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  When Forces Rise

  Journey of an Arbais Mage: Book Four

  By Meagan Hurst

  Journey of an Arbais Mage

  by Meagan Hurst

  When the Kingdom Falls

  The Price of Survival

  The Danger with Allies

  When Forces Rise

  Table of Contents

  Dyiavea

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  The Islierre

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dyiavea

  An immortal life was not the glory and power humans often envisioned it to be. It was a long existence of deceit, caution, fear, rage, and regret. Oh, there were the occasional fleeting moments of more preferable events, feelings, and connections, but those times were outweighed by the depths of betrayal and bloodshed that occurred endlessly in an immortal life. With more than a millennium behind her, Dyiavea knew this all too well.

  It was why Zimliya had first appealed to her. Having had limited contact with mortals, especially humans, Dyiavea had found it almost addicting to be around the young human, though Zimliya had been anything but positive. More violent than a pod of Sea Dragons, Zimliya had been a wild card of destruction that made most immortals seem warm in comparison. Worse, Zimliya had been suicidal, and that willingness to throw her life away when it was already so short had pulled at something Dyiavea hadn’t known existed.

  But Zimliya was kind. Even when she was at her most reactive—and therefore dangerous—the human contained a small light inside of her that Dyiavea had come to depend upon. Zimliya didn’t care about race, age, sex, or anything other than who a person was. She didn’t seek eternal aid or loyalty, although Dyiavea knew she would have it from most of the heirs and a few of the rulers. Z just wanted people she could count on in the moment she needed them. What happened afterward happened; what had occurred previously didn’t matter.

  Her thoughts, not ones she had intended to experience, were interrupted by a multitude of voices tripping over themselves in an attempt to be heard from the courtyard. Glancing out the window, Dyiavea felt her heart in her throat at the sight of a familiar chestnut stallion in the swirl of a storm. Zimliya!

  Changing into clothing more suited for winter conditions, Dyiavea made her way from the rooms lent to her by the Alantaions to the snow-filled courtyard where Shanii danced away from the Alantaions that were trying to reach him.

  Shanii spied her approach and whistled with fury as he tried to trample an Alantaion guard who reached for the rider on his back. Was Zimliya even conscious? Dyiavea couldn’t decide as even her eyes couldn’t match the speed at which Shanii moved. Knowing the stallion would let none but a certain Dragon touch his rider, Dyiavea sent a runner to Nivaradros’s wing.

  “In this storm, Zimliya must be courting death,” one of the Alantaions told her with a nod as Shanii finally allowed those gathered a glimpse of his rider.

  Zimliya was slumped forward, arms encircling Shanii’s neck, her eyes closed, lashes crusted with ice. Even though she was an immortal, none of her allies, Dyiavea included, knew what would harm Zimliya and what would not. Immortals, those born to it, could be weakened by the weather, but it was rare for them to fall prey to it, and Dyiavea didn’t want to find out if Zimliya was vulnerable.

  “Shanii, will you let someone assist you? She looks like she’s close to death, you impossible creature!” Dyiavea snapped after Shanii landed a strike on an Alantaion hip.

  Responding to her words with his own manner of communication, Shanii shook his head and bared his teeth in a flat-out refusal. She was not someone he liked, trusted, or gave a damn about, and he told her in no uncertain terms that she was not touching his rider.

  Screaming at him in frustration as she glanced behind her in vain for a sign of Nivaradros, Dyiavea moved forward to snatch Zimliya. Shanii kicked her in the ribs as a warning. A very painful warning. Cursing him more in anger over the pain and the fact he wouldn’t allow them to help, Dyiavea readied herself to try again when a familiar presence emerged from the snow behind her.

  “Shanii, cease, please,” Nivaradros requested in a neutral voice as he caught her when Shanii kicked her a second time. “Don’t harm one of Zimliya’s heiresses simply because you are upset. Let me take Zimliya inside,” the Dragon continued as he made sure she was standing before he reached out for Zimliya.

  Dyiavea watched in astonishment as Shanii became motionless and allowed the Dragon to gather Zimliya in his arms. The woman stirred at his touch and murmured something, causing Nivaradros to smile and brush his lips over her forehead. “Dyiavea, attend us,” Nivaradros requested in a formal tone.

  She bowed without intending to. Watching as Nivaradros nodded to each Alantaion he passed, Dyiavea followed him while doing the same. He reminded her, when he was like this, of the day he had saved her. She wondered if his thoughts ever returned to that day. They had never spoken of it since, had never interacted outside of Zimliya’s presence, but they were both immortals; neither of them could forget what had occurred. Nor did she wish to.

  Nivaradros led her in silence back to the wing the Mithane had gifted to him. Previously the Dragon’s claim of it had been contested, temporary, and a necessary evil, but as Dyiavea followed him inside, she sensed the change. This was no longer a guest wing. This was Nivaradros’s wing. Even Arriandin had accepted him. Surprised and pleased, Dyiavea remained silent as Nivaradros tended to the half frozen Zimliya. Standing against the wall as Nivaradros placed Zimliya upon the bed in the room, she considered leaving. The knowledge that Nivaradros would be offended if she tried kept her where she was.

