by Meagan Hurst
Orange edged to pearl. “Could I provide assistance with your plans?”
“In all honesty I would love to accept that offer, but since I am working so deeply in so many different directions I am going to decline to preserve your sanity; mine’s been compromised already.”
Nivaradros snorted smoke and raised a brow at the Islierre. “Would you care to accuse her of doing something else?” he inquired. “Or are you willing to amend your original accusation?”
“You are aware of her plans?”
“I am a part of them. A very small part, since she often loses me halfway through one of them and has to come back to clarify. It irritates her, though, so I have adopted the mortal habit of just nodding like I understand what she is saying. It’s easy to follow when she writes it down, but while she is in the planning stage of things she doesn’t like to record what she assumes will be changed—in other words I am not as conversant with the facts as you might hope.”
“I’ve been in a room with Z trying to explain plans as they came to her,” the Islierre told him with a bitter smile. “I understand completely.” His gaze returned to Z. “When do you think you might be willing to attempt an attack on my kingdom?”
“I prefer the term ‘recover,’ and I am hopeful I will have an acceptable plan of attack within the next couple of months. I have other things to attend to in between, so it will take some time to get everything arranged. I apologize for the delay, but do you have any idea just how complicated it is to try to keep the peace between various rulers, try to regain lost kingdoms, try to play nice with the Dragons, try to be both a part and not a part of the Rangers, try to set up foundation laws and taxes for kingdoms I never intended to have, and attempt to experiment in my magic all at the same damn time?”
“Frustrating?”
“That word doesn’t even scratch the surface of it.”
Chapter 4
The Islierre chose not to leave following the conclusion of what Z was barely willing to classify as a discussion. She left the Ryelention with Nivaradros while she headed to visit the Mithane; her adopted father. Just think of him as the Mithane, she ordered herself. He is the same as he has always been. It is just a change of status; my status. It will be fine. She hoped.
Reaching the Mithane’s study required a fair amount of work. After inquiring about his location through various channels, Nirthanie himself had come to inform her where the Mithane could be found. Thanking him politely, she had declined his offer of an escort—and the offer of an escort of guards—and proceeded to the Mithane as quickly as possible. Sadly, that involved several delays along the way since every Alantaion who came across her in the halls wanted to chat. About nothing. For as long as she would let them. Delayed by five hours, Z was not in a charitable mood by the time she did reach her destination, and upon seeing the four guards at the study doors, she had to bite back the short remark that almost escaped.
“Please inform the Mithane that I am here and would like to request a moment of his time,” she informed the ‘leader’ in a level tone.
The man bowed and disappeared inside briefly before returning. “He will see you.”
Nodding, Z headed through the door and found Veilantras seated in one of the many chairs in the room. The golden Dragon inclined her head as Z met her gaze and a smile touched her mortal-appearing lips. “I see you have managed to escape,” Veilantras commented lightly.
“The Alantaions, the Dragon, or the Islierre?” Z wanted to know sourly.
Veilantras laughed and glanced at the Mithane. “I didn’t tell him about the Islierre coming to call. In your quarters. Out of the shadows. Without permission. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
Dragons chose the strangest times to make attempts at humor. Z cringed at the black of the Mithane’s eyes. Holding up her hands in surrender she opened her mouth to speak, but found he was quicker. “You need not apologize. I presume you have decided to come seek my company to inform me that I have an immortal visitor I would rather not be offering hospitality to?”
“Something like that. I did not,” she added hurriedly, “invite him.”
The Mithane’s eyes lessened in color, but she had a feeling it was more out of the fact he knew she was struggling to be here with him following the meal that had officially linked her to his family and kingdom. “I would never have considered you to blame,” he replied. “You are well aware of our past. You tend to at least ask before offering such a pleasant surprise.”
“Perhaps I should withdraw,” Veilantras declared when the silence grew awkward. “Mithane, I thank you for your hospitality and for your willingness to agree to my slightly concerned request.”
The Mithane inclined his head to her politely. “It is always an honor to have you visit, Veilantras, and your request was a necessity. It is your right to ask and I do not wish to tarnish the peaceful relationship between our people by refusing something so trivial in the long run.”
Veilantras chuckled warmly. “I thank you immensely and I will take my leave.” She left before Z could say anything and the door closed behind her silently.
“Do I want to know what you have granted?” Z asked sharply.
“Permission for you to attend a council meeting for the Dragons. Apparently Nivaradros has all but demanded your presence, and Veilantras believes you would be an asset. He cannot refuse to attend a meeting any longer if we do not wish the Dragons to fly.” The Mithane’s gaze was focused on her slightest movements. “And as I know of his limitation, I realize the danger in this. I told Veilantras I would send you both on your way as soon as it was possible.
“Presently, however, I wish to know why the Islierre is in Arriandie. What purpose could have brought him to visit a city he generally avoids? I presume he knows Azabell arrived injured?”
“He does and I no longer need to speak with her; he filled me in on how her injuries happened.” Z sighed and began to relate what she had been told. She could see the Mithane’s mind working to take in what she did say and what she left out. When she spoke of Shalion, the Mithane held up a hand.
