The Price of Survival

by Meagan Hurst

  Z didn’t reply, but she returned to Nivaradros’s side and rested her head against his chest; it was the only part of her that could reach. Watching Midestol intently, she slowly removed his bracelet and tossed it to him. He caught it with ease, but his eyes grew decidedly more orange.

  “I’m not yours,” she told him flatly. “We share blood, nothing more. Perhaps if you had found me early on, or if your original plan had come to pass, things would have been different between us, but they’re not. We are, and will always be, enemies. Even when we have to work beside one another to accomplish a similar goal, we will still never be even the most tentative of allies. If there was a chapter in my life where it was possible—if there were several—they have been erased and written over. I will acknowledge you as my grandfather when pressed, but otherwise I will go on as I have been, without claiming any family.”

  He nodded slowly. “And if, the first time we had met, I hadn’t tortured you?” he asked her softly.

  “Then perhaps I would have been your most trusted warrior. That door is past closed though, Midestol. You and I have a relationship the King of Tenia and I could have never had. I respect your power. I respect you. I dislike, however, how you use your power and what you seek. You are, however, a worthy opponent, and I have learned much from you. And yes,” she added bleakly, “we have traits in common. I can be as cold as you when I must, and I could so easily become you it frightens me. But I have made my choice, Midestol. I stand where I stand.”

  He nodded again. “It is a shame,” he told her quietly.

  She shrugged and glanced at Nivaradros, glanced up since his head was so high in his native form. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but without the life I lived I wouldn’t have met a group of extraordinary races, and I wouldn’t have the control or knowledge of magic that I do. I wouldn’t know how to achieve things so many told me were impossible, and I wouldn’t have ever truly learned about trust, and friendship. They are both difficult to achieve, and harder still to keep, but they are worth it.”

  “I will have to take your word for it,” Midestol replied with a sardonic smile. He turned the bracelet over in his hand and then turned as if to leave. “Ksiria?”

  “Zimliya,” she corrected immediately.

  “Will you consider coming to my lands. Not as a captive, and not as a bargaining chip, but as family? Not to stay,” Midestol added as he turned back to her. His eyes pinned her to where she stood. “But to visit. I swear I will not harm you in the slightest. You may even spy on me if it amuses you.”

  A smile touched her lips. It was cold, calculating, and it gave away nothing. She turned his words over in her mind in silence for some time before she finally inclined her head stiffly once. “I will consider it,” she offered with care at long last. “I will not make any promises, Midestol. You and I are two very, very different humans, and I am on a time limit,” she added.

  “Somehow, I assume you will escape your fate, if I don’t kill you before you can,” he told her with a touch of blunt honesty in his tone. “But I will leave word with my people; should you come, you are to be allowed passage without harm.” He glanced again at the Dragon and his smile grew colder. “I expect you to keep her safe from threats I have orchestrated, and from those more locally grown.”

  Nivaradros snorted. “If we cannot agree on anything else, we can agree on that,” he answered finally, to Z’s open astonishment. “Her life belongs to me.” The last word carried the weight and threat of a Dragon’s protection, and Z declined to comment. So far Nivaradros hadn’t attacked Midestol—insulted him, yes, but attacked him no—and she wanted to keep it that way. She was, however, slightly concerned over the Dragon’s words.

  There was a soft chuckle, and then a sharp blast of magic. When the sensation faded, Midestol was gone and Z felt the weight this meeting had brought vanish at long last. A touch of familiar envy struck her. She wished she could just vanish like he could—like the Mithane, and a few of the other ancient rulers could. With enough time, she suspected she could accomplish the same thing, but her time was ending. Leaning against Nivaradros’s front left leg, she let out a sigh of relief, and only moved when she felt him beginning to shift forms. Arms encircled her from behind protectively, and while she stiffened automatically, she took comfort in the contact in a way she never had before.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said quietly.