  Zimliya murmured something in Alantaion—a language Dyiavea knew only the basics of—and Nivaradros replied. The Dragon also brushed his lips over the woman’s before covering her up with blankets. Seeing Zimliya relaxed and accepting of the Dragon’s affection was something Dyiavea was still getting used to. Plus, her presence in the room didn’t seem to alarm Zimliya in the slightest, which was something Dyiavea had never experienced. Nivaradros, Dyiavea knew, was the reason for this tranquility. There had been something growing between them before Nivaradros’s supposed demise, and most of Zimliya’s allies, herself included, had assumed Nivaradros’s death had damaged Zimliya in a manner she wouldn’t overcome.

  But Nivaradros had returned and Zimliya’s walls, even though they had been reinforced, had crumbled with surprising speed. By the time she had recovered enough to be seen by her allies, Nivaradros had been at her side and everyone had noticed the change between them. During the past eight months, Dyiavea had, at times, been able to observe the blossoming relationship between the two. While Zimliya had been busy with her work to regain the kingdoms Midestol had overthrown, Nivaradros had remained at her side, and their bond had been undeniable. Granted, Zimliya had been splitting her time between the Rangers and her allies, handling something in which Dyiavea still hadn’t been included, and when she returned to her people, she allowed no one to follow. Yet each time she had returned, if she and Nivaradros were in the same location, Zimliya had ensured they were hou
sed together.

  “Dyiavea?” Nivaradros spoke from behind her.

  Startled, though she was able to hide it, Dyiavea blinked and pulled herself from her thoughts.

  “Is she alright?”

  Nivaradros’s smile was resigned. “She is. Cold, of course, but I found no damage from the ice and snow upon her; when she woke, she assured me of her health. She simply thought sleep would make the time she sat on Shanii pass more quickly. That and she said the storm was only so much fun to watch up close.”

  Chuckling at the thought because it sounded like Zimliya, Dyiavea shook her head. “She had me worried, but I suppose she is your problem now.”

  Nivaradros’s eyes darkened into a color Dyiavea suspected was linked to his love for the human he had so cautiously, but determinedly pursued. “She is. But she is still the rest of the world’s as well. She is still your friend, Dyiavea.”

  “She has never graced me with that title,” she pointed out. “But, yes, I consider her a friend, and I will continue to assist her where I can and ask for her aid when I require it. Yours as well,” she added.

  The Dragon gestured for her to follow him from the room, and he closed the doors behind him as they moved into one of the rooms in the wing where guests could be entertained. Dyiavea settled upon one of the couches with caution, but nothing about the Dragon alerted her to any negative emotions or intentions. His actions implied this was an informal meeting.

  “Are you hungry?” Nivaradros wanted to know. He settled into a chair as she shook her head.

  Silence fell for a few minutes. Dyiavea didn’t know why Nivaradros wished to speak with her, and although she liked and trusted him, she’d not had as much experience working with him as she would have liked.

  Nivaradros chuckled. “Dyiavea, this is me,” he reminded her in a quiet tone. “We have a past that briefly overlapped before Zimliya’s arrival. Formality has little interest to me, and you are one of Zimliya’s heirs—a heiress if I am being correct—and all of you had to surrender formality to work with her.”

  She smiled, but it was bitter. “Things have changed—will continue to change—but I appreciate your words, Nivaradros.” Searching for something to ask or say, Dyiavea wished Nivaradros would break the silence, but he was at ease with the pauses in the conversation. If she wanted something to change, she would have to initiate it. Or so she thought.

  “You are aware there is an issue with the Shade?” Nivaradros inquired.

  Ah. Now she knew why she had been summoned. Or at least part of the reason. “The majority of those who often interact with Zimliya are aware that lately there has been a shift in her associates, yes. Your return was a surprise, but a welcomed one. However, Crilyne was displeased, and we took note of the mounting tensions between you and him. Zimliya appeared to be ignoring it, but for the last several months, he has been banished from her side and she does not mention him by name. So yes, something has changed. If you believe I know what occurred, you are giving me too much credit or Zimliya too little.”

  Nivaradros’s eyes were amused. A shade of green she found appealing. “She has not explained it to many, but a few have been informed. I was curious to see if those Zimliya has spoken with managed to prove their utter loyalty to her or if they would speak within the Heirs. It appears she has chosen well.”

  “Or my father’s actions are still being held against me,” Dyiavea countered.

  Nivaradros’s eyes brightened. “Zimliya has taken many steps to ensure your father’s actions do not cast a shadow upon you or any of your kind. But if there is a problem, you need to bring it to our attention so it can be addressed.”

  “Nothing further can be done, Nivaradros,” she said, watching his every motion. “No one will attack the Dralations, Zimliya has seen to that, but it will take centuries before I redeem myself in the eyes of those around us.”

  “You were not aware of your father’s plans.”

  “I should have known. I should have warned her.” Dyiavea felt her control over her emotions slip and didn’t bother to catch them. “Damn it, Nivaradros, this is the second time I have failed to notice what I should have!”

