by Meagan Hurst
The Mithane’s eyes closed for a moment as his opened. “I wish you had better news,” the Alantaion finally said after a long pause. “But while I am not able to aid her, I am not willing to lose her either.” Hissing softly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the Mithane attempted to stand. Shalion stood immediately as it became clear the Mithane was not strong enough to succeed.
“Perhaps you should tell me what you seek, and I will bring it to you?” Shalion offered tentatively as he helped the Alantaion ruler—the true one—back into the bed.
“Perhaps,” the Mithane agreed with an edge in his tone. An edge that wasn’t directed at Shalion. It was the frustration over the strength one was lacking that one so desperately wanted. “On my desk there is an old, black pouch bound with ancient magic that is long before your time—runes you cannot read should reveal themselves as you approach it.”
That was less than comforting to hear. “Is it dangerous?” he demanded as he nevertheless stood and worked his way over to a desk that made his whole tent look tidy. It wasn’t that the desk was messy per se, but the amount of paperwork was at least three feet high in some places. Eyeing the desk with concern as he approached it, he began to look for the bag without touching anything.
“No, it is not. It contains nothing more than old healing magic, but it may be enough to help Zimliya—if she still lives. Honestly, you left her with the Shade?! Alone?! Did everyone’s senses take leave? I know you are injured, but no one else is.”
“Crilyne grabbed her and had her barricaded in his tent before any of us could stop him,” Shalion explained tiredly as he tried to negotiate the desk without knocking anything over. Finding what he sought after several minutes, he watched as golden runes did light up around the dark fabric at his touch. There was also a slight tingling sensation as he carried it back to the Mithane.
“No, don’t bring it here,” the Alantaion criticized. “Take it to the Shade. Perhaps he will let you see Zimliya—in fact, insist upon it. I want to know how she is doing.” His eyes were half brown and half black, but Shalion nodded and moved to leave.
“I will let you know her condition,” he promised the Mithane. “As Zimliya constantly reminds us, the time to keep secrets between kingdoms is long past. Especially when it concerns her. Your guards may be hard to get through.”
“My tent is surrounded?” the Mithane asked drily.
“That is a bit of an understatement. I believe, if you hadn’t summoned me, I would have been turned away.”
The Mithane chuckled, and his eyes went solid brown. “I’ll talk to them,” he promised. “This is the first time they have seen me this weak, and I think they are frightened by it. For every previous injury, Chevello had me safely tucked away. My people are unaware of all the times I died, or came very close, in the past.”
Shalion blinked in surprise. “Died?!” he asked in astonishment. “You’ve died? When? How are you alive then?!” So many other questions threatened to escape, but he swallowed them and waited for the Alantaion to answer.
The Mithane’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Truly you didn’t think Zimliya was entirely alone in that regard,” he replied with a soft, weak, chuckle. “It is a trait of healers, though most of us do not have dangerous enough lives to reveal this aspect of the talent. Healers are very difficult to kill, Shalion. Surely you knew this.”
“Zimliya is not a true healer.”
“But she is, Shalion, she has simply ignored it, and I suspect she unintentionally blocked her ability to fully access her power. Her body and her magic, however, cannot ignore the power it can grab in order to fix itself. In Zimliya’s case, her magic works without her permission; in my case, I’ve tuned my skills to accomplish a better, faster healing, but even that takes time.”
Shalion was astonished the Mithane had revealed this to him. He was, in spite of himself, touched, and he was envious of Shevieck. This was the type of father he would have preferred.
“Why is this not common knowledge?” he wanted to know.
“Most healers are healers. To be in a position of power, to be a warrior, to not heal, is a struggle for most of us. Ending a life, to most, is something we cannot consider. Zimliya shunned that part of herself, so she can ignore it. I chose to fight some of my instincts, and my position as the Mithane prevented me from becoming a true healer. Also, some of us have such a weak talent that it is not a problem.” The Mithane saw his expression and chuckled again.
