The Price of Survival (Journey of an Arbais Mage Book 2) Page 14

  “With my luck, you would have another one of your spells and cut off something important without killing yourself. And Kyi’rinn is unlikely to let me touch it, especially if you intend to kill yourself with it!” Nivaradros snapped, but she could see he was being worn down. Between the words the Kryhista had offered, her latest little attack, and his desire to keep her alive for his own reasons, she could see him starting to consider the idea of possibly killing her—or saving her.

  “I wouldn’t advise this, but if you decide to go through with this, I want to be here to at least heal Zimliya on the off chance she does survive and needs a little boost to get going while her body adjusts to the shock of something so foreign,” a now familiar male voice said calmly from her left.

  Dyslentio appeared in her line of vision soon after—after he shoved Nivaradros away and kept him at bay with only a threat of his horn—and his eyes held hers briefly before he touched her cheek slightly with his muzzle and backed away. He then headed smugly over to the Dragon’s side and offered Nivaradros a very superior look.

  “Don’t look so happy, a year ago she would have gutted you for that,” the Dragon grumbled darkly.

  “But she didn’t,” the Kryhista pointed out.

  “She’s been working on it. Need I remind you what happened when she first woke up? She grabbed your horn—burned her hands—and for a second I was almost certain you were going to end up dead.”

  “If we could not get into a five hour immortal-play-for-power conversation?!” Z interrupted before anyone else could continue. As she spoke she touched her chest as her heart rate sped up on its own. Once again, she was reminded of the blessing a lack of pain could be. “We are running out of time,” she told them both—them all, since the female Kryhista was still here as well.

  Nivaradros’s eyes were still dangerous, but he turned to the two other immortals from a race that really shouldn’t have accepted his presence at all—and certainly not befriended him as Dyslentio had—and exhaled without fire or smoke. “I am willing to work with you if you promise me not to do anything that jeopardizes her health even further. I honestly don’t know why I am letting you talk me into this!”

  Because he wanted her alive. Z closed her eyes as she forced herself to breathe. Something Nivaradros sought wouldn’t come about if she died here. As he was a Dragon she could narrow it down to something to do with power—but that was still a very long list. This whole business of keeping her alive though told her how much he wanted whatever he was after. He had not only tried everything he could to keep her alive before she had left, but since she had returned he had taken the blunt of any attack against her that he could.

  And now he had brought her here where he had apparently had some sort of a minor rift with someone he had once befriended in the centuries past. But he had put everything aside—a feat for him—to bring her to the only beings in this world who had a chance at extending her life. Now he was going to try something else she could see he absolutely despised the thought of—and Z was no fool, Nivaradros didn’t like the idea of Dragon blood in her mortal self—on the account it might save her. Immortals—well, Dragons—didn’t like to generally gamble so much on so little. Especially when they had to pay some of the cost.

  “Z?” Nivaradros’s tone was concerned and she forced her eyes open. Her smile apparently left something to be desired—he actually grimaced—but he didn’t press her and he let her eyes close again without even touching her.

  “How do we want to do this?” Dyslentio asked someone—or everyone else, she honestly had no idea.

  “It would be best if we go out further from the herd,” the annoying voice replied stiffly. “I certainly don’t want anyone to come across this—especially not some of the adolescents. They do not need to get any more ideas than they have already presented.”

  “They are not that bad, Faslieya,” Dyslentio chided quietly as the Dragon picked her up again.

  “Well, none of them have vanished for weeks on end yet, no,” Faslieya agreed in a tone that warned of a story if someone didn’t head it off.

  “And how many times have you mentioned it since then? It was millenniums ago!” Dyslentio snorted. “Besides, you cannot say I didn’t learn valuable skills while I was away.”

  “You came back wounded.”

  “But alive. Not to mention my acquaintance with Nivaradros proved to have more than just a small amount of value when we were outnumbered and being slaughtered.”

  Z hissed softly as the two continued to converse. At times, the immortals—any branch of them—decided to discuss, argue, or recollect the oddest of things at the worst moment. Nivaradros’s steps had a slightly reassuring feel to them now—a sign he had been carrying her way too much—and she allowed that feeling of trust to overcome her.

  Inwardly she was starting to mentally catalog the risky, foolish, and worst decisions she had come up with—though all of them had worked—to compare them to her latest one. So far, she didn’t like the results. Getting eaten by the snake-like creature nine or so months ago, setting off the magical traps while standing in the middle of them when she hadn’t used her magic even once prior, and waking all of the Shades by herself at once were the only ones she could put ahead of this. And that was being generous.

  She had no idea how long they traveled, but when Nivaradros put her down at long last it wasn’t onto soft grass, it was onto stone. Stirring with effort since she had had a minor attack on the way over here, Z opened her eyes to find she hadn’t lost any of the Kryhistians, but she had gained a cranky, non-being-friendly Shanii.

  “Hey son,” she greeted. Her lungs didn’t fill like she wanted, so her voice came out weak, but Shanii’s reassurance was helpful. He also didn’t attempt to bite anyone, a decided plus.

