The Danger with Allies

by Meagan Hurst

  Food was sent up to them in the middle of the Mithane’s stay, and when it dawned on her she hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, Z was thankful for it. Discussion over the meal was light and simple with no mention of the upcoming battles, Midestol, or the disappearing forces. Instead it was almost akin to a small court gathering: the conversations had very, very little substance. They were meant to be a distraction, nothing more, and the sole difference between it and a typical court conversation was that no one was trying to get the upper hand.

  By the time the Mithane left, both Z and Nivaradros were no longer so very close to snacking on small beings. Instead Z managed to drape across one of the room’s couches, while Nivaradros roamed the room with a Dragon’s curiosity.

  “Does it impress you that much?” she wanted to know as she stretched.

  “No, it does not,” was the Dragon’s reply. “See this here?” he pointed at one of the stones in the wall. “This was sloppily done—the magic didn’t set. In another millennium or so, the magic will fade away. Had this been done correctly, the magic would never fade.”

  “I don’t know whether to be alarmed or amazed you care that much, or know that much about it,” she breathed as he decided to stop picking apart the room.

  “You should probably feel both,” Nivaradros remarked with ease as he settled beside her once she sat up to give him room. His hands sought the side Midestol had attacked her on, and he found the scar with ease—it had been a rush heal and the wound had been deep. “This could have killed you.”

  “But it didn’t,” she countered.

  The Dragon answered with a type of silence she knew would precede a storm. “The Mithane is correct, Zimliya,” he said after several minutes of his storm-brewing. “You cannot take the same risks anymore, within reason. Rescuing people will have to be limited to extremely special circumstances, and you will have to learn to delegate that duty to others; train a group of Rangers or immortals to work to your approval, if it makes you feel better.”

  She really didn’t want to have this conversation with him now. “Nivaradros…”

  “If we lose you, in even the distant future, then everything we’ve—I’ve—been fighting for is lost. Yes, you’re immortal, and while that does come with benefits, you are not invulnerable. Due to your general lack of concern for your own condition, your immortality may encourage you to decide upon even more foolish courses of actions. Although I am uncertain you could be any worse than you were in the past.”

  “Nivaradros…”

  “That is my name,” the Dragon agreed before managing a tight smile. It faded as his eyes brightened. “Zimliya, please start to consider your new standing. I know you’ve been the de la Nepioa since you were a hatchling, but you are no longer just the de la Nepioa. We need you to be more than that, and I cannot ask you enough to at least start being open to other possibilities. You are in control of three kingdoms. You will inherit another. You have people to take care of, and to risk yourself in the manner that you’re used to will endanger them. You must at least acknowledge the truth in my words.”

  She did, but since she hadn’t asked for those kingdoms, and she certainly hadn’t wanted them, it was hard to accept what she was hearing. She hated the thought of surrendering herself to something akin to prison—in her mind. He was right, she’d give him that, and she disliked that even more, but changing overnight wasn’t possible. It had taken her years to get used to her position as a Ranger; surrendering that position would also require her to let go of the security she’d found following her escape from Tenia.

  “Nivaradros…” she sighed for the third time. “I see your point. I do, but it’s hard to step back—to trust someone else to do what I used to. Especially with the way I was raised; the higher in power you are, the more often you enter first and leave last. Standing in the background is not me.”

  “I am not asking you to stand in the shadows for the rest of your life,” he countered as he tapped the scar by her heart. The scar the arrow had left, the scar her lightning from a previous injury had stopped from killing her. “I am asking you to make better judgment calls and to accept the possibility of allowing others to do some of that work for you. You do not have to do everything. You are unable to be in all places and do everything on your own. This is a transition I would like you to attempt. I would never ask you to change completely. No one has the right to ask anyone to undergo such a change. Not only that, Zimliya, you are at your most confident in battle. It is, to use a human phrase, where you are ‘in your element.’ You grew up with war, and you have talents that tie into it. You are the most comfortable with your abilities and yourself when you are fighting. I understand why, I understand how, and I do not wish for you to surrender something that became your foundation when the mountain you were built on came crumbling to the ground. I once considered myself only by what I had achieved against others in battles. But, Zimliya, with war comes more risk than anything else. Life is most easily lost when it is constantly engaged in warfare. I do not wish to lose you. I simply want you to think and plan a little more before you enter a situation, and to delegate to others when possible.” He met her eyes and held them. “At least consider it.”

  “I am,” she whispered willing to concede to the wisdom even if she despised it. “I am just not fond of it. I don’t—I can’t—trust people that way.”

  “Yet. I am working on that. And you trust me,” Nivaradros pointed out as he turned his gaze to the hall where she also heard a door open. “It will take time, but you will have that time. That is possibly the sole blessing of immortality—sometimes,” the Dragon added. “Sometimes it is also its biggest pain.”

  She began to laugh and she felt the serious conversation end there. Of course, minutes later a small being emerged in the room. Closing her eyes and biting back several curses, she glanced at the Dragon as she forced her eyes open. The small being before her was far more colorful than she had been when they’d last seen her.

