by Meagan Hurst
The human languages—in her mind—were too much like magic; a lack of rules that couldn’t be bent and a lack of stability that could cripple or damage those around them. The Dragon’s native tongue lacked the dangers of the human languages. It had its own idioms, but only an idiot couldn’t understand them, and though Z loved the Alantaion language for its musical tones, she loved the Dragon’s language for its power, certainty, and depth.
The shade of said Dragon’s eyes was a green that matched the color of pears by the time she managed to convince the scouts to go back to their patrol and allow her and Nivaradros to continue to their destination alone. They had opted not to take a portal to Istuion, but Z was starting to regret that decision, and she wondered if Nivaradros was as well. Glancing at him again, she rolled her eyes skyward and muttered under her breath in Alantaion. Her mind instantly went back to languages as she did so. It would never fail to amaze her that the most human seeming immortal race had the most musical language, the friendliest demeanor, and yet was the best language for cursing in. It worked, but it often managed to baffle her as well.
“You’re speaking the wrong language for here,” Nivaradros observed in flawless Alantaion as he chuckled while she continued to curse. His language skills didn’t surprise her. He’d had four millenniums to master them, and despite his hatred for others, he considered ignorance a larger frustration.
“There are Alantaions here,” she countered, breaking her swearing off mid-stride. “And I would imagine most of those who are listening know what I am saying. These are the first words most beings learn anyway.”
The Dragon chuckled and inclined his head in agreement. “Very true.” His stance, however, stiffened as a second group of Syallibions appeared and blocked their path. “We’re going to have to go through this again?!”
“In general, it will happen seven times,” she replied under her breath as she tried to start the proceedings before the Dragon could make his displeasure felt.
This time they only lost ten minutes. Nivaradros didn’t get as irritated and he didn’t waste time. Once the scouts faded back into their surroundings, and up the nearest trees, they continued on their path. There were ten ‘official’ paths that led into the heart of the city; making one’s own path was usually considered suicide unless it was her. She had carved out several ways into Istuion over the years, and now that she would be claiming its lands as hers, she would no longer have to fight the damn landscape to make it to the castle.
In the end, they were stopped six times. Nivaradros was cursing in Alantaion by the final time, and Z had to hide her amusement. If she was going to try his temper, she wanted the privacy of a room before she did so. Their debates, as harmless as they were, seemed to upset people and Z didn’t want to have to defend Nivaradros for not doing anything wrong if she could avoid it.
“Did you ever kill anyone during these stupid things?” Nivaradros wanted to know as the last scouts disappeared.
“No. Although I did stab a few people, but I started carving my own paths once I realized I could. I made certain to miss all the patrols,” she added as Nivaradros chuckled.
“That would be the key,” he agreed with a dark smile.
Her smile was as dark as his, but it faded as they rounded a curve in the path and came face-to-face with a group of individuals. Zyrhis, Shalion, Shevieck, the Mithane, the Islierre, Veilantras, and Kitra were all waiting outside of the main entrance with the outward appearance of patience. Shevieck, however, was lacking the feel of that patience. His eyes were black speckled with brown—a color she had rarely seen in Alantaions—and he shifted his weight from side to side until he could no longer contain himself.
She readied herself as the Alantaion heir moved to throw his arms around her. Stiffening at the contact, she closed her eyes and breathed until she was under control—she forced her hands away from her daggers at the same time—before she pushed Shevieck away.
“That was unwise,” she told him. She doubted, however, that he had heard her; his mouth hung open in shock.
“You…you didn’t throw me to the ground!” he exclaimed in surprise, seeming to recall contact wasn’t the best of actions at long last.
“We have been working on that,” Nivaradros drawled. “But that was quite foolish, Shevieck. She could have harmed you.”
Shevieck glanced at Nivaradros, but not even the eyes of the Dragon could penetrate his shock. “And you’re alive.”
“Or dead and walking,” Z inserted. “Or an illusion. One of the three.” She glanced over his shoulder to the others gathered and managed a smile. “Zyrhis,” she greeted. He broke free from the others to approach her and bowed low as he reached a point about two feet from her. She bid him to rise and met his eyes when he lifted his head to meet hers.
“Your kingdom, Zimliya, is eager to be placed in your capable hands,” he told her.
“I am certain that is not entirely actuate, but I will not hold it against you,” she replied. “I would also prefer you kept your displays minimal, a less formal bow is fine.”
“She’s having problems adjusting to the concept of ruling,” Nivaradros told the Syallibion with a sly smile. “Don’t take it personally, I’ll work on it.” In order to prove he was ‘working on it’ he kissed her, and Z managed a smile of her own. She heard a couple murmurs of surprise. “Shall we proceed indoors? Or are the rest of you going to check her condition? She’s alive, she’s healed physically, and I am working on the deeper scars.”
“And the sad part is you are the last choice for this task most of us would have picked,” Kitra sighed, “but you have proven yourself—to me at least, after staying in your lair for a small amount of time—to be more than up for the task.”
“Or she has allowed me to appear so,” Nivaradros retorted. His eyes were calm, and he glanced at the Islierre and Shalion. “How are the two of you doing?” he inquired.
