by Meagan Hurst
Midestol’s smile was dark. “I’ll do my best to see that it is not too complicated to put on, but I will send a slave up in case my perception of the dress is incorrect.” He left her and Z let out a breath of relief as her door closed.
Repacking became how she settled herself while she waited for Midestol to send up clothing she was positive would be at least as revealing as the clothing he had given her the night before. Even though she had gotten over the whole being-seen-naked thing before she hit ten years old, being around Nivaradros had changed her outlook. She still didn’t care about the lack of clothing, but she did care about the situation surrounding it. Being half-dressed so Midestol could flaunt her irritated her; being walked in on when she was dressing or getting undressed on the battlefield was a fact of life.
About thirty minutes later there was a timid knock on her door and Z moved to open it. A young girl—frightened and unsure of what she was walking into—was waiting with fabric draped over her right arm. The girl’s hazel eyes met hers through bruises that surrounded them, and Z could see that months of living Midestol’s lifestyle had slowly broken her down. Z was willing to bet she was one—possibly the sole living—of Tylaris’s daughters as she carried a hint of his looks about her.
“You can come in,” Z said as the girl stared at her. Knowing what it was like to go from a normal healthy lifestyle to an abusive one, Z reminded herself to tread with care around this new helper.
The girl nodded and moved past her as if she expected a strike. She said nothing and placed what she carried on the bed before scooting away to stand against one of the walls. It was obvious she had been—as Midestol termed it—‘well trained’ but Z found an anger begin to surface that she rarely felt on the behalf of others. “What is your name?” Z ventured, keeping her voice low since gentle wasn’t something she was good at.
A slightly wild look was her answer at first, but Z was patient and waited until the girl decided it wasn’t a trick question. “Ayarita…” the girl replied cautiously.
“Is your father Tylaris?” she decided to ask. The girl flinched at the name but said nothing. Her reaction, however, was far too revealing. “Well it’s nice to meet you, but perhaps we should get me dressed to ensure Midestol doesn’t come up here in a fit of rage.”
At the dark mage’s name Ayarita paled and shied away from her. But the girl quickly moved forward to help as Z began to strip from the Ranger clothing she had changed into after her trek the night before. She heard Ayarita’s sharp hiss of breath as her scars were revealed, but Z said nothing until she picked up Midestol’s choice of clothing. Swearing in languages she knew the girl wouldn’t know, she eyed the dress with disgust.
“I might as well just go in the nude and save myself the embarrassment of wearing this,” she growled.
She felt Ayarita start with surprise and found the girl was growing more and more curious with her and less cautious. “Why are you here?” Ayarita wanted to know as she helped with the zipper that only went halfway up her back since the rest of her back and half of her front was bare.
“I needed to speak with Midestol,” Z admitted. “He had something I was hoping to claim back, which required me to meet with him in person.”
“Did you get it back?”
“No,” Z replied. “I came here to try and free an ally’s friend. Unfortunately, Midestol decided to kill her instead.”
“And you’re still here?!”
It was always hard for people to understand her and how she could separate what someone did from who they were. Looking past their actions, if need be. “Midestol is my grandfather,” she decided to tell the girl. “And since he has discovered we are related, he prefers that I come to visit on occasion. He is what he is,” she added with a grimace before falling silent. She could tell Ayarita didn’t understand and she had no desire to keep explaining things the twelve-year-old would probably never grasp. Most beings around her struggled to understand her as it was.
Silence finished the meeting. Once Z was dressed, the girl retreated to a corner of the room as Midestol entered. His eyes swept over Z, but he nodded his approval. “It suits you.”
“Oh good,” Z said sarcastically. “It has been my life’s ambition to look like a whore.” It was only Midestol’s presence that kept Ayarita from making a deadly error. As it was Z could feel the girl’s amusement at her response, and she worked to distract Midestol from the girl immediately. “One day you could actually surprise me and allow me to wear clothing that has coverage.”
Apparently Midestol’s temper hadn’t been dismissed while he had been away. His strike was solid and hard—whipping her head to the left as the taste of blood became present in her mouth. “If you intend to share this mood at breakfast I will remind you I can make your visit here difficult.”
Smiling darkly, Z moved to stand up near Midestol until they were almost nose to nose. For a minute he glowered at her and Z felt his magic swelling, but she didn’t back down and she held his gaze with hers. Midestol’s eyes changed from flashing to amused and he stepped back first. “Oh well done,” he chuckled. He glanced at her again, but this time Z felt her clothing shifting on her form. It was as uncomfortable here as it was wherever else it occurred.
When the sensation faded she glanced down and discovered Midestol once again had changed things. She was fully clothed. In a dress that revealed nothing more than her neckline, her arms, and her legs. Offering him a nod of thanks, she glanced at Ayarita out of the corner of her eyes and found the girl staring at Midestol in utter confusion. If Midestol noticed, the girl would be dead.
“Shall we?” she wanted to know as she offered Midestol her arm. He accepted it with grace and thankfully never glanced at the slave who was still staring at him incomprehensibly.
