When the Kingdom Falls Read online

  WHEN THE KINGDOM FALLS

  Journey of an Arbais Mage: Book One

  By Meagan Hurst

  Table of Contents

  Crilyne

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Nivaradros

  About This Series

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Crilyne

  It was just past midnight when he felt a light touch on his immortal senses. After weeks of waiting, the being he sought had finally arrived. Their connection warned him of her approach, but that was the only thing he detected. His charge was better at hiding her passage than even the immortal races when she chose, and right now he knew she sought to remain unnoticed by all.

  Even at midnight her people, by choice, would be up and moving around, and, as she was injured, she definitely wouldn’t want to announce her arrival.

  He was surprised, but pleased, that she had chosen to come here. He had been waiting impatiently for her return since her disappearance, but the manner or time of her return was something no one could pin down. It was why he was here, and why so many others watched for her presence elsewhere.

  The problem was, the worse her condition, the more likely she was to avoid contact with anything living until she considered herself well enough to be seen. Which wasn’t now, and meant he would have to approach her with care. Thankfully, he had over a decade of working with the being he waited for, and while he wasn’t always correct in how he approached her, she had been willing to forgive him so far. Unfortunately, forgiveness wasn’t forgetting anything she felt was a transgression. He lightly brushed their connection and smiled. She would be here soon, and he intended to encourage her to meet him upstairs.

  This was—when she chose to acknowledge it—one of her homes. It was also the oldest structure she owned. Both its age and its décor reflected both his charge’s tastes, and the preferences of its former owner; the man who had rescued his charge from the city that had broken her originally. It was one of the reasons he had suspected she might return to this location—to seek solitude here over any other haven she could have considered. And this particular place was unlikely to have visitors. The being he considered his charge wasn’t exactly social.

  He slipped silently up the staircase in the dark—avoiding the floorboard that needed to be replaced—and slid inside the third doorway on the right before closing the door behind him. He snorted as his eyes easily picked up the plainness of the room before him. One day he would discover why there was never anything other than the plainest of furniture in every room, but now was not the time to wonder. She was here at long last, and he could tell she knew he was in the house by the way she moved.

  He couldn’t hear her movements—she was too skilled to be heard when she so chose—but he could sense her. What worried him was how cautious her approach was. He could sense her exhaustion—she was ignoring it—and he worried that her condition was far worse than he had originally suspected. Yet until she entered her room, he could do nothing to aid her. As he could sense an edge upon her as well, it was also highly probable he would be too busy blocking her sword—or some other weapon—to do anything further.

  The door opened in a fluid, silent motion and he felt her sword’s power swell as it was drawn at the same time the figure in the doorway emerged into the room. The sword, Kyi’rinn, was both immortally crafted and magically augmented, so he preferred to avoid its edge. Calling forth a small light with an unneeded softly spoken word, he illuminated the distance between them. He really hoped she didn’t attack him.

  “Welcome, Zimliya,” he said quietly when the figure finally paused. The woman before him eyed him with a mixture of anger, relief, and calculation. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

  A frown touched the features of the human woman who stood in the doorway before the Kyi’rinn was finally placed back in its sheath. She slammed Kyi’rinn back into the sheath, though, and he fought back a wince. She was definitely in one of her moods. Injuries, depending on their severity, always sent her backwards in terms of how she treated those she knew, and how she handled social interactions. Right now, he suspected she’d taken several steps back, and would once again be highly suspicious of those she should have been able to trust by now. It was also likely she would stab anyone who moved for the next few weeks if they startled her.

  “I should have known a Shade walked here when I couldn’t pin down your presence as anything normal,” she growled. Her normally blue eyes flashed ice with the intensity of her anger at his presence, but that was just too bad. She needed help.

  But he knew what the shift in her eye shades meant. Very few humans had the quality of shifting shades, but she did, and the lighter the shade, the more furious she was. And, right now, those eyes were at their lightest. A shade so light many made the mistake of classifying it as off-white or ice. He knew he wouldn’t see the deep blue he preferred until her anger faded.

  He let his own eyes scan her as she examined him. “You should have known regardless. We are still bound in a manner, Zimliya—Z,” he amended as her eyes managed to somehow grow icier in shade, “whether or not you choose to acknowledge it. Despite your generosity in the awakening there is still a link between us, as there is between yourself and the others.” Straightening to his full height since he was taller than she was, he offered her a deadly smile. “Of course, you know all of this, but you are tired, injured, and human. Such things take a toll on—”

  “If you are attempting to imply I was missing the obvious, I will remind you I do know how to end your otherwise endless existence. Shade you may now be, but even a Shade has a weakness that can be used to bring them a full and unescapable death.”

  Her tone was light, but her eyes revealed her words were not as friendly as they sounded. As she was the only living being who could make that threat to him, he knew better than to truly push her. She was, currently, the only living being who possessed the knowledge of how to destroy those who had undergone the transformation from living to Shade. She also had the power.

