by Meagan Hurst
He gave her one more small gift. Twisting the ring on his hand again, he offered her another memory—another one of the Dragonlord. She watched as it formed, and then stared in amazement as it froze to reveal Nivaradros approaching and Shalion awaiting him.
“How long ago was this?”
“After you fled the battlefield, right before you showed up again, as you will see,” he told her softly, knowing she would know when he referred to. He reached up again and activated the images without another word and Z leaned forward without thinking to watch.
“Any word?” Nivaradros demanded curtly as he roughly shoved a tree out of his way with his head. Wings curled tightly against his back didn’t mean much since the trees here grew close together, and when the Dragon clearly felt pinched, he slammed his weight against a tree once more, and then snorted as the trunk snapped. Not that the trunks of these trees were large in diameter; they were only four feet across.
“Nothing,” Shalion replied evenly, before he raised a brow as the Dragon ruined yet another tree. “You could always shift to your lesser form, and not alert your presence to everyone within a ten mile radius.”
“I’m not fond of that form,” Nivaradros growled, but he did shift. It said much about his stance on Shalion; he wasn’t willing to anger the Ryelention completely.
“Thank you. Now, according to all the channels, there is still no word. Crilyne’s belief is that she’ll hole up in her original house with the Rangers, and he’s gone there in case he’s right. As it’s him, he probably is. He knows her unspeakably more than most of us could ever hope to.” There was a hint of anger and bitterness in the Ryelention heir’s tone.
“He’s been her annoyingly undead shadow for how many years now? Ten? Eleven? Twelve?”
“Closer to fourteen, I believe, but yes, you’re correct, Nivaradros. He does have the advantage of years on most of us.”
“I wish I could kill him—damn the Shades and their inability to be killed.” Nivaradros’s eyes blazed dangerously.
“That would probably not help you make your attempt to win her over,” Shalion observed sarcastically. “She is attached to him. If she tolerates much from me because she knows I won’t follow it up with anything, she is equally or more-so tolerant of him for the same reason.”
“I really don’t want to deal with him. I assume the rest of the Shades are like-wise waiting for her in places they assume she could show up?”
“Yes, but those places are less likely. After Crilyne, I think her second most likely destination would be Arriandie. It depends on how badly wounded she is.”
“I would say critically, fatally had it been any other mortal who had gotten hit. The bastard ran her through.”
Shalion grimaced. “Who was it?”
Nivaradros’s silence was thunderous. “You would let me know if someone said she had returned?”
“I said I would. I have my own reasons for wanting to help you now, Nivaradros. Besides which, if she was that badly injured, she is bound to be in near the same condition; she’s not one for taking care of herself after all.” A flash of power suddenly ran across three of Shalion’s rings. “She’s back,” Shalion whispered quietly. “Nivaradros…”
“Where?”
“The Rangers in Anhrin—Crilyne has her.”
“Lovely.”
“He has forbidden anyone from coming.”
“He has no control over me, Ryelention.”
Shalion’s eyes were closed as he concentrated on a message that had undoubtedly been sent from his father. “She’s badly wounded, Nivaradros—very badly wounded. It appears Crilyne is worried about her surviving.”
“He always is. If she is badly injured though then someone else should be there. The Shade caves whenever she is in a mood.” Nivaradros shook himself. “Where is she?”
A hesitation marked Shalion’s reluctance, but he finally sighed and began to explain where the Shade—and more importantly she—could be found. “Remember, Nivaradros, tread with care around her.”
Nivaradros didn’t reply. Instead he vanished into the shadows that were growing as the moon began to fall from the highest point of the sky.
“You sent him to me,” Z murmured. “I always wondered how he managed to find out where I was.”
“I had my doubts on whether or not it was wise,” Shalion admitted as the image once again dissolved. “But since you are alive, well enough, and immortal, I will say it seems to have been the right choice.”
“He was such a bully,” Z said with a thin smile. “Crilyne was livid, but I was impressed. Nivaradros’s temper was normally exposed in threats against my survival. Then it seemed to shift to show during his attempt to keep me alive.” Recalling their argument over food, she shook her head. “He put skylights in my room though,” she said with a scowl. “I’m not going to forgive him for that one.”
Shalion chuckled. “I heard about that. I believe you can blame Veilantras for that one. Apparently, he learned rudimentary skills to care for an injured mortal from her, and he thought you weren’t getting enough fresh air.”
“I wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean he can just make skylights any time he pleases … pleased.” Her eyes closed again.
“You miss him.”
“Immensely. If I had known this was going to be the end result, I would have never given him a title, and I would have kept him at an arm’s length.” Opening her eyes, Z focused on the task at hand again—hating the fact her attention was so split. Grabbing the nearest map, she grimaced at what she saw. “I hope Zyrhis evacuated his people from Istuion back to the stronghold.”
For some reason—which she would discuss with him at some point—Zyrhis had surrounded Istuion with the armies he had managed to gather to protect his lands. It was both brilliant and utterly foolish—Z felt the latter was the larger of the two—and Z knew at once why Nivaradros was here. Most of the fighting would be on the plains instead of in the thick of the forest; the Dragons had been able to fly.