They reached the hall without incident, but since he was escorting her directly, Z wouldn’t have expected anything more to happen. He did, however, display that he was less than pleased at how things had turned out—despite his amusement—by having her open the doors to the hall. Scowling at him as she let the blades cut her, she managed to hold her tongue as the doors swung open.
“I believe I have managed to discover how the slaves escaped,” Midestol informed her in bored tone as he led her through the mass of tables that held those he allowed to dine with him in his castle.
“Oh?” It was far easier to keep her eyes on him than it was to meet the thousands of eyes that were trying to figure out how to break her. She could tell he was secretly pleased she was entering at his side and it made her once again question how he was when it came to family; she knew how he was otherwise.
“It seems that one of my guards may have accidentally left open one of the cages last night after he returned one of the slaves. Since it was on the lower levels, I presume they had plenty of time to figure a way out. I have no idea where they managed to exit the castle, but as they are unfamiliar with the world I suspect the creatures that call my lands home will be well fed for the next several weeks unless I can locate them before then.”
“If they are not from this world, Midestol, they will not last three days in your kingdom,” Z countered as he led her up the stairs that separated his table from the rest of the diners. “Our world isn’t friendly even in the most peaceful lands. Your very soil will eat them for lunch.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
“At a certain point survival of the fittest is a useful thing, and if they are too stupid to avoid getting eaten, we probably don’t want generations of them living around the world.”
“There are times when your practicality goes hand in hand with my views of the world, and I get this warm fuzzy feeling inside. Then you destroy it. But at least I know that somewhere you do have a sense of priorities.”
She took her seat without replying. Again he had placed her a few chairs from his seat and she found she didn’t mind. Breakfast began as dinner had, and Z let out a sigh of relief at the straightforward meal she was offered
. She had absolutely no idea what it was, but she did know it wasn’t poisonous, made from humans, and it didn’t look disgusting. Unable to help herself, she glanced around both the table and the hall to see what everyone thought of the different breakfast.
It was worth it. To see a group of warriors poking at their breakfast like it was going to jump out of the plates and kill them made her day all that much more of a success. Her other success up to this point had been Midestol allowing her to dress normally. Still, she had to continually hide a smile at the lack of trust the warriors placed in their cooks just because the food looked a little different. Sending a look toward Midestol. She found her grandfather had the same beliefs as his men; he hadn’t touched his meal either.
He would kill over his anger. Sighing loudly, Z decided to forgo manners and picked up her silverware properly only to let the knife screech against her plate when she cut through the unidentified meal on the plate. It got the desired result; all eyes moved to her. Ignoring them, she continued to cut the food on her plate into smaller pieces—though this time she did it without the screeching—before she placed a bite in her mouth. She was fairly certain half of the room was holding its breath.
When she didn’t keel over and continued to eat like nothing had happened, conversations began to resume and all around her the warriors began to eat. She saw several expressions shift from neutral to delight as they discovered what they had been served actually tasted better than what they were normally offered. She ignored the various attempts by the men surrounding her to engage her in a conversation and focused on the meal. Z even accepted the offer of seconds which was something she tried to avoid, especially when here.
“Zimliya,” Midestol called from his position five chairs up, startling her. She gave him her undivided attention, but found his attention wasn’t on her. Following his gaze, she found herself tensing and her hand slowly slid down to the hidden daggers even the original dress had allowed her to carry. “Zimliya, attend!” Her grandfather barked as she stood with fury while the figure that had arrived began to approach the main table.
“Midestol, what is this?” she spat as she brought the daggers up and into a ready position.
“I do not know,” Midestol answered. “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill him.”
“He is already dead.”
“He doesn’t appear to be dead to my admittedly inexperienced eye.”
Throughout the whole discussion though the man continued to approach—and he was a man, which made things worse. Pausing before the table, he bowed first to Midestol and then to her. “I expected a warmer greeting from you, Z,” he commented with a smile. “No greetings for a friend?”
“You haven’t been a friend for years, Nicklyn,” Z snapped as she kept her eyes trained for the slightest of movements. “And you certainly weren’t a friend when you tried to kill me.”
He laughed and Z flinched. Her magic reached out to test him and the results caused her doubt herself for the first time. This was Nicklyn. It was also impossible that it was him; after she had killed him she had burned his remains to keep him from becoming either a Shade or from defeating death by becoming one of the other two types of undead. If she needed a reminder of why she hated magic, she had just been handed one. This was Nicklyn standing before them and not a trick of the magic like he had been in Tenia. It truly was him. She didn’t know quite how to handle this.
“You should probably be aware that Zimliya is involved with Nivaradros,” Midestol inserted when neither she nor Nicklyn continued to speak.
Nicklyn actually started and his eyes narrowed as they met hers. “Is that true?”
“Does it matter?” she drawled. She was furious at whoever had made this possible. She didn’t want to have to kill him again and it was obvious someone was playing games with her. How else could Nicklyn have magically returned from the dead and managed to gain ten years of age at the same time?
“You weren’t interested in relationships.” It was a statement, and a very cold one. Nicklyn’s eyes met hers with fury, but beneath it all she detected a hint of pain. Great.