“That is a dangerous gift you have inadvertently given him,” the Alantaion ruler observed.
“Mithane, I honestly had no intention of bestowing it upon him. I was dying at the time; I just wanted to help him. Besides, I am certain it will fade in time.”
The Mithane smiled sadly. “I know, Z—I know, but at least you made that error with one of the Heirs.” His eyes closed and he nodded absently to himself. They opened before he spoke again. “The Islierre is within the castle; where do you plan to put him?”
“In a room—though I may change my mind and put him in the dungeon if he continues to annoy me,” Z said in an exasperated tone. “He demanded to know why I have been sitting in Arriandie twirling my thumbs while his kingdom has been in the hands of the enemy.”
“I sincerely hope you corrected his misconception.”
“I did. Nivaradros backed me.” Movement became necessary and Z began to pace the room. “What he doesn’t understand is that Midestol is waiting for us in Lyiastras. The battle we avoided here—the battle we barely fought elsewhere—was only a gimmick. He intends to destroy our forces on that field. I intend to keep him from succeeding, but we will have to ride to war. He will not allow Nivaradros to negotiate with him again, and nothing I said would sway him. Even my demise would be meaningless.”
“I am happy to hear you have come to that conclusion,” the Mithane replied neutrally. “What do you wish from your allies and your people?”
“We will wait. I will plan. When we ride to war we will ride on our terms. He will not be permitted to win this battle. If we lose this battle we have lost the war.”
Silence took over the better part of the next two hours. The Mithane let her pace without interrupting knowing her mood was too easily influenced at this point in time. It was the one gift he had always awarded her; space. Knowing full well he had been in contact with the Rangers since
her return she didn’t ask him what he knew; she assumed he knew everything. Which also meant he expected her to act like this. Exhaling at long last, she shook herself mentally and returned to her seat.
“What about Shevieck?” she inquired.
“Shevieck is relieved to know he is no longer the heir for the throne. He is not—and would never be—a good enough ruler for his people. I know you have done much to change him and you have made more progress than I could have imagined, but the Alantaions will never follow him. If he ends up taking the throne, they will tolerate him and smile to his face, but scheme behind him. He would be nothing more than a puppet ruler and no one would kill him because of that. It would spell the slow destruction of my people. There are no hard feelings, Zimliya; Shevieck always wanted this.”
That made one of them. She met his eyes and managed a smile. “Any other ceremony you desire to subject me to?” she wanted to know as she glanced at the ring she wore on her finger.
“Not at this time, no, but at some point, you and the Dragon will need to come up with a title for your relationship so I can announce it. Until you do, Alantaions have just decided to use the term ‘sex partner.’ I suspect neither of you would like that to be his official title.”
Oh that would be the day. The Dragon would just love that. “I’ll speak with him. Perhaps after we handle the Dragon Council we will have an answer. I believe the problem that has arisen is simple to resolve. In all honesty, Nivaradros should have the power, not me.”
“Perhaps, but he does not, and speculating does nothing for us. You are above him in the hierarchy; he has made it clear in all of his actions he is content with that. You are the power here. You must make sure it is known.”
“Hence our visit the Isle,” Z reminded him sarcastically.
“There are other races than Dragons, Zimliya,” the Mithane chided.
“Given the gossip involving my life, I am certain it is impossible for me to forget or overlook that fact for even a second,” Z snapped. “Surely there is someone else they can talk about!”
“Yes, but you are the most uncomfortable about it and since nothing else seems to concern you, you must realize this has become a bit of a game. Honestly, Zimliya, they are more interested in your reaction than the topic at hand. Even I know of at least three hundred different gambling pools that have to do with how and when you will react. Thankfully, no one seems to believe you will harm anyone. You should know there is a small group of people who suspect you will end up in public with Nivaradros just to prove a point and make the topic vanish.”
That would be the day. There was no way in any of the hells she was making anything a public spectacle. The Mithane laughed at her expression and she made it vanish instantly. “Back to the original topic,” she began with a dark smile. “Where do you want me to put the Islierre?”
“I would enjoy it immensely if you used him as a sheath for Kyi’rinn.”
“Not going to happen.”
“One can always hope for a miracle. There is little else hope is good for other than a healthy letdown.”
Raising a brow, Z nevertheless chuckled and inclined her head. “In all seriousness?”
“A floor as far away from myself and you as is politely possible,” the Mithane answered. “Since he has decided to drop in unannounced and without using a usual door, I do not see any reason to treat him with the utmost respect.” There was an undercurrent to those words, and long term exposure allowed Z to pick it up immediately.
“I will tighten security around Arriandie and ensure something like this cannot happen again. I will likewise speak with the Arriandin.”
“Do you not find it intriguing how easily you use magic when it is required?” the Mithane wanted to know.
“I use magic because I have to. I still have no desire to use it,” she snarled, but even as she spoke she called her power and she reached for her senses once more. Letting her sight and her power penetrate the stone, wood, and ground beneath Arriandie she added her magic to its defenses and awoke Arriandin to teach him to look for shadow. The very castle would know and block it as well, but she wanted it blocked by all parties.
