The Price of Survival

by Meagan Hurst

  “Because it gives me time to find a cure,” the Dragon growled angrily. “I have not waited patiently for eight months guarding that pathetic Alantaion brat only to lose you less than two weeks after your return. I will not have it.” But even in her fury, Z knew Nivaradros’s words weren’t entirely true—he liked Shevieck, she knew he did, but she also understood the point he was trying to make. Not that she agreed with his point. Eventually the Dragon needed to let her die.

  “But torturing me is alright instead?” Z wanted to know as she felt the onset of yet another seizure approaching. Shuddering as she paused, she waited for it to hit only to sag in relief when it never arrived.

  “You can overcome this,” the Dragon countered irritably.

  “Seriously?” she snarled at him before making it to his side, striking him across the face, and then collapsing as another attack stole everything from her and she once again was subjected to the seizures she couldn’t control.

  The Dragon, however, once again showed he wasn’t the same as he had been when she had first met him, and so many years after she had first met him. Holding her tightly, but carefully once again, he waited for the spell to pass and he said nothing at all to her when it did. Instead he simply picked her up and carried her until they reached what had to have been Nivaradros’s waiting point while she and Dyslentio had tried to find a way around her seizures. Putting her down gently, Nivaradros covered her with a blanket and then moved out of sight while Shanii came to check on her.

  “I’m fine,” she told the stallion softly. “Just angry.”

  And she was. She was furious. This wasn’t a broken bone—or even broken bones—and it wasn’t a wound that bled out. Those could be ignored and pushed past. Falling to the ground with her whole body convulsing, on the other hand, was something she couldn’t ignore, and everything seemed to set it off; too much emotion, too much exercise—which meant no fighting—and even too much magic could cause her to have a seizure. She didn’t see a way out of this that allowed her to fight alongside or for those she needed to, and without that Z didn’t feel like Nivaradros had a reason to have brought her here.

  Shanii nuzzled her shoulder and lipped lightly at her hair before he walked off and settled into a watchful position as Nivaradros returned. “We can find a way,” the Dragon told her curtly. “There has to be one,” he added coldly when she glared at him. “Are you going to give up already?”

  There were whole years she wanted to strangle immortals. She wasn’t sure any of them ever had to deal with seizures; if they did they clearly forgot about them soon after. “I cannot do anything,” she hissed through clenched teeth before her—it had to be at least her one hundredth by now—latest seizure struck.

  Again, the Dragon did her the courtesy of not continuing the argument while she was indisposed, and he kept her from injuring herself further. When it faded into shakes though, and he was finally able to release her, Nivaradros closed his eyes with a growl. “I will not kill you,” he told her firmly. “There has to be a way around this. Let us see if it gets better before you decide to off yourself.”

  Arguing wasn’t something she could do unless she wanted to end up convulsing on the ground again, so she just nodded and closed her eyes as exhaustion set in. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she told him curtly.

  “Agreed,” Nivaradros responded quickly. “I shall speak with Dyslentio while you rest to see if he has any ideas on what would lessen your convulsions or aid your recovery.”

  “He doesn’t,” Z told him bitterly.

  “That you would be willing to consider, yes,” Nivaradros agreed. “I, however, would walk a dark path or two to keep you alive.”

  The urge to debate the intelligence of that sentence faded as she slipped into a fitful and restless sleep. Twice she awoke thinking she was having a seizure in her sleep, and each time Shanii’s softly communicated reassurances lulled her back into sleep. She felt Nivaradros return some time before dawn struck, but he didn’t so much as touch her, and she sensed he was keeping his distance. It was, she knew, his way of trying to keep her in sleep as long as possible. She knew he cared—hells, she cared for him as well—but the lengths he went to now to protect, aid, or save her worried her. She had always known what Nivaradros could get from an arrangement with her, but now she was really questioning what he was after; if he was just after her power.

