by Meagan Hurst
Yet, even when she was being frustrating he found himself delighted by her existence, though each year it seemed to become harder to dance around her moves. And now he had to worry about Nivaradros. He was certain the Dragon was far more powerful than anyone assumed, but it would take time to confirm that, and Midestol was well aware it would be costly information to acquire.
He suspected that Nivaradros was behind Zimliya’s survival from her seizures. Those seizures had been hard for him to watch. Seeing someone so powerful and talented fall prey to something so crippling had been harder to accept than he would have guessed. Especially since he hadn’t known of their blood ties. He knew he should have killed her. But he’d never been able to strike her down when her condition had been weakened by outside forces. He sought to kill her in battle, not by taking advantage of anything else. Granted her immortality seemed to be distressing to her, and Midestol would use that to his advantage if his granddaughter failed to get herself under control.
He had, in fact, intended to use it to his advantage earlier, but he’d been unable to. He’d discovered she who she was, and it had been impossible to ignore. And then he’d been given the chance to know her outside of war. Their interactions with one another had always been baffling, but the one that had set things on their peculiar path had been when Zimliya had saved him the first time.
She had been captured, tortured, witnessed what she considered abuse of several woman from a village she had been near at the time of her surrender but, in the middle of her escape, she had seen him under attack. Under attack by the very same type of creature that had left scars upon her that would never heal with magic or time. Yet she had tempted death again—less than a year later, if his information was correct—to come to his assistance. Wounded, she had fallen to her knees as he had approached, the creature defeated by her actions alone. Had he chosen to kill her, he could have. She had had nothing left to fight with.
He almost had. Closing his eyes for a minute, he remembered approaching her, naked sword in hand as he stalked her. She had glanced up and met his eyes without fear, without judgment. Just resignation to her own demise. Except he hadn’t been able to kill her. Something inside had caught and twisted—she had saved his life for no reason. Her parents’ blood was on his hands; the blood and bodies of people she was sworn to protect had likewise been spilled, wounded, or imprisoned by his hands, and yet she had stopped in the middle of her escape to offer him assistance. Killing her became impossible.
He had left her injured and dying on the field. Leaving orders with his soldiers that if she wasn’t standing within seven hours to let him know. He had intended to bestow upon her a mercy killing if she remained. Six hours and fifty-eight minutes later, she had crawled from the field. Disoriented from blood loss, venom, and exhaustion, she had struggled to make her way to a border—to safety. She wouldn’t have made it. Or she would have made it and perished after crossing the border. Watching her efforts had been difficult to ignore and, in the end, he had gone to her. Gathering her up with care, he had returned to his castle and tended to her wounds—torn between seeking her death and wanting to repay her.
He had dumped her just outside the Alantaion border when he deemed her strong enough to survive on her own until she was discovered. It had been quite the distance to take her, but Midestol had known she often spent time with the Mithane and he had presumed the immortal would assist her. He had no idea what had occurred, but she had survived, and neither of them had spoken about the event afterward.
This last time she had aided him, it had made more sense—they had been attempting to form family bonds when he had been attacked. She had healed him as best she could, but Midestol could tell healing was not one of her strong talents. That or she hated it so much that she had crippled her ability to use it. It was easy to do; people self-crippled their own power without knowing it, but someone like Zimliya could do it intentionally. Or someone like him could force others to cripple their own powers to prevent them from becoming a threat.
“My Lord, there is a visitor who wishes to speak with you.”
He turned to face the man who had drawn the proverbial short straw. He’d left standing orders that he wanted to be left alone. “And who dares to visit me?” he demanded of the speaker.
“I do,” a cool and unruffled voice replied. Nivaradros slid into the room with an air of danger Midestol envied. “Your men are not the best of fighters.”
“So your pet often tells me,” he sighed. “How many did you kill?”
“She is not my pet. Do not refer to her as such again. As for the latter, ten, possibly fifteen depending on whether or not you find all of them,” the Dragon said with a shrug before he turned to eye the man who had announced him. Once the man was gone, Nivaradros faced him again. “Need I inform you that was a very, very ill-advised move you made?”
“You refer to the Ranger?”
“Indeed,” Nivaradros snapped. “You tortured and then turned a Ranger with standing into trap that would explode when triggered. While I will admit it was an interesting spell, I cannot believe you used it on a Ranger.” The Dragon’s eyes were furious. Midestol, having studied the Dragon from afar, had never trusted his odds at defeating him, and still didn’t consider the odds in his favor. Nivaradros was crafty and had proven himself very hard to kill—his latest survival proved this. Had his death been even remotely possible, his own kind would have seen to it millenniums ago. Besides, Nivaradros’s arrival was a benefit at this time; Midestol wanted to know how Zimliya was handling things.
Hesitating, Midestol considered how to proceed. “How is Zimliya?”