“As a healer, just assisting those who come seeking aid, there is less danger. Injuries, if they come, arrive by the hands of people who are generally passing through and those people do not stay around to ensure the healer does not survive. The minute we are injured, all of our power rushes to the injury and, as a result, we seemingly pull off the impossible. Yes, we can still be killed, but we have an advantage over most. Zimliya, of course, is an exception for a human, but she is not alone with her ability to survive. The Rangers—”
“I’ve seen Kitra’s injuries. I blame her, between the two of us, for how Zimliya treats her own wounds,” Shalion rolled his eyes.
The Mithane smiled. “Kitra, however, allows healers or she would not have survived as long as she has, and as long she must.” His eyes darkened with concern. “While we are discussing injuries, how are you?” he added quietly as his eyes moved to the bandages Shalion knew he would be wearing for some time yet.
“Surprisingly well; Zimliya managed to save me,” he said with a shrug. “But she only managed to free me before she got hit—if she wasn’t hit when she tried to help me. I will recover in time.”
“I could not have done even that,” the Mithane admitted. “She and I will have to sit down and discuss healing in depth one day soon to see if we can get her talent under control. I want to see that day,” he added. “Make sure the Shade is well aware he is not to change her into one of them. A Shade, after all, cannot heal others. Healing is a talent that belongs only to the living.”
Knowing he had no chance against Crilyne, Shalion bowed in silence, and left the Mithane to seek the Shade on the opposite side of the encampment.
The Shade’s tent made his skin twitch from the magic that was encompassing it. Since no one walked within forty feet of the thing, Shalion knew he wasn’t the only one reacting to it. Still, he was unable to avoid it. Gritting his teeth as he got within five feet of the flap, he closed his eyes and braced himself for a possible attack.
“Crilyne, I’ve been to see the Mithane!” he shouted angrily. “I have something that can help her, but I want to see her before I relinquish it!”
Silence, broken only by birds in the distance, was his answer. Anger emerged slowly, and Shalion considered trying to breach Crilyne’s wards before there was a release of power. The blast forced him to take a step back, but there was still no answer from Shade. Unwilling to approach, Shalion waited until Crilyne emerged. Eyes glittering dangerously, the Shade appeared anything but safe.
“After you,” Crilyne snapped as he gestured towards his tent. His eyes, however, were searching for something.
Shalion held up the small bag he’d been entrusted with and watched in relief as the Shade relaxed a hair. “He said it would help,” Shalion informed the Shade softly.
“That remains to be seen, but it might,” Crilyne said in a controlled tone. The dangerous air around him vanished, and Shalion had a feeling whatever he carried—and he planned to find out—was known by the Shade.
Hesitating, Shalion stepped into the tent before Crilyne, and immediately searched for Zimliya. When he didn’t see her, Shalion felt a touch of panic surround him before he forced it down. She had to be here. Whirling to face the Shade, Shalion’s temper began to simmer once more.
“Where is she?” he demanded with a hiss.
Crilyne’s smile was cutting, but he gestured slightly, and Shalion followed his hand as Zimliya appeared before his eyes. Lying on a cot in a corner—drenched in sweat—was the woman he loved. Shalion ha
nded the Shade the pouch before hurrying over to her side. Kneeling beside her, ignoring the pain he was causing himself, Shalion brushed the soaked hair back from her forehead.
She was weak—worse than weak—and her breathing was ragged. There was a spot of red from her shoulders to her hips, signifying the amount of blood she had lost since the Shade had bandaged her, and she was bandaged. Shalion felt almost naked after looking at the thick layers the Shade had covered Zimliya with. Worse, Shalion was positive her wounds were infected by the smell he detected in the air.
He hated seeing her like this. It was always difficult to see Zimliya take an injury, but the ones that could steal her from them were the hardest. As she had just recently gained immortality, this one was that much harder to accept. She was supposed to be safer, and yet she was now the closest to her demise that he felt she ever had been, and he’d seen her past the living. He’d been there just over a year ago when she’d perished after completing the Tenian barrier.