Picking up several rolled scrolls, Z glanced at the names. She had a small detachment of Syallibions, the Ryelentions, the Alantaions, Veilantras, Crilyne, herself, the Mithane, the Islierre, Shalion, and two other Dragons. Young Dragons. Dragons who probably would hate her existence, immortality or no. It was, thankfully, a small group to look after. Sixteen thousand five hundred, if she didn’t include the eight extras. She also knew the Syallibions who were here personally and had worked with the squads often. She had a solid group of fighters to work with, and it was a large weight that was taken from her chest when she saw just who was here.
The Thinyen and his forces were stationed just to the west of her group. He had another small group of Syallibions, a detachment of Rangers, a fairly large group of humans, and a Shade—Aysherino. To the east of her was another group of fighters; the Nialtians—with Misteki at their head, which surprised her since he no longer had any heirs—led that section of the army. With them fought the Vyenrians, the Satyelians, a small unit of Rangers, and the Hlyanstans. To the north of her was the largest part of the army. Zyrhis had the majority of his people, Vryrnis—the third of the eight Shades to retain his power—a small detachment of warriors from each the Barrins, the Alonins, and the Nernlis, as well as warriors from both Lynxian kingdoms, a force from the second Satyelian kingdom, and then another detachment of Rangers.
The remaining races hadn’t been able to send aid, but it didn’t matter; Midestol’s forces were facing roughly half a million warriors, and it was only a fraction of what could be put on the field if all the mortal races really decided to get involved. There was one notable absence that did make a difference: the Tezéracians hadn’t offered to send aid, and they could have. An old anger began to surface within her, and Z forced it down with effort. After everything all of them had gone through to save that miserable branch of humans from total annihilation, the least the Tezéracians could have done was send a small unit to battle. She would have to speak with the Mithane, and
soon, about how they would respond to the Tezéracians’ refusal to send aid again.
She felt Shalion move to stand close to her again and sighed. “Yes?”
“What are we going to do about the latest problem?” he demanded softly in her ear.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Not until he makes his move.”
Chapter 24
Shalion turned out to be the greatest help to her for the next two weeks. Still wanting to avoid his father as much as possible, he stayed with her in the world’s largest tent, and made sure she was left alone when she wanted it. She found she could bounce ideas off of him without worrying about them becoming part of the camp’s wild and unstoppable gossip lines, and his company was much more positive than Crilyne’s or Veilantras’s. Those two had taken to adopting a stricken look whenever she stepped out of her tent, and it had gotten bad enough that it was now all she could do not to hit them.
And she did miss Nivaradros. His sarcasm, his temper, his loyalty on the battlefield, his skill, and just him. It was definitely a problem, but it was one she could not allow to get in her way. Shalion, again, helped here. Like the Dragon had been at the last, Shalion constantly touched her. Her shoulder when he wanted her attention, the side of her face when he thought she was thinking too deeply into a painful topic, and her lips he touched with a finger when he wanted her to stop speaking. The latter she wasn’t as fond of—granted she struggled through all of his contact—but Shalion seemed to have some sort of agenda that she couldn’t figure out. He was still waiting for her to speak to his father about Azabell, so she had no idea what he was trying to accomplish by his constant and mostly unwanted attention.
Even that, however, was preferred to the looks she got from the rest of the encampment, or from her fellow leaders during meetings in Istuion’s actual war room. The single highlight of those meetings was the fact they had discovered Shevieck had apparently managed to offend the tree at one time here as well; it tended to eat him. But since Zyrhis had handed over control of his kingdom completely to Z in front of the gathered rulers and heirs, it was also an irritation. She had to rescue Shevieck whenever he became a snack. Shalion’s eyes had also shaded into a color she couldn’t identify when he had discovered she now technically ruled the Syallibions, but for whatever reason the Syallibions as a whole seemed to think her ruling them was a good thing.
She stayed with her Alantaions, Ryelentions, the three Dragons, the Shade, Shalion, the Mithane, and the Islierre. The small group of Syallibions she had had to relocate; she got tired of the stares. Shalion, however, hadn’t. He had teased her relentlessly for the better part of a week and a half about the small groups of Syallibions who had stayed outside her tent when they could and just waited for her to exit. They would then bombard her with questions until something else happened—like the enemy attacking—that forced them to go about their business. After eight long days, Z had reassigned them to Misteki’s force with a small amount of relief settling over her once they had made it safely there.
Midestol, strangely enough, seemed to have lost interest in the battle starting about five days prior. His forces still attacked in number, and they were still killed in number, but it seemed to be more of a constant annoyance than an actual threat. The Dark Mage himself was rarely seen on the field, and he had made no effort to try to defeat her forces—she was baffled over his actions.
The creatures, however, were attacking in groups of twenty to fifty, and they were organized groups capable of changing their attacks during the battle. They became the bigger threat. Z had lost fifteen of her fighters in the past fourteen days to them, but her losses were decidedly the smallest; most other groups were looking at up to a thousand lives lost in the last couple of weeks.