“I need to speak with your chosen…have you two decided on a term yet? Shalion implied you hadn’t when he returned here,” the Islierre was also amused, but he was composed and she could only discern his entertainment due to their history.
“No, we have not.”
“Zimliya then. I need to speak with her about a few things before we all throw ourselves into the fifteen or so battlefields that have been created for us.” Orange eyes held her for an instant before moving on. “You look surprisingly well, Nivaradros, for a dead Dragon.”
“Yes, but the walking dead seem to be on the rise,” Nivaradros replied as a small smile touched the corners of his lips. He glanced to his former mentor and Z knew the female Dragon could still be a threat to him. “Veilantras?”
Veilantras inclined her head to him. “She looks well, Nivaradros, you did an exceptional job. Her weight is even up to par—though not quite where I would like it—and I can see from her movements that she is once again more than a match for us.”
“Which you all might get to experience firsthand if you do not cease speaking about me in third person while I am right here,” Z remarked as a chill crept into her voice. Crossing her arms to keep them away from her daggers, she glared at all of them—Nivaradros included—before choosing to respond to the Islierre. “And I would be happy to speak with you, Islierre,” she added, dropping the ice in her tone with ease. “Are we going to spend all night out here or can we go inside where assassins are less likely to attempt a strike?”
There was a surprised silence for a moment before Shalion broke it with something other than words. He approached her with an air of confidence and stopped a foot from her. Holding out his arms, he waited—every fiber of his being a silent challenge—and she rolled her eyes before stepping forward until he could tighten those arms around her.
“My father will want to test your restraint in this,” he murmured in her ear before releasing her and stepping back. He glanced over his shoulder as the Islierre did in fact move toward them.
“Zimliya,” he greeted her again before he bow
ed in a manner that was meant to be used between equals. She returned it—Syallibion style since that was the kingdom she was in—and then forced herself to remain still as he wrapped his arms around her as well. It was a powerful embrace, one that implied he had wanted to do this as long as the Mithane had, longer in fact, although that was not possible; the Mithane had met her first.
And it opened the door for everyone else. Kitra was the only one present, besides Nivaradros, who didn’t need to hug her. Instead Kitra stood back while everyone took their turn, and Z forced herself to remain composed. After all the contact had ceased, she was grinding her teeth, and she leaned back against Nivaradros as he came up behind her.
“I think she’s had enough,” the Dragon announced. “She’s accepting, but you’re pushing a bit too fast.” He kissed her forehead. “And if we don’t have joint quarters I am certain her mood will sour quickly.”
“Don’t you mean your mood will sour?” she shot at him. “Or does your mood just burn?”
The smile she got in reply was unexpected. “I believe it scorches,” the Dragon told her as his smile grew. He moved out from behind her and offered her his arm once more. “Shall we? They know how to get back and we know where we’re going; we don’t have to remain and wait for them to decide to move.”
She accepted his arm after a pause and nodded. “Point,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I can also choose our rooms that way.” She turned to the rather astonished mixed group of beings. “We’ll meet you inside,” she informed them as Nivaradros began to lead her away.
To her surprise, no one stopped them; not even the civilians along the way tried to catch her attention. She wondered if it had to do with the Dragon, or if the Syallibions knew how hard she’d had it and had decided to—for once—be tactful and leave her be. At some point she would have to address the city, and then at some point she would need to travel to the small villages outside of Istuion as well, but right now that was at the bottom on her list of things to do. First was to regain Arriandie. She was hoping the Arriandin would help her once she breached its walls, but she would have to sneak in undetected and that could pose a challenge depending on how the new ‘Mithane’ had placed his security.
She shook herself free of the plans she was drawing up in her mind when Nivaradros cleared his throat to catch her attention. It was so loud that she thought he probably caught everyone else’s attention within the radius of a mile.
“Yes?” she inquired distractedly as she glanced over and up at him.
“Do you intend to assign us rooms?”
“As you are likely to protest my preferences? No, I am not.”
“Good. It’s past time you accepted accommodations that befitted your rank.”
“I haven’t had a rank before this, Nivaradros!” she protested.
“Oh? You haven’t been the de la Nepioa all these years? I must be mistaking you for someone else. Who was it who managed to bring the Alliance back—being the liaison between every kingdom as a result? It wasn’t you? My mistake. My immortal memory must be flawed.”
Punching him was tempting, but if she did, she was certain he would hit back, and with her luck it would be the wrong being who would witness. And if Crilyne had been spreading rumors about her and Nivaradros, she couldn’t afford to have such a fight—in jest or in seriousness—seen occurring unless it was on a practice court, possibly not even then. Since she couldn’t punch him she settled for a very black look which she directed at the side of his face; he artfully ignored her. Damn him anyway.
They were greeted by three Syallibion as the large wooden doors that were still a part of the tree of the castle swung inwards. All three bowed low—very low—to Zimliya before fixing the Dragon with a cold stare and bowing to him. It was a shallow bow and it indicated disrespect. Well that was something she could vent her anger on—at least verbally.