  “Nivaradros…” she started to say, but she didn’t have to worry too much—the Dragon’s temper was well managed.

  “I cannot believe they decided to color each other,” he sighed. “It would have never occurred to me to spell each hatchling.” Picking up the very colorful Alantaion—to the small being’s delight—he swung her over his shoulder and began to carry her down the hallway. “Where in the hells is the bath?” he called back to Z.

  Laughing as she got up, she followed him and began to call directions to him, and then discovered that the girl he carried was not the only one who had been decorated. Picking up the other two small beings with a sigh, she met the Dragon in room that held the bath and placed the small beings in the water with the one Nivaradros had carried.

  “Small beings,” she muttered with disgust as she looked at the mess the three had made of each other.

  “Remind me,” Nivaradros huffed. “Never to do this again. I cannot stress it enough. I never want to go through this again.”

  Since she agreed, she didn’t respond, and she eyed the stained clothes in dismay while trying to figure out how to get the colors off the Alantaion skin. “What did you give them to color with again?” she asked the Dragon. His answer was not a comfort, and Z admitted in the darkest corner of her mind that magic might end up being the only solution. Considering how often she managed to get out of using it, the thought that five color crazy small beings could force her to use it was almost an embarrassment.

  Two hours later, the small beings were cleaned, returned to their room—Nivaradros promptly spelled all the others from being colorable—and set down to sleep for a couple hours, they hoped. Z and the Dragon then split up the rest of the rooms to check on the rest of the small problems. The youngest ones were in a deep sleep, and Z managed to feel a moment’s peace while looking at them. They were almost cute when they were like this, requiring no work or interaction. That was not, however, enough to balance out the rest of the time when they were moving and alert, a
t least in her mind.

  “Finished?” Nivaradros inquired behind her as he came down the hall.

  “Yes,” she murmured as she shut the door and turned away. “Shall we go back to the main room and just…sit?” In all honesty she wanted to spar with him, but since it was likely to wake up the small problems, she decided to accept boredom in place of chaos.

  “Probably would be wise—the Mithane did promise to find them someplace to go in the morning,” the Dragon pointed out. “We only have a few more hours…only,” he added with a snort. “I am so sick of hatchlings that ‘only’ makes me want to burn the place to ashes.” He glanced at her and smiled. “But I do have to say your irritation with them is delightful.”

  Chapter 17

  Morning brought bad news. Z reached out to her fellow Rangers for the first time since she had awoken and felt a whirlpool of anger, grief, and fear. She felt a flood of voices and people reaching out to her, and Z found herself overwhelmed and unable to withstand the chaos. Releasing the amulet as she exhaled, she moved to escape into the halls before Nivaradros caught her. He’d been checking on the small beings, so she thought, but as her hand touched the doorknob, he emerged.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “Please don’t push me here, Nivaradros,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She closed her eyes when he moved to block the door. “Dragonlord,” she growled.

  “I am not moving until you tell me what happened,” he countered icily.

  “I contacted the Rangers!” she snapped. “Kitra’s dying! Happy? Now you know.” Brushing past him when he froze at her anger, she made it into the halls before she released the magic she had been building to throw at the Dragon. It collected like a miniature storm in the hall, and Z stepped into the thick of it. Power swelled around her, but she could pull it inward with a thought. She continued to let it expand until the hall was filled, but she brought it back to her sharply when a presence arrived at the end of the hall.

  “Sorry,” she said in a rush as the Mithane gave her a look that spoke volumes of her use of magic. “I’m just…”

  “Worried about Kitra le Tribarn?”

  She blanched and opened her mouth to ask him how he knew, when she had a split-second warning before another figure arrived. “I informed him, Z,” Crilyne said. “Because I have a feeling this time you need to attend the funeral.”

  Z stiffened. “She was still alive,” she began.

  Crilyne’s smile was cruel. “Oh, she’s still alive,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t give it more than a few days. Midestol took out his anger on the first Ranger he could find, and he somehow managed to catch her. She said to tell you that he informed her your debt is now paid in full.”

  The hatred she couldn’t find so recently for Midestol was back. She could not, however, justify leaving to go back to Tyresani. Even with Kitra’s life ending. The logical part of her training demanded she stay; she had lost so much time recovering from the arrows that she needed to spend time with her allies to ensure they remained on her side. She needed to rescue the remaining overthrown kingdoms from Midestol—to release captives from his grip. Taking time out for what would be termed a personal matter was not acceptable. One person over hundreds of thousands was not something she felt her allies would accept. She heard the door at the end of the hall open and braced herself for the impact brought on by small running feet. Ashenira slammed into her legs, and Z bit back a curse and her anger. She was over small beings! Despite that, she disentangled the small being from her legs and lifted her up with the gentle smile she somehow forced across her face.