Something in his tone caused the Dragon’s eyes to narrow slightly. “Well, as enemies, you pretty much solidified her position, but as her grandfather? She puts up with and accepts a lot from those around her. Her upbringing with immortals assists you. And the fact that she had only one person treat her with kindness until she started working with the immortals assists you as well. Despite having previously taken sides, she can accept someone as either an adversary or an ally depending on the events before her. She also accepts that someone can be both in the same instance. After all, that was your angle when you allowed me to retake the Alantaion kingdom. She’s furious, but she’s willing to consider speaking with you when the time permits. As for the Shade, I have not been able to deduce how she will respond.”
“I should have never accepted his offer,” Midestol sighed as he gestured at the wine on his desk. “Help yourself.”
“I’d rather not have to explain the wine smell or taste to Zimliya,” the Dragon informed him. “She’s not as thrilled with my presence as I’d like at this time.”
“And what did you do?” Midestol asked in surprise. He couldn’t imagine Nivaradros managing to do anything that upset Zimliya. Although Nivaradros was still lethal. The reports he had received on the retaking of the Alantaion kingdom proved that, although those were incomplete.
“I murdered Baryaris,” Nivaradros admitted. “While she watched.”
“Baryaris has been dead for thousands of years.”
“Yet Zimliya was present at his execution. It was not, as everyone claims, Tenians who killed him. I had contacted him and offered to leave Arriandie alone if he surrendered. He sent—of all people—Zimliya to bargain with me. I accepted the terms and she returned with him the following day. The terms, of course, changed. Baryaris was wiser than I had anticipated. He wanted the Rangers and the Tenians separated. His death at their hands achieved that. He requested I make his death look like such an event had occurred. In return the Rangers would leave me alone if I chose to attack any part of the Tenian kingdom. I admit I was less than open to the changes in our original agreement, but Zimliya managed to convince me to accept the new terms.”
“And she watched his death at your hands?”
“I demanded it of her. She was intriguing and I wanted to judge her. I rather enjoyed torturing Baryaris. He didn’t resist and I took a
dvantage of it. Zimliya,” Nivaradros continued, “had to ask me to end it. I would have tortured Baryaris for days otherwise.”
Midestol was surprised, but he made the attempt to keep this hidden from the Dragon. “And yet she remains with you?” At the Dragon’s sly smile, Midestol shook his head. “Then again, you did not attack anyone she cared about. I have in the past.”
“I beg to differ, Baryaris is her great-grandfather and there was a bond of a kind between them. I saw it. It was one of the reasons I insisted she remain.”
So much for keeping his emotions off his face, he knew the Dragon had seen his start. “Baryaris is Zimliya’s great-grandfather?”
“Ironic isn’t it? The former king of Tenia married Baryaris’s daughter and kept her alive well past the average human lifespan through the same magic he used on himself; their way to cheat mortality wasn’t much different from yours. Zimliya’s the most magically lined being in this world and she detests power with a passion. But you’ve gotten me off topic. The point is Zimliya knew, as did Baryaris. And he offered her something no one else can. There was something between them until I ended his life, yet she is not holding it against me. It is one of Zimliya’s strongest points: her inability to keep grudges.”
“She does.”
“If she did, you two would not be meeting as family,” Nivaradros countered. “She’s willing to continue those meetings, although they will cease to happen if you pull another stunt like this one.”
Midestol smiled and decided to see if the Dragon would confirm his suspicion. “She doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Then why have you come, Warlord?” The Dragon’s presence was a curiosity. Nivaradros was offering him a warning, but had kept the fact he was doing so from Zimliya. Midestol couldn’t see a reason how such a decision would benefit Nivaradros, and he was surprised the Dragon had decided to involve himself.
“To advise you not to play the game you began when you decided to go along with the Shade. I do not believe you will like the results if you continue.”
“If my actions bother Zimliya, it could offer me an advantage,” Midestol argued, but a part of him was relieved to hear that the death of the Ranger carried the same weight any other death would.
“Not with her,” Nivaradros countered. “Anger doesn’t cripple her. Believe me,” the Dragon added. “I’ve played that game with her enough to know.”
“As have I. Very well, Nivaradros, your warning is heard.” The Dragon, however, refused to budge. Sighing under his breath, Midestol raised a brow. “Yes?”
The Dragon’s eyes flickered with something he couldn’t decipher. “Who do you think you were given by the Shade?” Nivaradros inquired in a tone that told Midestol something was wrong.
“A Ranger who was also a member of their Council,” was his reply.
“You don’t know,” the Dragon breathed. “You have— Midestol, you murdered Kitra, Zimliya’s second Guardian, and the closest thing she had to a mother upon stumbling into the Ranger community.”
Midestol caught his breath in surprise as a sea of rage engulfed him. So. The Shade had betrayed Zimliya much more deeply than he had suspected was possible. As a result, he had wounded his granddaughter, yet again, in a manner he had not wished to repeat. A manner he would not have done had he known who the Shade had brought him. He might have harmed the woman, but he wouldn’t have killed her, and he would not have turned her into a spell. Closing his eyes, Midestol considered things from angles he hadn’t expected he’d need to consider.
“I need to speak with her,” he almost pleaded.
“You cannot speak with her. Before you consider showing me anger, I cannot reach her either. She has gone to the Rangers, and she will not accept outside communications.”
Midestol exhaled as he opened his eyes and whirled to slam his hand into the nearest wall. “Nivaradros, you do not understand.”
