by Meagan Hurst
She stood without aid though, and politely murmured to the guards surrounding her—reassuring them that she meant them no harm. Or she had meant them no harm. A flash of power caught one of them, throwing him back against the wall, and Z reacted without thinking. Moving in front of the lash of power that had been created to discipline the Alantaion guard, who had presumably done something wrong, she shielded him as best she could from the attacks of an Alantaion Z thought was the definition of insane.
“Don’t protect me, it will not aid you,” the Alantaion she was fighting to shield told her.
“I promised the Mithane I would look after you—all of you—if I could,” she whispered back. “I am not allowing the usurper to abuse you.”
Joy touched the eyes of the Alantaion at the mention of his former leader, but he said nothing on that subject. “You will only enrage him more if you continue to delay my punishment.”
“I can deal with anger,” Z hissed as she felt another strike across her back. Pulling her magic again, she shielded herself and the Alantaion behind her with care. Rising to her feet, she fixed Gaelitseli a dismissive stare and moved to scan the rest of the room at her leisure while he attempted to break through her shield.
She wished him the joy of it. It was a shield of shadow; he wouldn’t be able to touch it.
The rest of the ‘Court’ was not as she remembered it. There were familiar faces, yes, but far fewer than she wanted to see, and those she did know refused to meet her eyes. Something had happened here, something bad, and Z was determined to figure out what it was. The Alantaions she knew would never have let Gaelitseli overthrow their Mithane without a fight, and yet these ones had done just that—why?
“Cease this nonsense, Zimliya!” Gaelitseli demanded. “His fate does not concern you.”
“Actually, it does,” she replied. “But regardless, I have decided to involve myself in his affairs. If you have a problem with him, how he has conducted himself, or his reaction to your abuse on my behalf, feel free to take out your anger on me. You will leave him alone.” She changed the shield around her to make herself susceptible to some attacks to make a point, and held the cold, black eyes of the Alantaion who appeared to rule by force one of the gentler immortal races.
He took the bait and Z found herself unable to stand as waves of power forced her to her knees. Holding her shield around the Alantaion guard, she weathered the damage of Gaelitseli’s magic. Surrendering would do nothing but endanger the being she was trying so hard to protect. She held on to her consciousness by dim stubbornness, but she was well aware she was being injured.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before he gave up and ended his spells—she did not drop the shield protecting his guard—and she pushed herself off the ground, challenging him with her gaze.
“You little bitch,” Gaelitseli whispered as he summoned another spell. She found herself knocked to her knees again, and this time she remained there—working to keep contained the desire to end the usurper’s life.
“Mithane, if you kill her your ally will be displeased, and may take it out on the kingdom…” a very foolish—at least in her mind, considering Gaelitseli’s black mood—member of the Court pointed out. His self-confidence took a quick dive as Gaelitseli turned his attention to him, and Z cursed as she threw up another shield around the idiot who had spoken up.
“If that ally is Midestol, I will warn you that he is correct. He doesn’t like it when I’ve been severely harmed. He likes to inflict the damage personally, and he loathes it when someone else has started on his subject.” Z managed a tight smile. “Trust me, I’ve been the subject of his displeasure many, many times; I know what angers him.”
“That she does,” a smooth, but ice coated voice rang out from behind her. “Gaelitseli, I am disappointed in you. You promised to inform me immediately if, or when, Zimliya fell into your hands, and instead I find you not only neglected to inform me you had captured Zimliya, but also that you have decided to ruin my plans by viciously beating her.”
Footsteps rang out against the elegant floor of the throne room and Z sensed Midestol’s arrival at her side. A hand made its way into her line of vision, and when it stayed palm up at about her eye level, Z realized Midestol meant for her to take his hand. Placing her own into his scarred palm, she allowed him to help her to her feet.
“I am certain you have a wonderful explanation as to why you were torturing my captive prepared to offer me. I look forward to hearing it. In the meantime, Zimliya will be coming with me. I presume you have my quarters prepared?”
“Midestol… I was going to send you a message but she… she,” Gaelitseli sputtered as he turned his black eyes on her.
“She has always been difficult; I consider it part of her charm. And at your age I expected you to have some control over your emotions, or at least your reaction to them. Zimliya will stay with me and, therefore, she will theoretically no longer trouble you.” Midestol glanced at the shields she had raised around the two Alantaions she had decided to protect. “In practice, however, you will find she has a long reach.” His eyes returned to her then and he smiled. It was a very telling smile. “I am certain that with a little persuasion I can convince Zimliya to stay out of Court business.”
Z met his stare without expression. Midestol chuckled—which was a bad sign—and then grabbed her by the throat and threw her across the room. A wall ended up stopping her flight, and Z expected to hear the snap of bone when it did so. To her surprise, the only sound was the thud of body hitting a solid object, and Z realized the damage that should have been done by that toss hadn’t occurred. She assumed the Arriandin wasn’t willing to surrender her and she presumed he had done something to aid her.
She sat up, but stayed on the ground. Blood from her previous injuries continued to flow, and she heard Midestol’s approach long before he reached her. She expected to be thrown across the room again but, to her surprise, his hand appeared for her to accept, and Z steeled herself before she did so.