But they knew how to fight them now: arrows magicked heavily to pierce the thick hide of the creatures, and then special swords that were both magicked and poisoned. Kyi’rinn worked as well, but very few people wanted her close to the creatures. She had been given the task of healing when she could, and she was willing to. Healing for her was still a struggle, she doubted it would ever come easily or without significant cost to her, and Shalion had finally had to drag her from the tent—well, pavilion—dedicated to the wounded after she both almost collapsed from exhaustion and nearly gotten herself poisoned when her magic had backfired. Now, unless they were absolutely certain she was needed, Z was banned from the healing center; Shalion had apparently gotten his point across quite verbally and colorfully over a four hour argument with the Mithane the previous evening.
It was something else she owed him for. Sighing as she glanced over at Shalion’s closed eyes, Z shook herself mentally and moved to get up. She didn’t get far before Shalion’s hand grabbed her forearm and tightened.
“Not so fast,” he told her quietly as she glanced over at him.
She had stopped attempting to harm him for grabbing her—or touching her in any manner, if she was being honest—after the ninth day. Well, attempting to harm him or throw him through the fabric walls that made up their ‘home.’ Thankfully, she’d only thrown him twice. Unfortunately, she had literally thrown him out of the tent—the fabric having helpfully dispersed to allow Shalion free access to the ground outside—so she had been forced to handle the jokes that had sprung up around the encampment as a result. Apparently Shalion was slightly more difficult to share the bed with than the Dragon. She had never, after all, attempted to throw Nivaradros through a wall, granted he did weigh a lot more than Shalion.
She’d asked him after the second flying lesson if he wanted her to sleep on the floor. His stony look had been enough of an answer, but when she had asked him why he was bothering at all his answer had unsettled her. ‘The Dragon asked me to’ wasn’t something she had expected or wanted to hear. She was both curious and worried about what had happened between the Ryelention and the Dragon that had made Shalion promise to do something with her—she still didn’t quite know what he was after. She didn’t want to know either. She put up with it as best she could, and she did have to admit she was growing more and more okay with the slightest bit of contact.
Like now. He still hadn’t moved his hand. “Shalion,” she said as she glowered at him.
“You healed at least two Ryelentions who ran up against those vile bear-creatures, or, shall I say, you healed two while I was present, I have no idea how many you healed before I was summoned. You weren’t in the greatest of shape by the time someone decided it might be a good idea to come and get me. I had to carry you back here. You may not recall this, but you were very, very weak. Until a call to arms comes, you should rest.” When she opened her mouth to protest, his grip tightened. “Your arms are shaking,” he told her curtly.
He was right. She glanced down at her arms and noticed there was a distinct tremble to them. Her hands were more obvious, but he had a grip on her arm still, so it was likely he had felt the shaking through his hold rather than having seen it. Then again, he was an immortal; it was probably both.
“I’m not that bad off,” she tried to argue.
“Other than the shaking, the sheet white color your skin has decided to attempt to make fashionable, and the dark circles under your eyes,” Shalion remarked in a sarcastically agreeable tone. “Z, come, rest, you’ve been fighting like a possessed person for the past two weeks. This is the first time you’ve managed to sleep. You’ve lost weight. You’ve been injured, though I will give you both were fairly minor for you. And you’ve used magic. Both in battle and in healing. You are exhausted. Quit pushing yourself. Until the horns sound for the next bout with one of the enemies’ forces, or another batch of those horrific creatures, you should accept this time as something you deserve so you can regroup. I’m not going to do anything.”
“More,” she replied gloomily. She did, however, lie back down. She felt the small tremors running through her veins and wondered if any other immortal ever suffered from this level of exhaustion.
“Fine,” she told him. “Just suffering from exhaustion.”
His smile was faint, but genuine. He was also, unfortunately, still good at catching her off guard—heightened immortal senses or no. Leaning forward with ease, he brought his lips to hers before pulling away and getting up. She knew then he hadn’t been sleeping.
“I admit I will be glad when this battle is over,” he told her easily as he moved to grab something from their dried rations of war food. “Even as decent as this stuff is, it is still trail rations, and repulsive.”
She snorted in agreement and moved to sit up again. Seeing his brows shoot up as his eyes slid closer to orange, she sighed and compromised, putting pillows behind her she half sat up upon them while Shalion watched her with the intensity of a hawk watching its prey.
“You are channeling the Dragon’s possessiveness,” she informed him curtly.
“I am supposed to,” was the nonchalant reply. “Now, do you want dried berries, dried … I don’t even know what this is, dried meat, dried, again I’m not sure what it is, or just bread and something I think might be cheese?”
He definitely reminded her of the Dragon, and it was a sharp, painful reminder. She recalled promising herself never to let anyone get this close to her. Having grown up as a constant member of war, she had seen the simple mistakes people made when they were grieving or someone they cared for was threatened. While she wasn’t at the point of doing something stupid yet, she feared she could fall into that trap if she wasn’t careful. Making another dark promise to herself to avoid caring for anyone this much again at all costs, Z managed to force a smile.