  Sitting up took effort—or more honestly, it required the Dragon’s aid—but when she was finally somewhat up, Z took in her surroundings. They were on the first ledge of a small mostly stone hill and it was clear few came here. The grass she could see just below her was at least three feet tall, but it was brown, brittle, and probably only contained enough nutrition to feed one small deer for an hour. Otherwise it would probably cause a slow, painful starvation. There were also no tracks—old or present—other than those her companions had made on their way up here.

  “Where are we?” she murmured.

  “About ten miles south of the herd,” Nivaradros answered before anyone else could. “Apparently this is the best place.” The Dragon shook himself as if getting ready to do something he found unpleasant. “Would you prefer to…?” his eyes closed and his hands became fists with talons.

  “If you don’t want to do this—” she began softly.

  “It’s fine!” he snarled at her coldly before kneeling beside her unhappily. “It had better work though, or kill you instantly. I am tired of seeing you half dead.”

  “Glad to hear I am boring you; imagine how I have been feeling for the past several days,” she whispered as Nivaradros snorted and moved to grab her left arm.

  “Don’t you dare die on me,” the Dragon threatened.

  “Because I have been trying so hard to do that on purpose lately,” she replied quietly as she closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep. Grateful she couldn’t feel Nivaradros split the skin on her arm from wrist to elbow—apparently that was the way to do this, according to the Kryhistians—she focused on breathing and keeping her heart going. Magic was required to aid the latter. Her heart was already struggling without the blood that was much, much thicker being added to hers. She could only hope if it didn’t work out she didn’t have to ask the Dragon to kill her. It probably wouldn’t go well.

  It was easy to tell when whatever the Dragon was doing started; her magic went on overhaul to try to fight what was happening. Years of fighting her magic from running rampant any time someone tried to do something she wanted, but could be seen as a threat, turned out to work in her favor here; she managed to keep her defenses lowered. About thre
e minutes after that though, she felt the change and hissed in dismay.

  “Nivaradros, stop!” she gasped while keeping her eyes closed. She felt his presence leave instantly, but the damage was already done.

  Note: Dragon blood apparently didn’t work well when added to a human’s. Shuddering, she released her magic in an attempt to fix what she knew was already done. There was another seizure on the way, and Z wished she had more energy—and a weapon—so she could fully vent her irritation on something. The only silver lining was the lack of pain, but given the way her heart was reacting to the recently added blood she had a feeling that silver lining would be very, very short lived.

  “Well,” Dyslentio chose to drawl at that moment somewhere to her left. “I’m going to go with this wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. You might as well continue, Nivaradros. I am fairly certain it won’t change her condition either way at this point. And I am also almost certain she can’t protest anymore.”

  “Give me ten reasons why I shouldn’t kill you,” Nivaradros grumbled.

  “How about just one: my sparkling personality?”

  It was the last thing Z heard. The familiar, comforting, and desired darkness swept up to steal her away. The Dragon was on his own.

  Chapter 8

  One of these times, Z decided as she felt the familiar return to consciousness occur, she was not going to wake up. Awakening was not as thrilling as most would think it would be, and with how she often left alertness, most of the time waking up wasn’t even remotely a good thing. Shifting her body to a position that didn’t feel so unnatural, Z kept her eyes closed and tried to see what still worked. Her senses apparently; someone else was nearby.

  “Oh good, you’ve returned to us,” a familiar non-Dragon or Kryhista voice said with relief. “I was starting to worry. I wouldn’t recommend moving too much, you are still very weak.”

  Sitting up as her eyes snapped open, Z met the slightly brown-black eyes of the Mithane as he watched over her with some concern from a seat about four feet away. Hissing slightly as her vision blurred, she opted for the not-advised next move; she rolled out of the bed.

  A hand lightly caught her upper arm with concern, and Z grunted at the weakness that was impairing her balance. She didn’t even try to reach for a weapon—she didn’t have one—and instead she allowed the Mithane to support most of her weight as he helped her to her feet. He then half carried her over to the chair he had just vacated and deposited her within it. She felt small burst of magic before the Mithane covered her with a blanket he had just summoned and the power he used—though minor—awoke her fully.

  “Nivaradros?” she whispered hoarsely as she met his eyes. She saw the Alantaion flinch and shuddered as a sliver of fear crept into her heart. “Mithane?”

  “I cannot say for certain,” the immortal ruler told her softly. “He was not well when he brought you back here. He handed you over to my care and then fled. I do not know where he is or how he fares. As I had not expected to see you again, I will admit my concern wasn’t for the Dragon. You looked about as weak as he, and you were not conscious. I asked nothing of him—and even now I do not care—but I was pleased to see your return. You shouldn’t be alive, Zimliya. What happened?”

  Was Nivaradros wounded? She struggled to figure out when that had happened—when it could have happened. Why had he returned her to the care of the Mithane? She recalled the cold words spoken between the two when Nivaradros had pulled her away from everyone else in his desperate attempt to rewrite her life, so it didn’t surprise her the Mithane was still holding a grudge, but why wasn’t the Dragon here?

  “How long have I been here?” she wanted to know as she took in her surroundings.