“Stay here with us, Zimliya,” he whispered in her ear as he brushed his lips over her forehead. “I know I have no right to ask, I am certain you are tired of us, and I know you’ve sacrificed more than anyone should, but come back to us. Stay here. Do not allow this to claim you. Fight this.” She stirred briefly, weakly, at his words, but he wasn’t sure she was aware of them. Murmuring reassurances to get her to settle down so she wouldn’t harm herself, he kissed her forehead once more as she quieted. Covering her chest with a sheet, he straightened and turned to face the Shade.
“I forgot the bond you two share,” Crilyne muttered as his eyes narrowed. There was once again a dark edge to Crilyne, but it eventually softened. “Well, Ryelention,” the Shade breathed. “What do you think of Zimliya’s condition?” There was a sardonic tone that lay under the Shade’s curiosity, and it caused his anger to sharpen. “Will you continue to petition me over turning her into a Shade?”
“Yessss,” Shalion snarled. “Don’t you dare!”
“She is dying! The Mithane collapsed trying to heal her!” Crilyne spat. “Yet you are perfectly content to force her to suffer rather than let me do the one thing that will end her suffering while allowing us to keep her.”
“Turning her into a Shade is not the answer!” he snapped back at the Shade. “It keeps her here, yes, but she can be bound, controlled, and taken by sleep. We do not want that. Try the Mithane’s aid first,” he added coldly.
The Shade’s features displayed his rage, but Crilyne moved past him to touch Zimliya’s face. Picking up the hands that he had just covered, Crilyne placed the pouch in the woman’s hands, and closed her fingers over it. Shalion expected the Shade to have to do more, but the runes began to glow through her hands. After at least ten minutes, the runes faded and Shalion let out a sigh of relief as Zimliya appeared to breathe more easily.
Crilyne gently took the remains of the bag from Zimliya’s hands. Touching her forehead once more, the Shade nodded absently and relaxed further. “I will wait,” he said quietly. “I will stay my hand for a little while longer, but when the time comes, Ryelention,” he warned as Shalion headed to the door, “I will let nothing stand in my way. I have surrendered her to her fate too many times. This time I plan to force it to go my way.”
Inclining his head stiffly—not trusting himself to speak—Shalion left and headed to return to the Mithane. If Crilyne meant to turn Zimliya into a Shade, then he wanted her in someone else’s care. As the Shade currently had her locked in his tent, Shalion saw prevention as the only way. Unless he spoke with his father …
The thought brought him up short. Changing directions, he moved to find the one being in the world with enough control of the shadows that Shalion was positive Crilyne’s defensive spells would be powerless against him. Ten minutes later, Shalion cleared his throat outside the Islierre’s tent. He expected silence, anger, or a curt dismissal, but instead the flap opened on its own, and he ducked his head to enter.
His father was standing with his back to him, but Shalion could tell he had been waiting for him. “Zimliya?” the Islierre demanded in a lowered tone.
“He intends to turn her the minute she weakens,” Shalion replied as his jaw tightened.
His father turned. “Then you come to ask me to fetch her.”
“I have.”
“I will not.” The Islierre turned away. “Before you decide to storm out in anger, let me explain. Also, I wish to speak to you about Azabell.”
Shalion had been on his way out when the name stopped him in his tracks. “She talked to you?” he whispered. He didn’t know why he had even asked. Of course Zimliya would have spoken to his father about Azabell. She’d promised she would, and her injuries would have made it critical to discuss his desire with the Islierre immediately.
“She did. She was quite concerned and upset, but the poison was deep within her veins at that point, so I believe she was more prone to emotions than usual. If you truly wish to have Azabell as your Islierriera, I will allow it if we come to an agreement. Crilyne will not be able to change Zimliya into a Shade. He may make the attempt, but it will be thwarted every time. He does, however, have to be with her. He is the only one who can take her where she needs to be. The rest of us, regrettably, will just have to wait for her return. I was assured she will not perish,” the Islierre added, “but her recovery will be slow.”
“Who told you this?”
“I am not inclined to say, but I believe them, and so my offer is this: let Crilyne keep Zimliya, and I will remove Azabell’s name from the list of traitors.”