“That you didn’t know? No, until this conversation I was under the impression that you did know who you had been given, and that Kitra’s torture and demise furthered some plan. But that does not change things, Midestol. Zimliya is out of reach. When the time comes, if you still wish to, you can apologize.” There was something in the Dragon’s tone that caught his attention.
“What?” he asked when no more words were forthcoming.
“You will have to decide,” Nivaradros told him in a voice that was neutral. “Both of you have walked the edge of a knife for too long. Zimliya has already decided how she will proceed. You care for her, more than you will admit, but you cannot care for her and be as you are. Not, at least, for much longer.”
Midestol smiled, and it was cutting. “You speak from experience? You surrendered much to have her, Dragon.”
“I surrendered nothing,” was Nivaradros’s mild counter. “I gained, however, more than I was seeking. But I made my decision, Midestol, and you have not made yours. Yes, I speak from experience; indecisiveness will only wound you both. Zimliya has made her decision, but she acts in converse to the way you do. You, therefore, are in limbo. If you want a relationship, a lasting one, with Zimliya, you will have to cease to be Midestol, and become who you were prior to Midestol. If you do not care about Zimliya, stop prolonging things; attack her or leave her be until the time comes when you meet on the battlefield.”
“I am older than you are,” Midestol pointed out. “If there was such a decision to make, surely I would have made it.”
The Dragon’s smile was cruel. “Some people learn more slowly than others, some never learn at all, and some delude themselves into thinking they can avoid making a decision. You cherish her, Midestol, in the same manner you cherished your daughter. But you tried to live both the life you chose and the life you needed to in order to keep your daughter, and you lost her; will you risk losing Zimliya before one of you perish?” The Dragon watched him before shaking his head. “You will have to decide.
“One more thing, I would prepare yourself for the loss—heavy loss—of your troops. Zimliya intends to retake the kingdoms you managed to get a foothold in. I anticipate your holds will be lost when she returns.”
“You want me to hand those kingdoms over?” He doubted the Dragon would be foolish enough to ask, but his granddaughter appeared to have quite the hold on Nivaradros.
“I’m not that imprudent. I was being polite. If you wish to keep the majority of your forces, pull them from the kingdoms you overran or Zimliya will kill them. She’s itching for a fight, and you’ve handed her several—she doesn’t plan to dally at any one kingdom for long. If you want to lose massive amounts of your warriors, leave them; it will give her something to vent her frustrations on.”
“You are confident she will be victorious?”
“I feel you’re in for a surprise,” the Dragon shrugged. “She’s always held herself back, made herself seem less of a threat than she is. There is a rather small chance she is going to show more of her skill, I thought you might want the warning.”
Midestol’s smile was cool. “She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.”
“Oh, I think she knows you better than she lets on, and far better than you believe. She knows me better than I expected,” the Dragon admitted before heading to the door. “She’s showing signs of changing, and I would hate to see her throw you off balance.”
The Dragon was gone before he could answer. Only after a good thirty minutes had passed did Midestol leave the room. Heading out with care, Midestol found the remains of several of his men scattered throughout the first hall. It soured his mood, and he chose to let his day end by continuing to discover just how much of a mess the Dragon had made.
Fifty minutes later he was livid. Nivaradros had taken the longest route and had attacked everyone within his radius on his way there. Two hundred and fifty-seven—or two hundred and sixty-nine, it was kind of hard to count pieces—bodies later Midestol returned to his study and sealed the door behind him. Scowling as he reali
zed he had been played, Midestol nevertheless summoned his sole way of communicating to the soldiers he had in so many kingdoms. Not wanting to waste time, he built communications between his top leaders in each kingdom. It would exhaust him, but he had enough captives to make the use of his power easy enough to regain.
“Leave fifteen percent of the men behind,” he ordered his commanders. “Bring yourselves and the rest home.”
“We are to expect an attack?”
“You are to be out of the lands before an attack comes. We leave behind a decoy. I have accomplished what I intended; leave the kingdoms to find their way back into the hands of the rulers who lost them.”
He could sense a hint of disapproval in the faces that swam on the wall before him, and he felt his anger grow. “If anyone has a problem, please, feel free to voice that displeasure.”
The air of disapproval vanished. Silence fell, until one of his men cleared his throat. “Is it true Zimliya has gained immortality? It is a rumor that has been floating for some time, but no one I have spoken with can to confirm it.”
“She is immortal, Tryris,” Midestol told the man. “But so far, she hasn’t shown any more talent than she had before. What she does have is an army that is larger than all of the soldiers I have stationed in the kingdoms, and Zimliya knows every back entrance; we know none of them. I do not wish to lose fighters for nothing.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to move your forces to a central location and slaughter her army?”
“And do we know which kingdom she will hit first?” Midestol asked. “Yes, we could do that, but unless I send the rest of the armies to that location, she would still have the advantage. Not to mention she’ll notice the movements of troops and attack them on the way. No, this game has run its course. Bring your men back home, give them a few days rest. Take them to a human village and turn them loose for all I care, but get them out of the immortal kingdoms.”