by Emma Hamm
This had all gone wrong. She was supposed to be here so his people wouldn’t be frightened of her. They were supposed to feel her compassion, and she had been doing so well.
Now a man lay dead at his feet and she’d protected a sultan his own people obviously did not want. Such a shame. They might have made something good of this.
Her head cocked to the side, and she spun on her heel. “Down!”
Another? Already? How had they created such an impressive assassination attempt without a single person seeing them?
Nadir didn’t duck. Instead, he watched his wife move with impossible grace. Her skirts flared around her like that of a blue waterlily. She had no weapons. They’d taken those from her before she entered the room, but she still reached directly for the sword slicing toward his throat.
She caught it in her palm, let loose an animalistic snarl, and wrenched it from the man’s hold. It was the only sound she made as she whirled the sword in the air and plunged it into the man’s chest, twisting savagely. He fell to his knees, holding onto the hilt of his own blade, then slumped to the ground.
What an impressive creation he had in front of him. Both dead bodies reflected in the gleaming metal corset she always wore, and now he understood why. This beautiful, deadly creature always suspected someone to attack her. She didn’t just wear armor.
She wore death like a well-worn cloak.
Her icy eyes found his. “Are you alive?”
“Not a speck of blood on me.”
“Good.” Her own blood dripped from her fingers, splattering on the floor and mixing with that of his attackers.
“You may regret stopping them.”
Sigrid shook her head. “No, husband. If anyone will kill you, it will be me.”
She was a feral, savage thing, and he didn’t know what to do with her. One part of him wanted to lock her up for daring to suggest that, even after saving him. The other part wanted to crush her to his chest, rip off that damned mask, and find out what her lips tasted like.
“Husband, are you all right?” Saafiya’s voice was worried and fearful.
“I’m fine. Not a blade touched me, thanks to my Beastkin woman.”
Nadir saw Sigrid flinch at the words and wondered what he’d said wrong. He’d called her by title, though perhaps that was insulting. He would have to ask her what was wrong with calling her by what she was.
“Such a creature is dangerous,” Abdul hissed as he raced up the steps. “Guards, take care of these bodies and discover who allowed them in.”
“Creature?” He pointed at the assassins. “Hardly likely. They appear Bymerian to me.”
“I wasn’t speaking of them. We’ll deal with that later, but having such an animal next to our king isn't safe. Perhaps, we should reconsider allowing her in the throne room during public functions.”
“She saved my life, Abdul.” Nadir rose out of his throne, not caring that there were bodies at his feet. “It’s more than our own guards did.”
“I am certain if you had allowed them the time—”
“A sword would have sliced through my throat in only a few seconds more. Are you suggesting the guards you hired have capabilities exceeding natural human speed?”
Abdul stared at him as if he’d grown another head. And perhaps he had. Nadir’s blood sang with the power she had given him. Free thought, even for a boy king who didn’t deserve his throne.
He wanted to peel back every layer of his kingdom and force his people to see the way he did. That there was more to this land than just sand and dust. His advisors didn’t need to agree with him, just as Raheem had told him for many years. He could do what he wanted without their dreaded approval. The final vote rested on his shoulders.
Sigrid stepped away from him, her hand resting on her stomach. “Do not fight on my behalf, Sultan. I believe I will retire to my room.”
“Why would you?” He laughed, gesturing at the fools behind him who were supposed to protect their sultan. “You’ve done more than my entire guard in just a few moments. I shall hire you as my personal shield, wife. At least I know you will keep me alive.”
“I grow weary, husband.” Her voice didn’t sound right.
Nadir tilted his head to the side, watching her strange movements. Had she ever put her hand on her stomach like that? It was an odd posture for a woman who usually stood board straight.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, Your Majesty. I just—” She paused. Her hand lifted to ghost over the opposite arm, coming away with a small dart fletched with vivid yellow feathers. She squinted and shook her head. “What is this?”
He’d seen it once before, though he wished he could wipe the memory from his mind. Poison. The same kind which had flowed through his brother’s veins and rotted him from the inside out. Twelve endless nights of pain flickered through his memory as his wife dropped to one knee on the stairs.
Sigrid let out a rattling gasp, then a guttural groan that was both inhuman and terrifying. He’d only heard the sound once before in his life.
A woman near the front of the crowd gasped. She pressed a hand against her mouth, hennaed swirls standing out in stark relief against her suddenly pale skin.
“Out!” Nadir roared. “Everyone out of this hall immediately!”
The peasants didn’t need to be told twice. They raced out the door until only his advisors remained in the crimson room.
Sigrid coughed. Her mask muffled the sound, but he remembered it all too well. He’d only been eight years old when his brother died, yet the memories would plague him for a lifetime.
She twisted and lost her balance. He raced forward as she rolled down the stairs, landing hard on her elbow and side. Nadir knelt next to her and pressed a hand against her shoulder.
“I’ve seen this poison before,” he began, not knowing how to tell her that death would take her slowly.
Sigrid shook her head and pressed a hand against her chest. “My sister.”
“What? There is no time to bring you back to Wildewyn.”
Again, she shook her head. “My sister. Make everyone leave.”
It was bad luck to break a last wish. He glared over his shoulder at the cluster of advisors standing close enough to listen, but never close enough to help. “Leave.”
Saafiya stepped forward, crimson veil hiding her face. “My husband—”
“I said, leave.” Nadir didn’t have it in him to shout, not now. But perhaps the low, angry tones of his voice were more effective than blustering anger.
His advisors stepped away, one quiet movement at a time until they too disappeared beyond a horseshoe archway, then all was still in the throne room.
Nadir turned back towards his second wife and sighed. It was a shame she would die. He’d quite liked her and thought admiration might grow into something more if he had the time to allow it. She was a mysterious creature with thoughts that astounded him. What could they have built if she hadn’t been poisoned trying to save him?