“It’s been over a decade,” she pointed out. “And Nivaradros is…well he’s determined.” Her daggers stayed in her hands, but she lowered them. The entire hall was focused on them, but Z didn’t give them the slightest bit of attention. “Why are you here, Nicklyn?”
“I believe you remember I work for Midestol.”
“Worked,” Z snapped. “You died, Nicklyn. Nothing changes that.”
“And if Midestol allows it, will you kill me again?” He wanted to know with a very sly smile.
She didn’t have to answer that question. Midestol—forgotten by both of them—stood, stepped around his chair, and approached his former protégé. “I believe I told my guest that he was not allowed to interfere in this manner. It is a breach of our agreement.” He glanced at her, of all people, and Z inclined her head in agreement.
For the second time in as many meals one of Midestol’s warriors—only this time Z wasn’t sure Nicklyn counted as a warrior—exploded. Thankfully this time it was at the end of the meal, and Z didn’t have to worry about the splatter that covered her plate even though Nicklyn had been further from the table than the previous dinner’s victim. Not willing to even leave the possibility of Nicklyn’s return open, Midestol took things one step further. Every single piece, drop, or shred of Nicklyn burst into flame until there was nothing but several scorch marks left along the ground, tables, and anyone unfortunate enough to have a piece of Nicklyn land on them. Midestol was thorough; if his people were contaminated he cleansed them with fire.
“Going to extremes?” Z asked Midestol over the screams of his warriors.
“You already killed and burned him; I have to be slightly more creative.” Midestol’s eyes blazed with anger and Z made the decision to join him rather than continue to shout at him. Somehow Midestol’s clothing and body were spotless. He didn't have to apply his caution to himself. “I will handle this, Zimliya,” he promised as she placed herself beside him. “I have absolutely no idea what he was thinking, but this will not happen again.”
“I’d like to believe you, but this shouldn’t have occurred in the first place,” Z said sourly. “I burned him myself. This already should have been impossible; I don’t think even the most disciplined mage would spend hours assembling burned bits and pieces of human just to try and torment me.”
Chapter 19
The meal ended soon after Midestol’s rather permanent decision regarding Nicklyn. Once again, he escorted Z to her tower, but he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. According to him this prevented him from losing several of his warriors on a daily basis, since only an idiot would try to attack her while she was with him. Or someone who was extremely suicidal considering how murder-happy Midestol had been since she had arrived.
Thanking him for escorting her back to her room, Z headed up the stairs on her own. Midway, she could tell she had a visitor and hissed softly. Drawing a dagger seemed pointless due to the information she had, so she threw open her door instead and eyed the figure on her bed with disgust. “I see you managed to somehow become a Wraith.”
Nicklyn’s smile was guarded enough she could almost forgive him for reappearing. It helped that he wasn’t technically alive. Z considered Wraiths to be failed Shades. They were dead, without power of their own, and easier to kill. Of course, Midestol’s method of eliminating Nicklyn was not one of the ways to kill them. Instead, Midestol’s magic had empowered him for some time. Wraiths didn’t need to be awakened, and they fed off the magic of others. Stealing it. Like Shades they were extremely rare, but unlike Shades it wasn’t because they were hard to become. Wraiths were often destroyed for trying to steal power from the wrong source soon after they made their first appearances.
“I knew you’d figure it out eventually. My former lord seems to have been a little over eager to remove me from your presence.” Nicklyn rose from the bed and flash
ed her another smile—one that was more open, yet somehow darker. “How have you been, Z?”
“Fine,” she muttered as she turned away from him. “What do you want, Nicklyn?”
“I want you to stop treating me like I am such a horrible being, for one. Need I remind you it was you who killed me?” He came up behind her and she whirled—daggers at the ready although she didn’t strike. A dagger, if she remembered correctly, could kill him. Magic could not. Nicklyn was also aware of the danger because he stepped back immediately. Holding up his hands to show they were empty, Nicklyn retreated to the far side of the room. His brown eyes had no pupils, but she could tell he was cautious, yet curious, and when she lowered her weapons he smiled. “Not willing to kill me yet?”
“Not until I know why you are here.”
He shrugged. “I have an offer for you,” he told her at long last. “One I am to make on behalf of one of the older beings that have been granted access to this world.”
“He was only granted access by Midestol,” was her cold response, “but what is his offer?”
“Free passage for you and any you choose to take with you off of this world. Rather than lose to Midestol, you and those who want to go with you would be able to find a new world and live without the constant threat Midestol poses.”
“Until he decides he wants the world we occupy,” Z retorted. “Besides, this is our world—not your being’s. He cannot have it.”
“Midestol will win, Z. Do you not understand? You cannot defeat him. He has powers you do not know of and—”
Irritated to the point of wanting to shut him up, Z summoned absence and shadow and held them both in her hands. “I have powers he does not. Since your demise, I have been using my magic. I have also—in case it escaped your attention—gained immortality. I am not going to be easy to kill, Nicklyn.”
“Neither is Midestol.”
“Believe I am well aware of how difficult it is to kill my grandfather,” she muttered without thinking. Nicklyn’s brows rose sharply and he approached her with some speed until her daggers rose.