  “What are you doing here, Crilyne?”

  Oh, she was furious, although when she was past that point with him she used his full name. Crilyne was the shortened form of his name. It had been shortened due to the fact that none of the living races of this age could pronounce his full name—his language and his culture were dead to all but Z, and the other seven of his kind who had likewise made the transition from immortal to Shade. It was one of the two major changes Z had insisted upon after watching how the world accepted the seven oldest surviving Shades.

  He could smell the blood her wounds wept despite the fact her clothing hid them from view. He would have to tread with care here. Z was armed for battle mentally, and she would force herself to fight him if he made a misstep. Of all things he didn’t want to occur, that one topped his list. Since the human before him was both the most powerful being he had ever met—or heard of—and yet, also the most broken being he had ever met, it made sense to be cautious. She knew him, but that didn’t always mean what it should have. Not when it came to Zimliya.

  “You have been in limbo, location-wise, for weeks,
” he said finally. “I came here to see if you would return to one of your named houses. I was unsure you would come here, and I expected a longer wait. The others,” he added before she could ask, “are in places where we also thought you might consider. You were not uninjured in your last known location, and in general you only go to ground to recover.”

  He held her eyes squarely. “In answer to the question you are loudly not voicing, yes, I was sent. There is more than one worried ally of yours who found your sudden disappearance concerning. Generally I am able to calm their fears, but you were there and then you were not. Next time warn someone if you do not want to be chased upon your disappearance.”

  Her expression didn’t shift, but her stare couldn’t get any colder, so it wasn’t as much of a comfort as it could have been. “I have disappeared before,” Z pointed out coolly. “By now they should know—”

  “They do know. They also, however, worry about you. Despite your insistence to ignore the idea and the proof that there are several of us who care for your wellbeing, the fact remains that we do. And while we do not wish to see you die, not knowing is unspeakably worse.”

  He moved close, then, and caught the fist that aimed for his head with ease. Z was inhumanly fast when she wanted to be, but she didn’t tonight—he could tell by her controlled movements. She was also on a level of exhaustion Crilyne rarely saw, and he knew she trusted him enough to let him see her condition now without fear of him taking advantage of it.

  “You should rest,” he advised. “Rest, or go to Arriandri. The Mithane would be more than willing to—” Crilyne halted the rest of the sentence with ease as he read the woman before him.

  There was no hint of an order, or trace of concern, in his tone, as either could and would set Z off. As his goal was to get her to recover instead of arming her for a battle, be it verbal or physical, he knew when to back down. Unfortunately, despite his best intentions, his suggestion had just sent her over the edge. Clearly she hadn’t magically gotten over her negative mindset against healings since he’d last seen her.

  “Absolutely not!” she snarled at the same time she drew Kyi’rinn once more. The sword reacted to her anger and he retreated a step out of habit as the power the blade contained awoke.

  “Alright! Alright, Zimliya, stop!” he demanded as she advanced. “It was a suggestion. Honestly!” Throwing up his hands in the human manner of exasperation, he watched as she slowly settled again.

  “Never suggest that!” she hissed as she slammed her sword back into the sheath once more. “It is not—it will never be—an option.”

  “He would heal you in a heartbeat,” he countered softly. He was willing to accept her choice, but unwilling to back down completely. He also knew she would, if forced by severity or circumstance, accept the Mithane’s aid. She’d done it once before, after all. The problem now was he had to get her to relax again, and she hadn’t truly been at that point in the first place. “At least consider resting—?” he probed as she stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  She was always searching for another angle someone was playing; he both hated and admired that about her. His eyes scanned her form again and he cringed inwardly. She was so thin, and he could smell the blood her anger had released into the fabric of her clothing.

  “There are no threats—?” she ventured at long last as he watched her resign herself to the sleep she so desperately needed.

  Crilyne hesitated, not sure what to tell her that would keep her from fighting herself or, at this point, him. Attempting to lie would set her off again, but the truth could also cause problems. It was always a dangerous line to walk. “There is nothing that threatens the world in any manner that requires your immediate attention. Soon, perhaps, a move will be made against you, but for now your disappearance has bought you some time.”

  He eyed her carefully as he spoke, but she nodded slowly at his words and moved towards her bed. A hint of relief touched him. It was so hard to coax her to do what she needed to do in order to take care of herself, and it was rare things ended up going this well.

  She paused before she reached her bed, and Crilyne bit back a curse. He wandered in a seemingly aimless manner around her room to examine items in silence, knowing full well she would see through his actions, but not giving a damn whether or not she did if it helped ease her suspicions. They played this game often, and it was a game many others played with Z as well. It was something she’d grown used to and, as a general rule, she’d allow.

