by Meagan Hurst
Z managed a smile. “I had a lot of time to recover,” she agreed carefully. Her gaze went to the Mithane for a moment and she cringed; his eyes were raven black and made daggers look friendly.
“Indeed, it has been, I believe, eight months since your departure,” the Islierre breathed in his musical tone.
He approached her with ease, eyes taking in her shadowland while never leaving her face. She could tell he was faintly amused—and exasperated—by her world. It would never be up to his standards.
“You should let me train you,” he murmured as he stopped before her and raised a hand to touch her cheek.
It was a mirror image of what he had attempted one of the last times they had met, during the Alliance meeting she had called. She moved her face slightly to the right, but she still allowed him to make contact this time. His hand was neither warm nor cool, and it took her a minute to realize he had indeed managed to touch her.
“I am sure you have a reason for channeling the Dragon’s desire to decorate his form with a hilt?”
The immortal laughed softly, but he did remove his hand slowly. “I can sense a change in you,” he informed her carelessly. “I only wanted to see how much of one your time away had invoked.” His eyes softened to a color closer to pearl. “My offer to train you in this element still exists. You require very little training, mostly you lack will. As that is something I cannot give you, I will admit all I can offer you is the skill to get you where you could be. You will have to carry yourself there.”
“I’ll pass on that offer for now,” Z replied slowly. The immortal shrugged, but nodded, and didn’t push her further. “What brings you to walk your lands in the shadow?”
The Islierre didn’t reply for several minutes—long enough that Z honestly thought he was going to ignore the question entirely. But as his gaze strayed to the Mithane at long last, he raised a brow at the sign of previous injuries.
“I take it there is unrest in Arriandie?”
Z winced as the Mithane met the question with stony silence. “There is,” she said softly. She ignored the glare the Mithane sent her way and focused on the Islierre. “I take it there is unrest in your kingdom as well?”
The immortal’s eyes moved to their deepest orange. “Shalion is safe,” he assured her quietly. “He and I—as I am sure you recall—do not get along unless the situation demands it. He has control of the shadows though, and he is within his own realm there.”
It was as much of an answer as he would give her. Especially since she was with the Mithane. It was reassuring to hear Shalion was safe, as she couldn’t say the same for Shevieck. Still, she was worried about both Shalion and the Islierre. Their relationship had been strained since four centuries before she had been born, but it had only gotten worse following the Islierre’s attempts to kill her a few years back.
He hadn’t meant it to be personal. She hadn’t taken it personally. Shalion, however, had. In his mind, his father’s attack on her had been a direct reminder and threat towards him, as his mother’s death had been all those centuries before. Z had managed to patch the relationship to a point, but her nonchalant response to an attack that had almost been successful in Shalion’s mind had only enraged the young Ryelention further. The Islierre and Shalion were back on speaking terms—barely—but that was it.
“I’ll speak with him when I am able,” Z promised. “What kind of an attack is going on in Lyiastras?”
“My Guard conveniently disappeared before an attack on my Councilors and myself occurred. I warned Shalion and I felt him successfully create and enter a realm that was touching mine. I planned to meet with him, but I sensed someone else in the shadows and had to investigate. If I had known you had returned I wouldn’t have had to. You are the only other being I know—outside of myself and Shalion—that can create and hold a shadow world.”
Z frowned at his explanation of the attack. It was eerily close to the attack the Mithane had been subjected to in Arriandri. It solidified Midestol’s involvement within her mind. The two immortal races would not have planned similar assassination attempts on their rulers—on the same day—by themselves. Especially given the fact the two races had entirely different viewpoints on how to kill in general.
She doubted, unfortunately, that Shevieck had survived. He would have been outnumbered, out magicked—and his was lacking to begin with, or at least his control was—and likely caught unawares. It was a concern. Shevieck was the only child of the Mithane’s, and therefore Shevieck’s death could signal the start to an even larger civil war than what was already underway.
“I see Midestol has finally played his hand,” she murmured aloud as she watched the two ancient rulers sizing each other up as they all began to walk again.
She would intervene only if blood was about to be shed. Otherwise she was too busy trying to see the far-reaching effects of Midestol’s latest workings to be bothered with the verbal fencing the Alantaion and the Ryelention were getting into. At least until it involved her.
“I still think she should consider marrying Shalion,” the Islierre commented mildly in response to something the Mithane had said. Since Z hadn’t been paying all that much attention, his words came as a shock, and she blinked before dropping her thoughts at once to change to the conversation that was going on now.
“Uh, I believe that would be very, very unwise,” she said in a rush. “First and foremost being the fact that—in case it has slipped your mind—I am a human.”
“It is so very hard to forget that,” the Islierre teased. “Especially since you are the first to remind us of your mortal heritage.” His eyes were that lovely shade of pearl that Z both sought to see, and yet dreaded seeing at the same time. “Other than that unremarkable point, why else would a union between you and my son be unwise?”