  Of course, that question fled when he suddenly reached down and grabbed her arm firmly—instinct took over. This meant right after she managed to attack him though she ended up on the ground flopping like a fish out of water, but she did manage to slide a dagger into the Dragon’s chest before her spasms claimed her, so it wasn’t a total loss. Nivaradros was irritatingly smug when she glanced up at him several minutes later when her display of loss of control subsided.

  “Don’t. Do. That,” she spat at him as he helped her to her feet.

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” the Dragon replied mimicking her tone with a cruel sneer. “Besides, you did manage to get me,” he drawled, using mortal slang. Since ‘get’ wasn’t a typical Ranger word—it was used in what had been the lower levels of Tenia—she was surprised he’d picked it up. Then again, he was a Dragon and she knew she had used it on occasion before so perhaps he was just continuing to be an ass by using it.

  “So I did, but if it was a battle I would either have to be lucky enough that your wound was fatal and lucky enough that you didn’t have buddies, or I would be dead shortly after. I’m not much of a threat on the ground having a fit of convulsions.”

  “We will work on that,” Nivaradros repeated patiently. “Zimliya,” he added sternly. “Do not give up just yet. Try this for a few weeks.”

  She wanted to hit him. Still, if he was right and she could work through this … Glaring at him while she considered, Z ended up pushing herself off the floor. “Alright,” she agreed tiredly. “Let’s get to work then.” He gave her a strange look and she sighed. “You’re going to be my training partner,” she informed him curtly. “This is your idea remember. When I end up on the floor convulsing though I am going to be mentally saying ‘I told you so’ over and over again since speaking it aloud probably would only result in me biting off my tongue.”

  Nivaradros’s brow rose, but he inclined his head in agreement before launching himself at her in an attack. She managed to block the strike from his arm, counter his kick, and land a hit of her own before she ended up on the ground in the worst seizure she had ever been subjected to so far. Seven minutes later Z managed to recover enough to get to her knees, but Nivaradros decided to step in and help. Picking her up again he began to carry her to magic knew where and Z was too physically exhausted to fight him or argue.

  “Don’t make the assumption I am giving up on this,” Nivaradros warned her coolly as he walked.

  “I would never assume you were giving up on this,” Z muttered darkly. “That would be something I wanted you to do, therefore it will never happen.”

  “Oh hush,” Nivaradros chided. “I have accomplished many things you wanted me to in the past. It is likely it will happen again in the future.”

  “Not that likely,” Z growled as he continued to carry her. “Where in the hells are you taking me this time?” she wanted to know. “As your last solution was to bring me here, I am not inclined to allow you to drag me somewhere else.”

  “And yet,” Nivaradros drawled with a sardonic smile, “I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter. Shame.”

  And she wanted to hit him. Again. There were times she wondered how they had ever become friends, or allies, or hells, even been able to be in the same thousand miles. She trusted him with her life, but she was starting not to trust him with the more important thing at this point: her death. Mortality to the immortals she knew seemed to be a silent challenge when it came to her. Mortality in general wasn’t worth their concern, but, in her case, it had become a silent challenge of Them verses Them—whoever the
y termed the second ‘them’ to be.

  “Where are we going?” she hissed after another fifteen minutes had passed. She still had the slightest of shakes going on, so the idea of struggling was less appealing than she liked.

  “I thought you might like to see the Kryhistian herd,” Nivaradros said softly as he finished climbing another grass covered hill. “Dyslentio was supposed to warn them we were coming. Well done, by the way, on how you handled him. He seems to have decided he likes you, and he is almost as opposed to your race as I am.”

  “Humans are pretty much universally hated,” Z pointed out, not really impressed. She sat up in the Dragon’s arms though and began to watch her surroundings with interest. “Even in other worlds—if they have made it there—they are generally the lowest of the low. We’re good at angering people.”

  Nivaradros chuckled softly. “Perhaps,” he agreed mildly. “But you are also very good at breaking down those set entirely against your race.” As that just applied just to her, and not to her race, Z didn’t comment. Pressing her lips together with annoyance she glanced around them until she saw what had to be the outskirts of the Kryhistian herd: small gatherings of five to six Kryhistians grazing side by side in a meadow that seemed to go on forever.