  “You will keep watch?” Z asked after fifteen minutes had passed without either of them backing down. He turned to regard her again, and saw just how much this was taking out of her. A hint of fear touched him. He didn’t want to lose her now, and yet she had already pushed herself far past what she should have been able to.

  He knew his expression softened then, but with Z he didn’t care. In fact, he was certain it was better to show emotion with her. “If you desired it, I would always watch,” he replied softly. “But yes, I will keep watch tonight. Should anyone become overly adventurous, or suspicious of the signs of passage neither of us could completely hide from a race dedicated to hiding, I will ensure their curiosity does not wake you.”

  She finally moved closer to the bed. She partially stripped—keeping her shirt on, which told him much about her condition—before lying down on top of the covers.

  “Try not to kill anyone,” she murmured to him as her eyes closed.

  “I do always ask,” he replied gravely, but he knew he shouldn’t have bothered. Z had been asleep when she had spoken the words, but she probably heard his answer regardless. She was decidedly dangerous like that.

  Watching the steady rise and fall of the woman’s chest, Crilyne stood slowly and approached her with caution. His pale light faded to something that would give off enough light only to immortals, the dead, and the no longer dead. Examining Z closely he frowned, and then gently moved her under the covers when he deemed it was safe. Z was a light sleeper, but right now exhaustion and her condition kept her from waking at his touch. But she knew him; someone she didn’t trust wouldn’t have been able to touch her.

  His frown deepened as he watched her. She would most certainly have a fever from infection by morning. She could put off a lot of things for a very, very long time, but the price for doing so was equally as high, and Crilyne knew how long she had been ignoring her condition. It had been weeks since she had fled the battlefield before aid could be rendered.

  Magical aid, it was clear, was out of the question. Z’s tolerance of magic was a little biased. So long as it wasn’t directed at her it was fine, but even a healing wasn’t something she considered positive magic. She also had an immense dislike of strangers lending aid—or non-strangers, truthfully—which meant a regular mender was as out of the question as aid from a magically boosted healer was. Her distrust he understood; her refusal to disband that distrust in order to possibly save her life, he did not. She had broken that rule once in her life, and that had been ten long years ago already.

  “You are so stubborn,” he breathed softly.

  Stubborn and distrustful. He was willing to admit she had improved greatly since she had awoken him at the frightening young age of ten, but the truth was she still trusted no one with her life. She did trust a handful with her death. Time, he hoped, would change that further, but it would continue to be quite the battle. Nevertheless, he would remain to keep watch as promised, but he would hate the fact he couldn’t do more.

  The fever would eat away at the health she had regained between her last brush with death and this one, but she thankfully wasn’t in the worst condition he had seen her in. Then again, she wasn’t in the best condition either.

  Ten years ago her health hadn’t been a problem. He’d had a piece of her future to hold on to; a piece of her future, from his past. All of her injuries—all of her close calls—hadn’t been a concern as his past had revealed she would survive until at least her fourteenth year. It had granted hi
m a brief amount of peace to know that her refusal to take proper care of herself would not kill her—and, in theory, couldn’t kill her—based on their history. But that moment of security was long gone now, and Z’s death was possible at any time. Especially given his presence and that of the seven others she had awoken with him. The price to pay for awakening one Shade was high—five mortal years per awakening—and Z had chosen to awaken all eight of his kind.

  “Forty years,” he whispered. “Why did you not take someone with you?”

  It was a question she undoubtedly had heard from him before—one she probably could hear him ask now—but she had never chosen to answer the question. She had, however, ensured that all of his kin would remain awake long after her passing, and for that he was grateful. It had also, thankfully, not claimed any more years of her life than the original waking had. Others had donated their years to him, and to the other Shades of his race, and he was pleased with the amount of time he had left before sleep would once again claim him and his peers. It was one of the blessings, and curses, that came with being a Shade.

  Granted those extra years came with a price he hadn’t anticipated. With Z’s intervention he and the others would ‘live’ again for seven thousand years each, at the very least, but it already felt like a black gift. The human would be long dead by the time even half a century of those years had passed. If she lasted that long, and with her habits, her lifestyle, and the years she had surrendered to awaken the Shades, it would be a miracle.

  It was incredible to think he was worrying about the passage of years now, as he was one of the last of his now extinct immortal race, and he had lived millenniums before the end of his people. He had managed the transfer into a Shade with ease, and had been around for over a hundred and fifty millenniums since then, yet he had never once felt the passage of time.

  Z’s life made him feel it. Her death, unavoidable unless something drastic happened to change her mortality, weighed down on him. He had seen whole races die, he had killed millions throughout the millenniums of his existence; he had seen countless others perish through every possible kind of death without remorse. Z’s death, however, would be the only one he truly felt, and it had yet to happen. Not to mention the woman had already come close to perishing more times than he cared to recall.