Midestol finished pulling her to her feet with care. “My apologies, Zimliya,” he said in a tone that not even the Alantaions would be able to catch since they had fled from the side of the room he had thrown her to. “I simply wanted to make sure your control was solid.”
Her shields hadn’t even wavered, and it was clear by the way Midestol supported her without seeming to that he was impressed. Impressed and not yet able to shake his connection and interest in her as his granddaughter. Apparently, despite what he had told her during their last meeting, he had not yet managed to go back to being neutral when handling her. Either that, or he was choosing to act this way to trick her.
“You should know I don’t drop spells unless I desire to,” she replied.
He didn’t reply, but since they had been moving closer to the Alantaions it was understandable. “You didn’t answer my question, Gaelitseli,” he added in an amused tone. It was a tone that put Z on edge at once; it was one Midestol often employed before he decided the being it was directed at needed to be executed on the spot. “Are my quarters ready?”
To Z’s surprise, Gaelitseli paled. So, he did know the line he was walking, and he insulted his race by bowing to the immortal human before him. “Of course, Midestol—my apologies—your quarters are always ready for you. Would you like food sent?”
“I would. I would also like some supplies sent up to me as well. Jacsern has the list and will present it to you in due time. I am going to take Zimliya before she decides to damage anything else. Sometimes she escalates in intensity as she goes along.”
Z raised a brow at Midestol, but declined to argue since it happened to be true. He did offer her a sly smile, and she detected genuine emotion behind it. He was happy to see her, not that he wouldn’t be a threat once he had her in his quarters, but he was pleased she was here.
“What brings you to Arriandie?” she wanted to know. “Surely he forgot to summon you.”
“He did. Or he thought he
could get away with holding you for a time without informing me. Perhaps he thought your hatred of me would be strong enough to keep you silent, but if those were his thoughts, his immortality has turned him into a fool; your wounds reveal his treatment of you.”
Reaching up to touch the deep gash on her forehead, Midestol muttered something not even she caught before turning to a man he identified as Jacsern. Z saw writing appear on a list that appeared in the man’s hands and raised a brow. She barely reacted to Midestol’s magic; he was learning to be even more subtle. Joy.
“And to answer your question,” Midestol continued as he lowered his hand with a puzzled look on his face as though she had done something odd. “I am here because Arriandie is mine. He is but a puppet.”
“You need to pick better puppets,” was her dry reply as Gaelitseli began to protest behind her.
Both of them ignored him, and Midestol led her through his small escort of warriors. As she passed through them, she found herself the recipient of both furious and leering glances.
“I probably do, but it is rare that I find an immortal that is willing to work with me at the level I require. I have to take what I can get.” He jerked her around so that she faced him, and she stiffened at once when she caught sight of his eyes. “Tell me, Zimliya, who holds your heart?”
She ignored him and pulled away. “What part of Arriandie are your quarters in?” she wanted to know as she preceded him—a hiss went up from behind her as she continued to walk in front of Midestol until they reached the doors.
“Does it matter?” Midestol inquired.
She whirled on him and used shadow to counter the magic her threw at her. For a moment his power locked against hers and held, but she exerted more and felt his begin to buckle. “It does, or I would not have asked. Will you push me here, Midestol? Or will you wait until the battle is of your time and place of choosing?”
Midestol began to laugh, but he inclined his head to her and recalled his magic. Z heard a couple Alantaions exhale with relief as he once again offered her his hand. “Well played,” he told her. “But come, if you will not speak here, perhaps I can convince you to speak elsewhere.” His orange eyes pinned the false Alantaion Mithane to his seat and raised his voice. “I expect what I request to be sent immediately, or I will have you take Zimliya’s place in the dungeons tonight.”
“So, she will be staying in the dungeons?”
“It depends on both you and on how much she chooses to upset me. Come, Zimliya.”
She allowed him to lead her away. The sound of the throne room doors closing behind her caused her to stiffen. She didn’t trust Gaelitseli with the Mithane’s people. Most of the original guard, the Alantaions devoted to protecting the Mithane and his line, were no longer present. The Court itself was much changed, and it was not heirs of former members she saw. The faces were new, and she hated that. She’d had the trust of most of the Court—especially the true Mithane’s Council and his guard—and she disliked the thought of having once again to regain the trust of a naturally suspicious and immortal race when she had a distinct lack of trust herself.
Also, most of the Court had been the original Alantaions who had dealt with and worked alongside the Rangers when the Alantaions had first entered this world. Their experiences with her people had helped when she had been trying to reestablish a working relationship between the Rangers and any immortal race. Losing them meant the Mithane would be starting from scratch, so Z could only hope that most of them were imprisoned somewhere, though she doubted it; immortals had a habit of killing anyone who didn’t agree with their policies. Though sometimes they were exiled.
She’d have to look into it, maybe Gaelitseli hadn’t gone completely insane and had exiled those who wouldn’t follow him. She would have expected them to turn up in Istuion, but perhaps they had felt it was too risky to do so. She could hope.