  She could sense the herd the closer Nivaradros brought her to them and she struggled to make the attempt to sit up straighter. Apparently it wasn’t something she was permitted to do, as a seizure struck again. She felt the Dragon hurriedly lower her to the ground and she felt him holding her as steady as he could. He shouted for someone—she assumed Dyslentio—and she had no idea if that someone arrived or not; she lost consciousness before they arrived.

  “How could you do this to someone, Dyslentio!” someone shrieked from above her when she awoke. “Of all the fly-bitten schemes you could have possibly come up with how could you have come up with this one? Dragonlord or no you should have known better than to say yes! This is torture! You are killing that human more slowly and painfully than someone who has studied and practiced the dark arts ever could. Was that your goal? Have you lost your mind?!”

  The voice was annoying. Annoying and high pitched. Z grimaced and tried to free herself from whatever was holding her, but the more she struggled against her bonds the tighter of a hold her restraints seemed to take. Anger was generally a friend here, but Z really didn’t want to have another episode—or worse, lose consciousness—so she forced her anger back and away. But the annoying speaker continued to talk, and Z began to struggle again.

  “You certainly shouldn’t have listened to the Warlord. Honestly, Nivaradros. Do you have idea what you have done to the human? Do you have a clue? She is in agony, and everything Dyslentio has done has made her worse.”

  “Her death is inadvisable at this time,” Nivaradros replied gravely. Z felt his hand touch her shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly.

  “Her death is unavoidable, Nivaradros! She is a mortal.”

  “Believe that I know this,” the Dragon growled.

  “Do you? Because this born on the grass plot implies the opposite.” Z assumed ‘born on the grass’ was a racial saying of some kind. Having never heard it, she could only assume it was a negative based on the sentences surrounding it. “You are doing her no favors—” the voice continued, and Z had finally had enough.

  “Believe me when I say this is not the stupidest thing I have ever done,” she said weakly. “To be honest, it’s not even in the top fifteen. Nivaradros can probably only name the bottom five of that list, not even the top ten.” She wanted to open her eyes—she even considered it—but the idea of finding out who was attached to that very annoying voice seemed overwhelming.

  “There are whole human years I reconsider having met her,” Nivaradros agreed in a tone that sounded heavily exhausted. The Dragon picked her up suddenly and Z clutched at his arm in surprise. “I brought her here to see if you could offer her any aid at all. If you cannot, or will not, I will take her elsewhere. I believe your constant yelling is only going to make her condition worse.”

  “The girl should already have died!” the unknown speaker repeated forcefully. “What did you plan to accomplish with your stunt?”

  “Obviously not her death,” Nivaradros replied cuttingly before shifting her in his arms. “Look, if you are going to continue to yell, I will take Z somewhere else. She is already fragile and yes, this was a foolish idea, but it was the only one I had to keep her alive.”

  Z felt him begin to walk away and she struggled slightly in his arms. “Hush,” he ordered curtly as he increased his speed. “I thought the three centuries since I was here would have given her either time to die or time to forget every little death your race caused her, but apparently not. This was a waste of time.”

  The Dragon’s stride was long, so it wasn’t a huge surprise to hear hoofbeats approaching at an extended trot. “Nivaradros! Wait!” that annoyingly shrill voice demanded.

  “No,” was Nivaradros’s icy reply. “You have made your opinion and decision clear; I will not bother you or your kind any longer.”

  “Warlord, if you intend for her to survive more than a couple of nights you will cease your game and listen!”

  That caught the Dragon’s attention. Nivaradros paused where he was and exhaled fire—Z felt it pass over her—before turning. “Alright,” he agreed in a neutral tone. “Enlighten me.”

  “Her seizures are causing constant and immense internal damage. It’s not visible enough for you to detect, but I can.”

  “Then fix it.”

  There was a wave of irritation that could be felt and with her answer came the air of a teacher who has explained the same thing twelve times and was still being asked to repeat it. “I cannot.”