  The Dragon rose from his seat and was beside her in less than a second. “Dyiavea,” he started in a tone she couldn’t place. “You are in the top half of Zimliya’s heirs. You were young when we first met. Your father had millenniums of experience and used it to keep everyone but those he recruited oblivious to his motives. Neither event was your fault, nor could you have prevented or changed the outcome.” He paused and his eyes lightened.

  “You have never brought up our first meeting,” Dyiavea pointed out with care.

  “No. But it was not my story to tell, Dyiavea. You have kept our past close to your chest—as humans say—and speaking for you would have been unkind.”

  “Had you not arrived when you did,” Dyiavea whispered, “I would be dead. You saved me, Nivaradros. My brother’s plot would have succeeded, and I have no doubt that if and when Balsish had been awakened, she would have fallen prey to his actions as well.”

  The Dragon’s eyes brightened and flashed with something she thought was rage. “He had your mother’s support, and the two of them had the loyalty of a third of your people,” the Dragon pointed out. “That event—no matter what you were told—was orchestrated to remove you as a threat to his power.”

  “And why did you help? Why did you come?” she demanded to know. Nivaradros, the Warlord, Dragon of death and destruction, had never crossed her path before that day. But he had saved her, aided her, and only left when he was certain she would survive. All without asking for anything in return. All without being asked for anything he had offered.

  “You needed someone,” was the Dragon’s smooth reply, velvety but guarded. “And I despise the immortal practice of assassination to gain power. Especially among kin.” The Dragon’s eyes were brightening to a level Dyiavea didn’t want to encourage. “You would have perished without aid. Your mother and your brother ensured that those they brought with them would raise no protest at your demise. But I have not asked you here to speak of the past. If you desire to speak of that event in more depth, I will agree to it at a different time.”

  Nivaradros’s gaze went past her to the room where Zimliya slept. “The Heirs are rising to power. Even where they are not, they have—you have—become a force to be reckoned with. If I am to remain at Zimliya’s side and not be labeled as something lesser than she, I need to have some of you answer to me.”

  She inhaled sharply enough to create the emergence of a hiss. She was shocked Nivaradros would ask that of her. Of any of them. They were Zimliya’s allies. She had found them, saved them, protected them, and united them. And Nivaradros? He was nothing to them.

  Other than a danger. Regarding him with as neutral an expression as she could manage, Dyiavea struggled to find a suitable way to inquire about the thought processes that had brought him to ask her to shift her loyalty.

  “Zimliya agrees and approves,” the Dragon added in what came across as a lazy afterthought.

  “She what?”

  As far as first responses went, it wasn’t the best, but Dyiavea couldn’t take back the words. Nivaradros’s eyes darkened with amusement. “I would not ask such a thing of you—of any of the heirs—without her permission. Even if I am to theoretically be her equal in stature, I would never seek to raise my status or power by lessening hers.”

  Embarrassed, Dyiavea averted her eyes. She’d seen Nivaradros’s affection for Zimliya. She knew the depths of his loyalty. To have questioned him at all, to have implied he meant to betray Zimliya, should have sent the Dragon into a killing rage. If he was the Dragon the tales had made him out to be.

  “I am not angered, Dyiavea. I understand the concern, I only wished to reassure you. But I would appreciate it if you did not question my dedication to Zimliya’s wellbeing and happiness a second time, unless I have offered proof that your distrust is founded.” Nivaradros smiled. It w
as a faint smile, but it was genuine. He did not repeat his request, but he didn’t need to. There was only one answer she could give him.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She wanted to say more, but the Dragon raised a hand.

  “Spare me the flowery formality that you intend to offer,” Nivaradros requested. His eyes darkened further. “Thank you, Dyiavea. We can speak in earnest of events you need to know.”

  Nivaradros rose from his seat and summoned a stack of parchment to his hands. “Zimliya visited the Tezéracians within the past few months. According to what she discovered, the kingdom is not in the dire straits others have led us to believe. She therefore left power in the hands of Mechail, the human to whom she originally surrendered the kingdom, after she made some minor adjustments.”

  “She managed to avoid one of the kingdoms we tried to hand off to her,” Dyiavea said with a chuckle and a shake of her head. “I knew she would figure out a way to lose one.”

  Nivaradros inclined his head. “Indeed. But if she believes the kingdom will not hamper our efforts to defeat Midestol, then I trust her judgment. We can always revisit the topic and change the outcome if we need to at another time.”

  Dyiavea privately felt that time would approach rapidly again, but she kept her peace. A question she intended to ask Nivaradros regarding the Shade was on her lips when Nivaradros growled. It was a low growl, but the Dragon’s entire feel shifted as his eyes brightened to a shade that always made her uncomfortable.

  Nivaradros was at the doors that led into one of the main halls before she could finish a breath. Dyiavea let her hand slip to one of her weapons as the Dragon yanked one of the doors open. As the door did not break, Dyiavea assumed the Arriandin had strengthened the door. Stiffening, she recognized Crilyne as the presence that had brought Nivaradros to a killing edge.

  “You are not welcome,” Nivaradros growled. “Zimliya has made that clear. She will summon you—if she chooses—should she decide your knowledge or power is required.”