“What about the fact that I traded forty years of my life to awaken the Shades on top of having a lifespan? Or should I point out that would put me in hot water with the Rangers? Or everyone else for that matter—including the majority of your people. I could also mention the fact that if I were to become involved in any form with your son I would be expected to have small beings, which—I am sure you recall—I despise with a passion. And a Halfling on the throne is probably ill advised. I should also mention the Dragon would undoubtedly take offense. Shall I go on?”
“Please do,” the Mithane said with a sly smile. He clearly enjoyed seeing her turn down the Islierre’s offer, but Z wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
“I would likewise say no to any offer you made on behalf of Shevieck,” she informed him curtly.
“I believe Shevieck knows where you stand already,” was the dry reply. “Your response to his offer years ago was quite firm and undeniable.”
Z winced at the memory and nodded slowly before glancing at the immortal who hadn’t spoken since she had offered him several points. “Islierre?” she called softly.
“I was speaking with Shalion,” the immortal replied gravely. “Your refusal stings, but he understands.” Z was certain Shalion hadn’t had a part in this at all, so she doubted his reply had been anything close to what his father was telling her. “He does, however, wish to inform you he is unlikely to be amused if you end up with the Dragon.”
“Nivaradros? Seriously?” Z felt her mouth fall open in shock. “I am unlikely to be amused if I end up stuck with the Dragon. That would only happen if I had a lot of alcohol, magic, and poison in my system—at the same time so I wasn’t able to think or speak coherently—and he was unconscious. Even then I would probably have to end up unconscious as well. I am fairly certain there are whole years Nivaradros still hates me.”
The Mithane raised a brow, but he said nothing. His non-response, however, sent up warnings on Z’s end. She knew he watched her future intently, and she would have bet her life that the Mithane had checked up on her future since she had returned. She decided not to ask him what he knew; she had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.
“The Dragon cares deeply for you,” the Mithane said finally. “Surely you saw signs of this today?”
He didn’t, thankfully, say when, but Z knew what he meant. Nivaradros had shielded her when the blast had gone off that had destroyed parts of the Arriandie—namely the staircase. He had also taken deep wounds she had never wanted to see him take on her behalf during the battle to save the world eight months ago, and she knew he would do it again if needed.
“Never mind,” she said after a long pause. She glanced at the Islierre though and grimaced. “We were heading to Zyrhis’s lands,” she began with care. To her surprise, the immortal nodded.
“I assumed as much,” he admitted. “The young King has had his hands full since he took the throne, but no one has managed to steal it from him yet. I am surprised, but I suppose I should not be. After all, Shalion has spent less time in your company than the young Syallibion, and he has shown me he will be a formidable opponent when he finally challenges me for the throne.”
Z grimaced at the reminder that in order for Shalion—and so many other heirs—to gain their thrones they would have to essentially kill their parents, and not get killed in return. Zyrhis had killed his father to protect her, but even that death had bothered her. She wished it wasn’t required—a death—for the throne to change hands, but when dealing with immortals there was no other way for the power to move between hands. Giving up the throne for their children wasn’t something immortals seemed to be able to comprehend, and their children either sought that power for themselves or sought change their parents would never deliver.
“Do you plan on coming with us or are you going to return to your shadow realm?” Z asked when she managed to squish the anger down enough that it didn’t appear readily in her tone.
“If it wouldn’t anger you too much, I would very much appreciate the ability to accompany you and the Mithane,” the Islierre answered with a small smile. His gaze cooled when it met the Mithane’s, but he returned his attention to her almost immediately. “I wish to speak with the new King, and I want to possibly arrange a place for Shalion to stay. While there is unrest in my kingdom I will stay in my shadow realm, but I do not wish the same upon my son; he is not yet used to holding his lands for so long.” His concern for Shalion was a small surprise, but not one Z wanted to comment on.
Z glanced at the Mithane—who had been largely ignored for most of this conversation—and was unsurprised to see his eyes were still black, and still harder than the steel Alantaions used to make their weapons.
“If you think it would be beneficial to follow then you may,” the Mithane replied curtly before Z could. “Though I don’t know what you hope to get out of Zyrhis. He doesn’t need an influx of immortals into his lands; he has enough of a problem protecting his back right now on his own.”
“My addition to you and Zimliya should not change things over much,” the Islierre countered. His eyes went to Z’s. “It is your call,” he offered quietly.
Z was startled by the words and irritated by the fact whatever she decided would not sit well with one of them. She glanced at the Islierre and suppressed a wince. He was also injured—badly too—and while he could hold his realm for some time in the shadows it would drain on his health.
“It is not my call,” she said slowly. “It is Zyrhis’s. You can accompany us until he says otherwise,” she decided at long last.
The Mithane’s eyes were ice when they met hers, but Z ignored them with ease. Pushing past the two immortals, she began to walk again, shoving the exhaustion that was trying to drag her down away. Her anger worked in her favor this time; her shadow world began to change to resemble something more realistic while she watched. Exhaling with relief, Z remembered her experience with the sub-world when she and Nivaradros had walked it and confidently followed the path that appeared before her.
“I am not entirely sure that is wise or advisable,” the Islierre remarked offhandedly. He took up a position on her right though, and he matched her steps with ease. His eyes moved over her form often, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, so she let it pass.