  She felt the Shade’s surprise. Ignoring it, she glanced over her shoulder as Nivaradros led or carried the remaining fourteen children from the wing that had contained them—barely—for the night. Nivaradros was at his breaking point patience wise, but he nevertheless managed to give the Mithane a polite nod. He ignored Crilyne, but with the way the two of them generally interacted, Z considered this an improvement. Nivaradros joined her, and she felt his silent support as he shifted into a protective stance. It amazed her how easy he was to read; he used to be almost impossible. It made her curious as to whether it was the same was for him. She suspected it was because he seemed to easily pick up on things that were bothering her. Was this common with bonds of this nature? Was this why so many races enjoyed intimate relationships despite their dangers?

  “This is an interesting gathering,” Nivaradros spoke when the silence had continued for a few minutes. “Are you two here for any particular reason—like taking the hatchlings off our hands—or did you just come up here to irritate us?”

  “I came here to fetch Zimliya,” Crilyne told Nivaradros with frost on every syllable. “She needs to head back to the Rangers. Kitra is on her deathbed and it is unwise for Z to miss this funeral.” His cold black eyes held hers until she forced herself to look away.

  “I’m no longer fourteen, Crilyne,” she argued as Ashenira entangled her tiny fingers in Z’s short hair and began to tug. Sighing as she worked on getting Ashenira to release it, Z kept her eyes on the Shade. “I don’t see the point—”

  “She was your mentor, and you blamed yourself for months after Nivo’s death. You chose not to go to his funeral because you thought it would be counted as a win in Midestol’s books—”

  “And I was busy!” Z snapped.

  “Or was it because you weren’t willing to admit to yourself that you cared?” Crilyne threw at her. “Let’s face it, Z, when was the last time you attended a funeral for any fallen Ranger?”

  Never. She had never attended a funeral. On the battlefield they had occasionally buried the fallen, but it was rare. As she had traveled mostly with immortals and all of them had different ways of tending to their dead, she had managed to avoid formal funerals. Closing her eyes, she ignored Ashenira’s return to her hair and just tried to keep everything together. Damn Midestol. Damn him to the depths of somewhere he couldn’t escape. He was testing her, and she wasn’t sure what he would consider a fail. Worse, that was the first thing that came to mind. How horrible a person was she?

  “There is no further aid to be offered?” she heard Nivaradros’s voice from afar. Why hadn’t she asked that? Even the Dragon with the reputation as a bringer of death was better at this than she was.

  “None,” was Crilyne’s reply. “Midestol didn’t hold back. She shouldn’t have made it back alive; he removed her left arm, and it was done to inflict maximum damage. He also did other things…but since you two seemed to have gathered a flock of children I will refrain from going into detail.”

  Yes, because talking about the torture of another being was considered improper. Though no one had ever attempted to spare or censor her from it. The Mithane moved and Z’s eyes flew open. He gave her a worried look before holding out his arms. Letting out a sigh of relief, Z handed Ashenira over, or tried to. The girl became a screaming burr. The screaming was also something Z wasn’t used to. Backing up to put distance between herself and the Mithane, she let out a sigh of relief as Ashenira stopped screaming and just clung to her. Her nerves, however, were frayed and Z fought her old instincts regarding contact with a vengeance. She would not kill a small being. Not like this.

  Do I even want to know how you and the Dragon ended up with a gaggle of children?

  He found them when he was cleaning house; they think he is safe because of it.

  Crilyne was impressed. Z felt his disgust over the fact that she could sense it. And he continued the dialogue before she could call him on his interest. It is not like him. Nor is it like you. Both of you prefer personal space, a lot of it. I would have never guessed the two of you could tolerate babysitting for so long. But you must go to Kita’s side, Z. You never accepted your absence at Nivo’s side when he died. Plus, she is on the council, as are you. It is your duty to attend. Especially considering your new positions of power.

  Power and positions she hadn’t—for t
he millionth time—wanted. But it didn’t matter; it never had. She didn’t want to go to Kitra’s side because she feared the woman would blame her, and she feared the call to attempt to heal would be too strong to resist. Z didn’t want to be a healer. She had healed Shalion because she needed him, she had healed Midestol because he had taken the wound for her, and she had struggled to lend aid when the creatures had attacked her allies in the skirmish that had almost cost her the Dragon, but she hated that talent. She didn’t trust it, she couldn’t control it, and it was an unreliable struggle every time she attempted to use it. And, she’d seen far too many negatives come from healing. The Mithane had rarely used his talent—until she had needed it—and she could see the toll it had taken upon him. Magic was such a cursed black mark to carry, if you were powerful.

  It is not, Crilyne interjected. Honestly, Zimliya. Of all the things to consider evil, magic should not even make the list.

  Give me one reason why it shouldn’t.

  You just said it yourself; magic can heal. The Shade was involved with the conversation occurring between the Mithane and Nivaradros, but he kept most of his attention on her. He seemed to believe it had been too long since he had been able to watch her. He was worried about it; she felt his concern as a blanket. He didn’t even attempt to hide it; she didn’t attempt to close off their connection. Now she felt his relief and joy at the knowledge she wasn’t shutting him out.

  You owe the Dragon. He is persistent.

  He is a Dragon—they are all persistent, but yes, I will acknowledge that I do owe him if he is behind your willingness to not immediately lock me out of your thoughts whenever you don’t like the topic at hand.