  She was back inside of a room made out of, while still remaining part of, a living tree. She was back in Istuion. If things hadn’t changed too much since Nivaradros had whisked her away, then the Mithane, Shevieck, and the Islierre would still all be in residence. It was both a comforting thought and a horrifying one, but Z needed to get her bearings—quickly—so she ignored the thought of what could have happened while she was away.

  “Mithane, how long?” she repeated with ice in her voice.

  “Nivaradros brought you to me three days ago,” the Alantaion told her softly.

  Three days. She closed her eyes and tried to think positively. Maybe the Dragon had just gotten sick of dealing with her at long last and had returned to his lands to regain his patience so he didn’t feel the urge to eat her the next time they met up. Try as she might, Z couldn’t even swallow that lie herself. If Nivaradros had left, something had gone horribly wrong with their little experiment. Everyone—herself included—had focused on the dangers to her. No one had even considered what the whole thing could do to the Dragon. And with how weak she felt she could easily imagine what something like this could have done to Nivaradros.

  “Did he stay for any length of time?” she forced herself to ask.

  “Not once you had been delivered into my care. You both arrived, he gave you to me, he spoke with Zyrhis, then Shevieck, after which he left. He may have been here two hours if I stretch it, and our conversation was under five minutes.”

  Helped along—no doubt—by the Mithane’s tone and demeanor towards the Dragon. She could clearly envision how that conversation had gone. “I wish to speak with Shevieck,” she announced before she even realized what she was saying.

  The Mithane stared at her in silence briefly before his eyes went deeper into black and his lips thinned. “May I ask why?”

  “You just did,” Z pointed out before relenting. “And because I wish to see how he is as well as what he spoke of with Nivaradros, since you are determinedly and decidedly unhelpful on that front.”

  She didn’t get an answer of words. The Mithane turned, left the room, and slammed and sealed the door behind him. Z flinched at the sound, cringed at the magic, and winced at the thought of having to later sooth the Mithane’s damaged feelings. Immortals occasionally could act less mature than the short-lived mortals—at least in her mind. The sudden revival of the territorial male battle between the Mithane and the Dragon was at the top of her list of immature behaviors.

  It was perhaps three-quarters of an hour before her door opened again. Z had managed to find her feet—and more importantly stay on her feet—and had begun walking the room with care. She stayed well away from the walls; the living part of them tended to tweak her elemental sense to a level that was uncomfortable.

  The room, however, was large enough to hold three Dragons in their native form so there was little fear of running into the walls unless she was lazy or grew distracted enough not to notice where she was walking. She was on her tenth round of the room—having had no complications from the exercise—when Shevieck cleared his throat softly from behind her. She had sensed his entry, but as she hadn’t been able to move for several days, she had ignored him while she could get away with it.

  “You look well,” he said softly with a worried smile as she turned to face him. “You look better than the Dragon led me to believe you would be, and far better than my father implied.”

  “When was he informing you of my condition?”

  “When he was threatening me that if you end up dead anytime within the next seventy-two hours—by human reckoning—he would personally execute me,” Shevieck responded drily. “He seems to feel your condition is still too delicate for visitors.”

  “He threatened you?”

  “He’s been a bit testy since we were run out of our kingdom,” Shevieck explained. His eyes were surprisingly guarded, and he watched her uneasily.

  “I’m not going to grow a second head,” she promised him with a small smile.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” the Alantaion replied with feeling before grimacing. “Something’s changed—with you,” he added with care. “You don’t feel the same as you did when I last saw you. What did the Dragon do to you?”

  Z didn’t really want to explain, nor
did she think it was in her—or the Dragon’s—best interests. “I may explain that later, but right now I need to know what Nivaradros spoke to you about before he left me with your father.”

  “He wanted to tell me I am not the biggest failure he has ever met,” Shevieck told her with a roll of his steadily brown eyes. “Apparently I make the top three. He had some advice, some suggestions, and he encouraged me to try to stay on Zyrhis’s good side so that I would have at least one solid ally when the attempt to reclaim either my father’s power, or to claim my power, was made.”

  His answer surprised her; Nivaradros’s words more so. “In your honest opinion,” she finally forced herself to ask, “was he implying he would not be around to help you?”

  She marked his hesitation. And the way his eyes shifted to a black so bleak it almost looked like a dark grey. It was enough of an answer—one she didn’t want—but she waited without giving him the out he sought.

  “I believe that was the reason he chose to speak to me, yes,” the Mithani replied heavily at long last. “He spent eight months as my shadow, Z, as my personal guard. While I should not trust him, I knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to me while he was waiting for your return. He was straight-forward, honest, and surprisingly, a companion that I found a small amount of reassurance in. He’d even let me discuss things with him after our day had ended in Tezérac. He even saved my life a couple of times. We are not friends,” he added softly, the seriousness of this conversation surprising her. “But, Z? I think we could have ended up that way in a century or two. He is not who I thought he was—certainly not what I was led to believe.

  “He would die to protect you,” Shevieck added softly. “He has made it unmistakably clear that whomever is foolish enough to harm you in even the slightest way will answer to him. As he’s a Dragon—and the Warlord on top of it—I highly doubt you have to worry about anyone offending you for some time. If he survives whatever the two of you went through.”