  “As if I would let you meet him on your own over such a delicate matter,” the Dragon snorted softly. His hold was lighter now, less protective, and she could feel him relaxing. “How is your human mind accepting this?” he wanted to know.

  “As well as possible as I just told the man who has been trying to kill me for the past thirteen years that I am of his blood.” She leaned into his hold at long last. “If things had gone differently—”

  “Don’t dwell on that, Zimliya,” Nivaradros advised. “They didn’t go differently. Your parents died. You were orphaned, abused, and neglected until you managed to escape the hands that were trying to break you forever. Then, you were raised by a group of very suspicious mortals that sealed your fate of being untrusting. You make immortals seem friendly and open in comparison. I will admit you are getting better,” the Dragon added.

  Her smile was faint. “I’m human. It was bound to happen at some point.” Inhaling with care, she flinched slightly at the feel of her body—it was planning a possible seizure. Clamping down on it automatically, she reached for the power in Nivaradros’s amulet, and let out a sigh of relief as the pressure that had been building vanished at once.

  “You seem to have mastered that,” the Dragon mused thoughtfully. He still hadn’t released her, and given his hold, she doubted he would until she asked, or demanded.

  “It has yet to be tested in battle, and I am certain at some point the price of the Shades will once again overpower me,” she pointed out grimly before shaking her head. “And how is Istuion handling the influx of immortals that seem to be growing by the day?”

  Nivaradros snorted. “As well as the race of midgets could be expected to handle it.” She felt his position shift behind her. “Although Zyrhis is said to have kissed you.”

  Oh. She had completely forgotten about that. Stiffening at once, she struggled in vain against the Dragon’s hold. If she wanted to break free, magic or weapons would be the only way, and she wasn’t willing to risk harming the Dragon permanently.

  “What of it?” she demanded frostily.

  She felt Nivaradros stir slightly in surprise. “Well he’s obviously not dead,” Nivaradros pointed out, “but rumor has it you were displeased with him. I am curious as to why. You didn’t harm him after all, which, with your history, almost implies you were torn in your options.”

  Damn the Dragons for their curiosity. Sighing loudly, she struggled again against his hold. “Because I don’t care for him that way. I don’t care for anyone that way!” she added vehemently. “And I am so sick and tired of either being asked, or having a move made on me, that I was tempted to stab him,” she admitted stiffly. “But he’s too promising of a ruler to justify it.”

  “Ah,” the Dragon breathed in surprise. He released her, and she stumbled away from him in relief. “So, this has to do with your mortality.”

  How in the hells had he gotten there? Z opened her mouth to argue, but she shut it almost immediately. He was, curse him to the depths of the caverns beneath the seas, right, of course. Her mortality—especially now—was something she didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with. Certainly not any more than they already had to. Predominantly because the first time most of the heirs had been with her when she had been severely wounded the majority of them had not handled it well. Getting close to any of them now could possibly endanger their ability to rule with a level head later on. It was the main reason she was so cautious about offering them friendship. Zyrhis, she knew, could take it if he set his mind upon it, but several of the others could not.

  “Does it matter?”
she wanted to know as the heat left her tone in the first word.

  The Dragon shrugged. “Yes, and no,” he admitted. “Yes, because I do not plan to let you die, but no, because it doesn’t change how I view you.”

  “Why is mortality so hard for you to accept?” she snapped at him as her anger boiled over again. “It’s not as if I sprung this on you—or anyone else for that matter!”

  Nivaradros didn’t answer. Instead he simply turned and began to stroll down the hill in the direction of Istuion. Growling obscenities under her breath, Z hurried to follow him. He was in enough of a mood, she knew, that he would happily leave her behind. With how her luck had been going since her return, Z didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere without the Dragon’s aid on the off chance she had one of her unavoidable seizures. Plus, she knew it would only make the Dragon’s mood worse if she got injured, captured, or killed because she hadn’t been following him.