“Your thoughts are deep,” Midestol observed, breaking through those thoughts with ease. “Perhaps you would be willing to enlighten me with what has so enthralled you.”
She shrugged. “Nothing much, but regarding your earlier question, Midestol, the Dragon holds my heart.”
Midestol froze. “The Dragon is dead.”
“So it was rumored, but never confirmed. Even you couldn’t find the body.”
“Are you telling me you believe he is still alive?”
“Oh, not at all. I am telling you he does indeed live; he is probably the reason you and I are having this conversation. He was critical to my survival. He is himself, and he hasn’t been weakened by his injuries—or he has since recovered. I offer this information as a warning: I don’t think you want to cross Nivaradros, Midestol. He has made it clear that he will tolerate little when it comes to someone harming me. He is after all, a Dragon, and they’re possessive.”
Chapter 13
Midestol’s rooms weren’t what she expected. They were lavish when it came to decorations, but when Midestol gave her the tour, she did find one room had been changed to reflect his style. It was a room designed for his skills of torture. She expected that room would be the one she would be spending most of her time in, but Midestol showed it to her with little interest before they moved on to a set of double doors.
“Your room will be this one,” Midestol told her, his tone letting her know he was aware of the fact she hadn’t been paying much attention to him throughout most of his tour. “It is overdone for your tastes, but I am certain you will handle it.”
And that was all he said as he opened the doors. There was no threat in his words, and he didn’t tell her that if she didn’t approve of her quarters, she was welcome to spend the night in the room he had shown her before this. Instead all he did was leave her in the doorway with a polite goodnight before turning to walk away from her.
But when he turned back with burning eyes, she steeled herself for a change of heart. “I mean to tend to your wounds,” he with unease. “Will you permit it?”
She stared at him in shock, thrown off by his continued kindness. This new Midestol—the one so interested in being a part of her life—she didn’t understand, and she didn’t know how to handle. The sole upside to that was it was clear Midestol was struggling with the same issue. Nodding as words failed her, she allowed him to enter the room first before she followed. The room lit up as they entered.
Ignoring the décor of the room was hard, but since she was so disconcerted by Midestol, it was easier than it should have been. Taking a seat on the bed, she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he muttered about the lack of accommodation the room gave him and stalked out of the room to fetch his supplies by hand. As he had created a room dedicated to the slow and painful death of anyone who either upset him or happened to be around when he was bored, she couldn’t blame the Arriandin for being as unhelpful as possible. In fact, she was shocked none of his men had met with ‘accidents’ while staying in Arriandie. It was not unheard of for the castle’s awareness to display his displeasure.
Midestol returned and began to soak a towel in the pan of water that was floating behind him. “Come here,” he ordered before beginning to dab at the dried blood that crusted the side of her face.
“No need to be gentle,” she reminded him, “it’s not like I can feel it.”
“Ah, yes, you do have that wonderful talent. Did you know this gash is to the bone?” Midestol wondered aloud as he began to prod it with a finger once the wound was cleaner.
“I must have angered him,” she replied with a mocking mournful sigh.
“Imagine that,” Midestol muttered as he continued to examine it. “I don’t know if stitching would be beneficial or if I should drag you to the healerie.” He fixed her with a black look. “If, that is, you would be willing to accept their aid.”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are. You’ve got a five-inch gash that displays the top of your skull, a fair amount of blood loss, and a couple other minor wounds along with some spectacular bruises
—those that I can see, which means I am not including any that are beneath your clothing—but naturally you are fine.”
He almost sounded like Nivaradros. “Since when do you care? You’ve been interested in little more than killing me for years.”
“Yes, well, situations can change for brief periods of time,” Midestol admitted. He stepped away from her and began to pace. “Do you truly believe the Dragon loves you?”
One of these days she would meet someone who didn’t question Nivaradros, and in doing so didn’t question her choice. “He does. Yes, Midestol, I am certain of it.”
He laughed at her. “Oh, Zimliya, he is a Dragon. They are incapable of the emotions he is pretending to experience. Dragons are intelligent beasts, but they are beasts. He has been interested in other beings before and it has changed nothing. He doesn’t—cannot—care for you, not in the manner you believe.”
She shook her head—knowing she was playing into his hand, and not caring in the slightest. She would defend Nivaradros despite the fact Midestol didn’t even believe what he was saying; he was just trying to upset her. Why, she couldn’t fathom. “He’s only been interested in three other immortals, Midestol. None of whom he claimed, and none that he spent hours beside in order to keep them alive. You don’t know a millionth of what he has done when it comes to me—you never will—and I can assure you that it isn’t me who is being misled here, it’s you. Nivaradros is not who you think he is, and he is certainly not what everyone else assumes.”
Midestol snorted. “Time will reveal the truth,” he said as he watched her. “But if I threaten him, what will you sacrifice to save him?”
She held his gaze with ease. “I believe the question you should be asking is what won’t I sacrifice.”
Midestol’s smile was pleased. “I will always remember when you were on my side,” he said. “We were a solid team, Zimliya, you should have remained.”