Do you plan to build in something to allow you and Nivaradros to pass if you ever need to use the shadows to return?
Z blinked in surprise. Arriandin was right, though, and she paused mid-work and built those inclusions—wondering as she did so how he knew about Nivaradros’s power.
He used it while he was reclaiming the castle. He called it where no one who survived would see him use it, but I felt it and I saw what he has at his command. You two are quite the pair.
She decided not to answer. Instead when she finished, she withdrew her touch from the castle and found to her surprise that it clung to her. Recalling it had once housed Rangers, the castle grabbed on to her power and wanted it to remain—in the end it took help from Arriandin to get the castle to release its grip. She could have fought Arriandie, but she understood the castle’s longing and refused to risk damaging it because it recalled a former time.
Exhaling with relief when she met the Mithane’s worried eyes, she offered him a crooked smile. “Oh don’t lecture me. It had to be done, and I am fine.”
“You are always fine,” the Mithane replied sourly. “I am confident that even deceased you will still be fine. You may want to consider stationing a few Ranger Mages here when you assume the throne to ensure Arriandie doesn’t feel neglected.”
Trust him to know what happened. Smiling wryly, she nodded and held out the hand that carried his ring. “Thank you for continuing to put up with my less-than-intelligent plans.”
Laughing, the Mithane accepted her hand and tightened his grip briefly in a reassuring squeeze before letting her go. “I know you well,” he pointed out. “And I have long accepted all of your quirks. Others tolerate them, but hope you will one day grow out of them. The Dragon does not—I do not. Crilyne—I believe—does not. The Heirs likewise do not. We’ve accepted what and who you are.”
“And you’ve guided me,” Z said. “More than anyone, Mithane. Why—dare I ask—have you?”
The pause that led to a silence warned her that like the Dragon, the Mithane had been hiding things from her he worried would distress her. Nivaradros still had things he would not reveal to her, but the Mithane had very little in common with the Dragon and this was one way he reminded her of it.
“You are well aware your mysterious visitor—as you’re known to call him—and I have history.”
As the two appeared to be something akin to acquaintances in as much as they could be; Z was well aware they had history. She didn’t ask, and it was something she hadn’t bothered to try to research. Having considered it a blessing in the beginning that one person liked the visitor she secretly wanted to kill, Z wondered if she had been in error. Staying silent, however, she continued to watch the Mithane. Her face revealed nothing.
“When you came here the first time—when Shevieck finally managed to convince you the Alantaions would not slay you on sight—I saw a very shattered, very dangerous young child before me. You were a danger; even you knew it, and your reluctance to speak to me was a concern. The only thing in your favor was that you had saved Shevieck’s life multiple times. The danger was offset by the fact I could tell you wanted to be anything but that threat. I returned to Arriandie following that meeting and I looked at your future. I could not look far. What I saw gave me hope, but it also left me with fear. You were clearly a gift, but you were also still easily made a hazard if you were handled improperly. I considered your death. You were in Arriandri and within reach.”
Unsurprised he had contemplated her death, Z said nothing. It was, after all, in the past. He was not trying to kill her today, and he was never going to try again. That he had once considered it was minor. Obviously someone or something had changed his mind.
“I summoned Chevello,” the Mithane continued. “And I asked for his counsel since he had traveled with you from the t
ime you allowed him to find you and Shevieck until your arrival in Arriandri. I wanted to know what he thought of you.”
“I was the only mortal human female child,” Z said in a low tone. “He barely was willing to travel with me; I am fairly certain the he conceded to was because Shevieck refused to leave without me.”
“You were, according to him, promising. He felt that I was being too hard on you. When I asked him for his opinion of your fate, he refused to answer. When I demanded it he told me you were the sole Ranger willing to talk to us; killing you probably would end any chance of reforming an alliance with them.” The Mithane snorted. “I was furious with him. Never before had he been that evasive. When I pressed him a third time, he admitted he had hope for you; he thought if he approached you correctly you would be a promising addition to his guard if he ever needed to call upon you. According to him if I had you killed I would ruin everything.”
Z laughed—shocked Chevello had picked her. It had taken her weeks to even consider approaching the training grounds, and longer still to train in front of the Alantaions. Though she did know three times during her evening workouts a few Alantaions had been there watching her. “Death is fairly permanent,” she agreed.
The Mithane smiled, but continued with his tale. “I accepted his thoughts on the matter and I returned to try to meet with you the second day. You were the very picture of Alantaion manners, but you were not doing it for the reasons I would have hoped. But underneath everything I finally was able to see you were far more damaged than my first estimation had revealed. You weren’t just trying to hide your power—you simply wanted to hide. Something I did or said seemed to have set you off—I learned later it was because I was a ruler, and your only meetings with rulers had resulted in abuse, pain, and a long process of breaking. I realized then I had a different problem on my hands. My actions changed to reflect it. I decided to try to heal your mental scars, something beyond the norm of my skills, but something I have achieved in my past.