  “You seem rather used to your lesser form now,” she remarked offhandedly after they had been walking the better part of an hour. It was nearing dusk now, and Z knew that she was walking her fine line of danger with her suppressed condition.

  “I am not sure the words are ‘used to,’” Nivaradros replied curtly, “but I am certainly less opposed to it than I was originally. It does have a few uses—not many,” he added quickly as his eyes brightened dangerously. “But it is rather hard to stitch up injuries in my natural form, and since you are so fond of acquiring injuries that require at least that, having hands has been a small benefit of an otherwise almost useless form.”

  She decided not to comment on all the uses she had seen him find for his lesser form. Right now, it would probably be a life-ending comment, and she didn’t feel like pushing the Dragon. “How is the Syallibion kingdom faring with the Mithane, the Islierre, and the Thinyen all within its bounds?” she pressed, asking the question more directly this time.

  “Well, when I left, no one was dead,” Nivaradros replied dryly. “But Zyrhis had sent Crilyne to go babysit the Mithane. Apparently, he was beside himself with anger when he learned you had not only left the palace but left the kingdom. Due to his current mood, Zyrhis thought it would be prudent to keep him out of the halls and preoccupied on not starting a war between his kingdom and the Dralations.”

  “Probably a lifesaving move on his part,” Z muttered.

  “Indeed,” Nivaradros agreed. “But Dyiavea and Shevieck seem to be getting along just fine, and Dyiavea is attempting to summon the Islierre’s son.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, but for once she didn’t insert the heir’s name at the end of his sentence.

  Clearly that was the wrong thing to do. Nivaradros turned easily to face her and he watched her with concern. “Z?” he asked quietly as he held her eyes with his.

  “It’s just been a long day,” she told him, but it was a weak excuse and he called her on it. Sighing, she struggled to find a way to explain her thoughts without angering him. “I really don’t want to walk in on a group of immortals plotting away my life.”

  “That would be depressing,” the Dragon agreed. “And since you are a mortal, it is also something they would probably do.” Reading her expression with ease she thought would never have come to him, Nivaradros sighed. “We could go to my lair for a few weeks,” he offered tentatively. As he wasn’t big on the whole sharing thing, his offer was unexpected. It was also blatantly obvious he was hoping she wouldn’t accept.

  She managed a smile. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she told him softly. “And Veilantras has a habit of dropping by there—you told me you didn’t want any Dragon to come across me for a while,” she reminded him.

  She saw the relief touch his eyes. “Good point,” he said quickly. “Is there somewhere else nearby you could stay—that I could follow—where you could avoid the plotting for a time?”

  Yes, but not if she wanted to start taking back the kingdoms that had been stolen from their rightful rulers. As long as she was well enough to fight, she planned on helping the rulers who had been ousted from their kingdoms. In fact, due to how well she was doing right now, she planned on helping them regardless.

  “If I don’t do something, Midestol will succeed in ruining the last decade or so of hard work I have put in to repair the relations between all of the kingdoms that are part of the Alliance,” she whispered at long last. “Therefore, I cannot leave, Nivaradros. I will just have to weather the comments and the advances as best I can.”

  She saw anger touch the Dragon’s eyes, but he nodded in agreement and began to walk again. It took him about fifteen minutes to realize she wasn’t up to stretching her stride—three of her steps equaled one of his—and he slowed his pace noticeably.

  “You should eat something when we return,” he advised her mildly.

  “Don’t mother me,” she answered brusquely. She barely had a second’s warning before Nivaradros roughly threw her up against a tree and pinned her there.

  “I can do whatever I please in regard to your health,” he hissed dangerously. “Do you understand me? After everything I have been through keeping you alive lately you don’t have any right to tell me I am not allowed to worry about you.” He released her abruptly and moved several feet away, but his anger hadn’t dispersed. A boulder ended up taking the brunt of his rage, and since dust was the only thing left in its wake after he punched it, Z knew just how furious the Dragon was.

  “Nivaradros?” she called tentatively.