“And if he kills her?”
“He won’t, Shalion. And if she is endangered I will find a way to deliver her to the Alantaions. I will swear it with magic if you demand it of me.”
Shocked, Shalion let the words sink in. “I will agree to those conditions, but she is weak, Islierre, and the Shade is not the Mithane.”
“I will keep that in mind. Let me know when you speak to Azabell.” It was a dismissal and Shalion took it as such.
His father’s confidence in whoever or whatever had told him Zimliya would survive was unexpected, and Shalion found he had to believe it. If it was true—if she would survive—then Shalion’s plan could go forward. The Dragon’s gift to him a couple of years previously would finally be put to use, and Zimliya would be forced into a position she so rightly deserved to have.
If she survived. If Midestol didn’t kill her while she was recovering from her injuries. And if he managed to keep the rest of the heirs together while she recovered. Dyiavea had gained some animosity from some of the other heirs overnight despite the fact he’d spoken up on her behalf. He’d need to resolve the brewing tempers before the Dralation was attacked, especially with how uptight everyone was. It would, he knew, take work. He didn’t have Zimliya’s ability to get along with everyone—whom she wanted to, and when she wanted to—and he didn’t have her aptitude with getting others to tolerate those they normally wouldn’t. He also was lacking the history that she held and used against them when someone tried to push against her.
Of course, she liked that; the tension. The instant where it was possible for a disaster to occur. She often even attempted to coax some of the disasters into action when she was truly bored. Shalion, on the other hand, chose those times to find cover. He had seen the results in other instances, and he preferred the quiet. One of these days he was going to have to speak to the Mithane regarding that particular trait of Zimliya’s, he suspected it had something to do with her past.
The Mithane knew more about Zimliya than any immortal save the Shade, and Shalion would never ask Crilyne anything. Especially not when the Shade was outside of Zimliya’s control. Heading back to his tent, Shalion pushed aside his flap before freezing in surprise when he came face-to-face with Crilyne. The Shade’s eyes were gleaming with power, and Shalion automatically took a step back before mentally cursing himself for the display of weakness.
“Yes?” he inquired icily. “I take it b
asic manners are now beneath you?”
Crilyne’s shrug implied a subtle threat. “You were gone for some time. Sit. We need to talk.”
Only a Shade could stroll into another immortal’s tent and start giving commands. Well, only a Shade or Zimliya. Shalion, however, didn’t feel like arguing with a being he couldn’t terminate, so he lowered himself into the only chair his tent contained.
“What do you want?” he demanded when Crilyne made no move to start the conversation.
“I’d like to apologize,” the Shade began slowly. “It is not your fault Zimliya was injured, and you did bring me the only thing that seems to have stabilized her. I understand it was from the Mithane, but he apparently isn’t willing to face me.”
As the Mithane was unable to stand, Shalion was tempted to debate this, but since the Mithane was unable to stand, and Crilyne looked like he wanted to kill someone, he decided not to press things.
“We all care about her,” he answered in an even tone.
It was forced, but he managed it, and he managed to keep his hand away from the small poisoned dagger he carried in his boot. Since the dagger would serve no purpose other than to make the Shade bleed, attacking him was about as effective as fighting the Shade with a feather. Then again, Crilyne really did look ready to murder someone. Of all Zimliya’s Shades, Crilyne was the one Shalion distrusted the most, the one he expected to betray her. There was something about him Shalion had always distrusted.
“We do,” Crilyne agreed with a sigh. “And as much as it pains me to admit it, I no longer have the power—though that is not the right word—over her and her decisions that I once held. It is hard to accept the dangers and risks she will face; harder still to see the outcome when it causes her harm. This,” he added, “is difficult for me to accept with any kind of grace. But it is not your fault. You’re also injured, you did everything you could to help her, and she happens—magic knows why—to like you. Your demise is tempting, but she would never forgive me if I killed any one of her allies. I regrettably must wait and hope for a positive outcome. An outcome I feel will not occur. I preferred things when I knew she would be alright.”