“You will,” she remarked with a threat and ice in every word, “treat Lord Nivaradros with as much respect as you award to me. Whatever rumors you have heard—the negative ones—are false. I am still alive because of his aid and his dedication to keeping me breathing. I am likewise willing to suffer your displays of ceremony due to his intervention. You will not insult him in this fashion again, or you will find yourselves removed from your positions and no one here will offer you a referral for a new job, is that understood?”
She felt their astonishment and, yes, their anger, but they reined it in with ease and bowed again to the Dragon. This time they offered him his due respect. Nivaradros inclined his head almost regally in response to their bows and gave them permission to rise.
“Where are our rooms for the duration of our stay?” he asked them when the Syallibions continued to follow her demands by splitting their attention between her and Nivaradros.
“That hasn’t been determined,” the older Syallibion replied with a very careful tone. He eyed Nivaradros with uncertainty, and Z had a feeling he was just waiting for the Dragon’s eyes to change shade. “Because Zimliya has been difficult to accommodate in the past, and because we knew very little of how you two would like to be housed, we picked out four possibilities. Now that you are present, we can narrow it down until we have a final decision.”
Nivaradros nodded in agreement. “We require joint quarters. An entire wing would be nice as we expect to entertain guests throughout our stay. If you possess a wing that can be set aside for our permanent use that would be the best, and there is no need to remove anything from within it,” the Dragon added with a small smile. “Zimliya is more than willing to accept the rooms as they are. Aren’t you, Zimliya?”
She met his piercing look with a hint of disgust but sighed and nodded. “As the Dragon says,” she told them in resignation, causing a few brows to rise. There was, thankfully, no anger that began to simmer at her dejected reply and, if she had to make a guess, she was would have said they were pleased to see her lose that argument. Then again, it took a lot of servants a lot of time to de-finery her rooms, so she could understand their pleasure at having that task made unnecessary.
“Good Girl,” Nivaradros murmured under his breath to her alone. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to hit him.
“If you would follow me?” the oldest and only speaking Syallibion requested of them before he turned and began to lead the way through the various halls the tree had gifted its people.
It took them about thirty minutes to reach their destination. Fifteen of those minutes were spent on walking; the other fifteen were taken up by various Syallibion nobles who seemed to be worried about gaining her attention and possible support. They flocked to her—ignoring Nivaradros—and asked her insignificant questions. She dismissed them without concern for her manners; their blatant disrespect for the Dragon caused her to be rude to them in return. Most of them didn’t know what to do about it, but three of them put the pieces together and turned to Nivaradros to offer him sincere apologies, which the Dragon accepted with more grace than she felt they deserved.
By the time they reached the doors that would lead to the rooms that would belong to them alone, both Z and Nivaradros had short tempers. Their guide took their abrupt dismissals with ease, pausing only to tell them both to come to him for anything, and left them on their own before they had even opened the doors to their wing. Only when she was certain no one was within hearing distance—magically or otherwise—did she speak.
“Remind me why I agreed to this?” she asked him as she waved the doors inward and squeezed through them when there was almost enough room for her to fit, shifting sideways rather than wait any longer.
“Because we are needed, you have a responsibility to this kingdom, and because we are both idiots,” Nivaradros added the last under his breath and moved to kiss her before the doors had closed. She returned the kiss and then glanced around the rooms with a wince.
“Surely some of the gold could have been removed,” she growled.
“Why?” Nivaradros wanted to know. “It woul
d make the room look bare.”
Dragons.
Glaring at him, she shook her head, but declined to counter with words. Instead she began to pull off her clothing as she walked from the main entrance into one of the several rooms the wing contained. It took her a few tries to find a bath, and rather than summon an attendant to fill it, she used magic. Crystal clear, steaming, metal-free water filled up the tub and Z looked at it with longing; two weeks of solid travel had resulted in the accumulation of a rather thick layer of dirt. She was surprised there hadn’t been a sly comment directed her way. Then again, she was traveling with Nivaradros, so maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“If you drown, I am not bringing you back from the dead!” Nivaradros called.
“That works for me!” she shouted back at him as a smile touched her lips. She would never understand when or what had made him change, but she did love the fact that he had.
Forty minutes later, she sat in front of a fire Nivaradros had started in the library, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to make it dry faster without resorting to magic. Its length was driving her crazy.
“Nivaradros?” she called out.
“I happen to like it long,” the Dragon muttered before she even asked him. “And that is not long. Why do you always have to have it short?”
“Because long hair encourages people to grab it and in battle it is annoying to have someone attempting to drag you around by the hair?”
“Ah, that makes sense. Yes, I will cut it.”
He moved to her side without a problem, but when he drew a dagger she reacted without thinking. They ended up both on their feet and facing each other. Z’s hand gripped the Dragon’s wrist while her other hand held a dagger at one of his hearts. Nivaradros didn’t even blink, but he didn’t make an attempt to speak either. After a few minutes she began to relax—the urge to defend herself began to leave her—and she lowered her weapon.
“Sorry,” she told him as she lowered her eyes to the floor.