  “Never again,” he answered heatedly. “Don’t you ever tell me that again.”

  Since she wasn’t good at accepting help on the best day, she wondered if he knew how much he was asking. “Fine,” she told him slowly after an extended pause.

  Exhaling fire at the nearest burnable object, the Dragon kept his back to her for several more minutes before he suddenly straightened and began to walk again. Z let out the breath she had been holding with relief and quickly moved to follow. It had been months since Nivaradros had acted that dangerously towards her. She knew, deep down, that he had a point, but she also knew that if she didn’t set ground rules regarding that point, he would walk all over her. Right now, however, was not the time to broach the topic, and she managed to follow him in a fairly solid silence for another couple of hours.

  They halted just inside the Syallibion border, where the trees began to thicken and hide the many paths to the Syallibion castle, and the Dragon began to pace. Not understanding his actions, Z watched him, but the Dragon ignored her for several minutes. “Nivaradros?” she finally called when she grew tired of his pacing.

  “Veilantras appears to be waiting for our return,” he answered softly. “We have to stay here until she decides to leave.”

  Chapter 11

  “You honestly think Veilantras would kill me over this?” Z inquired in bewilderment as she stared at Nivaradros.

  The Dragon’s eyes were still flashing with anger, but he said nothing immediately, which was sadly more of a positive thing than most would have suspected. “No,” he said at long last. “But she would be obligated to tell others, and they would certainly come after you.” She opened her mouth to speak, and Nivaradros sighed. “I am the Warlord,” he reminded her bluntly. “They are not imprudent enough to come after me.”

  Z snorted. She’d seen them attack him before. “And they are stupid enough to come after me?”

  “Well, with your current state, I believe you would be more susceptible to their attacks, so it wouldn’t be as foolish a move as it would have once been,” Nivaradros pointed out before he exhaled again and turned to face her. “Are you finished with your ridiculous idea that I am not allowed to express concern for your wellbeing?”

  One day the Dragon was going to have to get over his moods without her giving in first. Today, however, was probably not the day to try to force the issue. “Are you going to slam me up against something again if I say no?” she countered coldly.

  Smoke escaped when the Dragon snorted, but his
eyes did darken a few shades. “Possibly. It depends on how much I want to kill you after you finish speaking.”

  He watched her without so much as a twitch, a sign he wasn’t thinking too hard on that thought. When she didn’t add anything to the conversation, Nivaradros snorted smoke once more and shook his head.

  “You are the most aggravating, intelligent, powerful, and insane mortal I have ever met—actually aggravating, intelligent, powerful, and insane being I have ever met.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “But I have grown used to most of your habits and ways, even the ones I despise.”

  It was a Dragon’s apology, and Z accepted it with ease that had come from years of dealing with Dragons—and other immortals, to be honest. It was also about as close as Nivaradros would come to confirming he cared for her. Since she had simply assumed he was staying around for whatever he hoped to achieve with her, it was nice to hear, and it reaffirmed the trust she had put in him as a friend. She couldn’t reply—her throat was suddenly and annoyingly tight—and she turned her gaze away for several minutes until she could relax.

  “I’m not great at accepting aid from anyone—aid of any kind,” she finally sighed. It was her way of mirroring the Dragon’s apology. Sometimes the Dragons had the right idea when it came to how to approach things, and this was one part of their culture she loved and utilized often.

  “No,” Nivaradros agreed quietly. “You are getting better, to a point, but perhaps you should try to accept assistance more readily.”

  “And not bite the head off of the Dragon who offers it?” she replied wryly.

  She felt his laughter before she heard it. “That would probably be advisable for both parties,” he told her as she turned to face him.

  His smile was surprisingly soft, but his eyes still carried an edge. He was still angry—at her—but the anger was fading. It would, however, probably take at least a week for the majority of that rage to slip away. It would possibly take up to a year for all of it to be erased. Or he could hold a small grudge for the rest of her life. She was going to hope that wasn’t the case.