“Do you care to share why?” the Mithane demanded icily when Z didn’t press the Ryelention for more information.
The cold look he sent her way told her he considered her silence a grave oversight. She didn’t. If things were dangerous, the Islierre would either leave or inform her. She had learned a long time ago what was, and what was not, important when it came to verbal fencing with the Ryelention. He liked to bait her and she was certain that was all this was now.
The Islierre’s brow rose sharply, but he glanced at Z before his dark smile appeared. “She isn’t concerned,” he observed mildly. “Surely you shouldn’t be,” he added before Z felt the ground beneath her feet shift slightly. “Steady,” the Islierre murmured as he gently caught her upper arm.
Z managed to keep her hand away from the weapons on her person, but it was a near thing. She knew it was only because she had spent so long desensitizing herself in a way she had never been able to do here that allowed her to keep from even drawing her weapon on the Ryelention. She did, however, jerk her arm free the moment her balance was steady. Obviously she was more tired than she had suspected if her balance was impaired.
“Thanks,” she said ungratefully as she continued to walk.
The Islierre’s eyes were calm despite her tone. “You are most welcome,” he said easily as he watched her. “Are you going to hold a grudge now because I voiced what so many others are curious about—and thinking about—themselves?”
“If you are stupid enough to say it out loud then you should be able to accept the consequences. Honestly? Marriage? Have you lost your mind?” Z snapped before she exhaled with relief as she realized they would be able to leave this sub-world—and with luck this conversation—behind momentarily. “Go back to insulting the Mithane, I prefer that.”
“Touchy, touchy,” the Ryelention remarked with another dark smile. He did, however, drop the conversation again, but not even Z was optimistic enough to believe he was finished with it. She should have stayed gone. The very last thing she needed right now was this.
Trust the immortals to bring it up today. Their kingdoms were being attacked from the inside—and Z expected Midestol’s forces would follow soon after to finish off the kingdoms that he managed to weaken one by one—and they wanted to discuss the fact that she was single. There were whole months she didn’t understand them, and Z knew she understood them better than any other human living. She had undertaken the effort to learn, but in cases like this, she wondered why she had bothered.
Before the Islierre could respond, Z pulled them all out of the shadows—bringing Kyi’rinn up without even thinking to block two arrows that were instantly directed at them as they arrived on the steps leading to Istuion’s castle. Above them on the castle’s wall, archers stood and continued to fire even though she knew they could see who she was.
“Hold!” she yelled angrily. “We are here to speak with King Zyrhis! I call a Ranger’s truce!”
On the best of days such words worked, but on the worst of them—like today—Z fell back on old habits and training. Using Kyi’rinn as a shield—which was damned difficult—she blocked the rain of arrows from striking her or her companions until the Islierre raised a brow and surrounded them all with a shield made entirely out of shadow.
“Did you forget to use magic?” he wanted to know as he exchanged a bemused glance with the Mithane—the friendliest look the two had exchanged all day.
“Oh,” Z muttered darkly with annoyance. She had. “Where I was,” she began slowly, feeling her way through an explanation that was bound to be tricky, “they had mages, and then they had everyone else. I didn’t want to be one of the mages so I avoided magic. Habits die hard. Besides, my magic was different from their magic and I didn’t want to frighten them. At least not until it couldn’t be avoided.”
The Ryelention’s brow rose again, but to her surprise he didn’t comment
further. Of course, at that moment the arrows that had been striking the shield he had created every other second ceased, and Z felt a familiar touch of magic tickle her senses before the ground around them became alive with flora. The Islierre’s expression went from faintly amused to vastly resigned in an instant.
“It looks like your heir-turned-ruler has finally arrived. How fortunate for us all.” His tone couldn’t get much drier, but the Islierre did lower his shield with care.
Z could tell he was slightly peeved about Zyrhis’s ability to break through his shield with his magic, but Z knew the Ryelention hadn’t called forth a very powerful shield when he had summoned the shadow. He should have expected Zyrhis to alert them to his arrival in such a well thought out way. Then again, the Islierre was an immortal; the strangest things offended them. She, on the other hand, was grateful for the arrival of the Syallibion.
A smile touched her lips when she finally spied him walking gracefully towards them. He was dressed different from what she was familiar with—robes had taken the place of his scouting clothes—and he carried an air of power around him that had never been there before, though she had known he had the potential to bring it to light. She didn’t like the changes, but it was something she knew she had to accept. Zyrhis was no longer the prince of his people. He was their ruler and the days where she could whisk him off at need were over.
His brown eyes lit up noticeably when he saw her. His irritated expression at the arrival of two fellow immortal rulers melted from his features faster than ice summoned on a blistering summer day. She could see he was aware of his surroundings and those nearby—and his alertness told her he had also seen trouble in his lands—but he was still acutely attentive to her presence. She braced herself for contact, but Zyrhis paused no less than two yards away from her and watched them in silence, waiting for the others who had accompanied her to speak first. When the silence stretched and grew decidedly awkward—for her, not the immortals—Zyrhis shook his head and sighed.