did escort her to her doors, but when he reached them he picked up her hand and began to let it drop.

  “Would you be willing—? Do you have time to join me for a late lunch?” she squeaked.

  The Dragon stiffened even more, but he regarded her for a minute before inclining his head. “I would be honored,” he repeated in that dull but cutting formal tone.

  “Good,” was all she could manage to say, but she made sure he entered before her, not trusting him enough to let him follow.

  Dinner was taken in chilly silence. Nivaradros only bothered to tell her was that it was, in fact, too late for the meal to be considered a lunch. Once he had corrected her though, he fell silent and simply went through the motions of eating; she sat like a statue. Food had turned to something more tasteless and unappetizing than the proverbial ash, and after the first two bites she had ceased any attempt to dine. She wasn’t hungry. She was so conflicted and angry at enough people that food couldn’t begin to solve her problems.

  “Perhaps I should take my leave,” Nivaradros said in a tone that was softer than it had been for days.

  “Please don’t!” she cried before she realized she had spoken. The Dragon glanced at her in open surprise—which made it the first expression he had gifted her with for three days—but he fell silent and he didn’t move. Closing her eyes, she felt herself start to shake and wished the Dragon would take pity on her, but he was, in the end, a Dragon. Pity wasn’t something they knew.

  “If you wouldn’t mind…” she started to say. “How busy are you today?” she changed the intended words to something different when the first sentence stuck in her throat.

  “Tonight?” the Dragon corrected with a cold smile. “I am attending to nothing that couldn’t be delayed if something came up.” He offered her nothing further, and she tried to think her way through things. This time though the Dragon did remember the mortal word pity. “Ah, is this really that hard for you?” he wanted to know.

  “You have no idea,” she replied as her shoulders slumped. “Will you stay?” she managed to ask, his words opening the gate hers had been locked behind.

  “If you desire it,” he responded in a tone that was neutral.

  “I do.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes!”

  He inclined his head at the last word. “Then I will remain. I will be on the couch—”

  Damn him to the hells! “No, you will not be,” she snapped. Anger in the place of unease was better, and she wrapped it around herself as if it shielded her from her fears.

  “Oh?” his tone was breathless, but dangerous, and his gaze pieced her. “And where then do you want me to stand? Against the far wall?”

  “I’m going to take a bath,” she said through clenched teeth. “And then you can join me—in the bed!” Anger was definitely a welcomed emotion. She could speak and if the Dragon was offended at her choice of words he could go stab himself in his hearts with a sword.

  His expression shifted to something as welcoming as Midestol’s dungeons. “I see…” His tone was cold, and she could tell her words had indeed angered him. “I’ll wait for you there.” He moved before she could counter, and she left the table with a hot fury encasing her.

  The water felt cold for once, letting her know how enraged she was. After dressing, she headed to the bed she still disliked with a passion, but her anger fled when she saw the Dragon. He was colder than both the bath and the room temperature, and she wanted to flee. Cussing under her breath, she managed to make it to the bed. She even managed to slip under the covers.

  “Did you want me to do anything in particular?” Nivaradros asked with ice encasing every word.

  “Shutting up would be great,” she muttered, but she felt his anger surge and rolled to face him before he could speak and before she c
ould think long enough to frighten herself. Pressing her lips to his, her mind caught up to her and she moved to break free as she panicked, but the Dragon caught her.

  “Relax,” he advised as his anger vanished and his voice softened. “Zimliya—Z—relax.” His words soothed and she managed to follow their demand. Closing her eyes, she let his hands grip her arms without reacting. “If speaking limits you, then abandon it. I am satisfied for the night. Escape into sleep if you need to.” He released her, but his hand rested against her cheek and she felt more of the tension between them fade. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmured.

  “Habit of mine,” she whispered, but she managed to exhale and most of her nerves dispersed as well. She had done something correct with Nivaradros at last. “Tell me what’s been going on, please?”

  Since he hadn’t been speaking to her other than a brief word during their matches, there was a lot of information he had to share, and his tone was much calmer and far more open than it had been in more than a week. The Dragon told her about all the guests Zyrhis had gained, lost, and, in some cases, gained a second time while Midestol’s attempt to separate or break the Alliance continued. Making plans to visit Istuion first, Z also planned to set up a Ranger guard for most of the ousted leaders—the Mithane especially—while they worked one kingdom at a time to bring things back to where they should stand. So long, that is, as nothing else happened that required their attention.

  They spoke late into the night, and Z regained the comfort she had managed to lose in the Dragon as Nivaradros made it clear his anger was gone and he held no grudge against her. Leaving serious conversation behind for less serious topics, Z found she had to often stop and explain mortal sayings to the Dragon, and Nivaradros relentlessly teased her once he understood what she was saying. It was times like this that she wished he shared her strong talent in languages. As the tension between them began to fade, Nivaradros abruptly picked her up, carried her to the bath, and dropped her into it.