  “Then we are leaving.”

  “Why are Dragons so stubborn?!” the stranger snarled. The anger made her voice slightly more tolerable, and Z considered opening her eyes until she spoke again. “I can do nothing, but you, Warlord, can. Dragon blood is restorative, no?”

  Z desperately hoped Nivaradros did not react the way he had when the Mithane had needed his help to heal her arm. Her wish was half granted; he was worse. Between his roaring, the fire that occasionally passed by her head, and the shift in his figure—all of which she could tell without opening her eyes—Z was marginally surprised the stranger that had been imprudent enough to suggest Nivaradros possibly harm her in any way was still alive.

  Of course, it still baffled her that Nivaradros had done a complete turn-around in that respect when it came to her. He had constantly been trying to eat her, smash her, or ‘accidentally’ kill her by some other manner—namely all the elemental magic he thought he could get away with—for the first five years they had been forced to interact with each other. After that he had not looked out for her, but not attempted to maim either. This protective side of him was still new, but it was not, however, something she was overly excited about.

  “She is a human!” Nivaradros snarled when he finally came down in volume enough that Z didn’t mind listening to his voice. “Doing this will kill her. I am trying to prevent that from happening for as long as possible. Why in the wind would you even suggest that?!”

  “Because, Nivaradros, it may not kill her, and we cannot heal the damage her condition wreaks on her body whenever it wants to. Your blood, however, could possibly allow her some semblance of healing in between her worst attacks.”

  “Or it could instantly kill her.”

  “Since Dragon blood is three times denser than a human’s, several degrees hotter than human blood, and full of magic … I’m going to go with it would instantly kill me,” Z interjected weakly. “I mean maybe I could accept the magic part of it without my defenses kicking in and trying to attack it—and therefore me—but the denseness and the heat that came with the magic would probably not be okay. I could be entirely wrong, but I’m just saying this doesn’t sound like the world’s best idea. This may make the top five of my worst ideas ever if we decided
to attempt it.”

  “We are not even considering it!” Nivaradros hissed as she finally opened her eyes. His face took a moment to come into focus, but his eyes were the first thing she could make out and there was no mistaking that neon for anything but anger.

  “Then your attempt to save her was a waste,” the Kryhista told the Dragon flatly as Z turned to finally view her. “Look at her, Nivaradros. She is dying on you even now.” The immortal’s coal black coat was duller than Dyslentio’s, and it had a spot of white—a perfect circle the size of the former Tenian kine coin—on her hind left leg, on the inside, just above the coronary band. Otherwise she resembled Dyslentio a great deal other than being a hand shorter, slightly stockier, and she had violet eyes instead of silver.

  “There is also a tiny thing you both seem to be overlooking about this whole thing,” Z added tiredly as she felt another episode coming. “We have no idea what else could come with this if Nivaradros’s blood truly worked and didn’t just kill me instantly. Dragons are magic, and magic doesn’t have a fixed set of results or guidelines.”

  She would have continued, but Nivaradros had to hurry her to the ground and hold her down as she once again lost control of her body for several minutes. She fought—Nivaradros having at least renewed that desire—but it made little difference. Ten minutes later, the Dragon was able to cover her now shaking form with a blanket. While the shaking was bad enough, it was much, much better than the seizure. She only shivered from the cold.

  “I give up,” she told the Dragon grimly when she felt it safe enough to speak. “Do it.”

  “Z—”

  “Either do this or kill me,” she demanded harshly. “I’m serious, Nivaradros. If it would make you feel better, bring Kyi’rinn and I will cut myself.”

  “With my luck, you would have another one of your spells and cut off something important without killing yourself. And Kyi’rinn is unlikely to let me touch it, especially if you intend to kill yourself with it!” Nivaradros snapped, but she could see he was being worn down. Between the words the Kryhista had offered, her latest little attack, and his desire to keep her alive for his own reasons, she could see him starting to consider the idea of possibly killing her—or saving her.