Taloned feet skidded across the floor. Nadir’s heart jumped in his chest, and he flinched back at the silver owl that silently appeared beside them. Feathers melted away, and her flesh warped into that of the dark-skinned woman he’d seen before.
Eyes wide, Nadir breathed, “So, you are a Beastkin as well.”
“Sisters are always Beastkin. We’re all family.” She didn’t even look at him as she knelt next to Sigrid and pressed a hand to her forehead. “What happened?”
“Poison,” he tried to say, only to be interrupted by Sigrid.
“Ravenweed,” Sigrid croaked. “Burn it away.”
She knew the name of it? “How?” he asked. “How is it possible you know what this poison is without being privy to its making?”
The dark-skinned woman hissed. “Ravenweed is a common poison. It’s a cruel death, but it’s easily recognizable. It always makes the tongue taste mint.”
Yes, he remembered that. Hakim had complained for days about the madd
ening flavor that plagued him. They’d all thought it was the herbs the healers brought. They’d certainly tried a considerable amount, but no one had ever thought it was the ravenweed itself.
He was helpless against this poison that haunted his steps. Nadir knew he wasn’t a good man, but he never thought he would be so hated that someone would kill everyone he held dear.
“Fire,” the woman was saying. “She needs to cleanse herself in fire.”
“She’s not dead yet. I won’t order a funeral pyre until she is.”
“Fool! She needs to transform, and there must be a safe place for her. The dragon has never controlled her before, a most perilous and uncontrollable creature will break loose the moment she changes. She will be dangerous and must be contained.”
He felt his stomach drop to his feet. “There’s a cure?”
“For Beastkin,” the woman corrected. She stroked a hand over Sigrid’s forehead, then traced her fingers over his wife’s eyelids, closing them. “For her. The dragon can heal many wounds, even those which are mortal.”
He shouldn’t feel so relieved that there was little he could have done for his brother. But for this beautiful, powerful woman who had given him even a moment of feeling as though he was worthy…there was a cure.
Nadir decided in that instant he would do everything he could to keep her alive. She might be his enemy and they may hate each other on the morrow, but she deserved to live.
“I know of a safe place,” he said.
“Hidden from prying eyes?”
“Hidden from everything.”
When she nodded, he launched into movement. Nadir scooped his wife up into his arms and spun on his heels. The room he was thinking of lay deep underneath the palace where a previous sultan had once held parties. Royalty from all over Bymere would flock to this giant cavern.
He’d played there as a child for most of his life. It was a quiet, safe place for a little boy who felt so different and alone.
“I’ll come with you,” Camilla grunted as she stayed close to his heels.
“No, you won’t.”
“With all due respect, Sultan,” she spat his title as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. “You hold my dearest sister in your arms. I will not leave her alone with you when it is her life on the line.”
“You lost your importance the moment you allowed her to marry me.”
“How dare you even suggest such a thing?” Her voice vibrated with rage, and the distinct sound of feathers rustled as she changed.
Nadir grinned, oddly comforted that his wife had such a fierce protector of her own. “Remind me to bring more Beastkin to my palace. You’re a refreshing change.”
An owl gave a battle cry. He almost flinched when her wings brushed the top of his head, but refused to give her the satisfaction. These women were cold and angry all at the same time. He feared he'd never understand them.
Nadir ran through the vacant halls of his palace. Was it always so silent? He liked to think the palace was a calm place, but now he realized it was lonely and hushed as a tomb. He remembered the concubines running through these halls, chased by his older brother who always liked to cause a scene. Hakim hadn’t cared what others thought of him. When had Nadir started?
His wife shifted in his arms, a faint groan slipping between her lips.
“Only a few moments now,” he reassured her, skidding to a halt in front of the secret door. “You’ll be able to change, and then I’ll have saved at least one person from this poison.”
He could almost feel his brother’s spirit standing beside him. Nadir nudged a stone with his foot and the small passage crunched open. Turning sideways, he slid through the opening, and then closed it from the other side before the owl could find her way through.
This was a conversation for a man and his wife. Or perhaps, more accurately, his dragon.
A spiral staircase led deep into the heart of the mountain. Bymere was an arid country but underneath the sand lay abundant caverns.
The walls had a thin trough where oil leaking from the ceiling landed. It was an old trick by a very intelligent sultan who had not wanted even his servants to see this hidden place. When his people emptied their braziers for clean, new oil, it all ended up here.
Nadir leaned back against a wall and shifted Sigrid in his arms until he could reach into his pocket and pull out a small flint. He always carried it. A man never knew when a fire might be necessary. A few strikes and a spark set the line of oil aflame.
He chased after it with a dragon in his arms, knowing there were only more flames in his future. Not a single shiver of fear chilled his blood. In a strange way, he felt as though he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment.
The spiral wall disappeared on his left side, and he burst forth into the wide-open cavern that had once entertained hundreds of Bymerians. He raced down the long hall, fire blooming to life in rivers all the way to the center where it turned into a grand ring around a makeshift throne.
He gently set Sigrid down in the center of the room where burning oil burst outward in lines that fashioned a giant star.
Her chest heaved as she struggled to suck in a breath.
“Easy, second wife,” he teased. “You’ll feel better in a moment. Your sister said this would cure you, and I don't take kindly to liars.”
The metal of her mask was hot against his fingers. He ran them along the edges and found the clasps that held it onto her head. Nadir let out a slow breath, then twisted the locks and pulled the golden prison away from her lovely face.
Nadir realized with sudden shock it was only the second time he’d seen her face. He hadn’t realized how lovely she was. The strong features, the tangled braids of her hair, even the stubborn set of her jaw reminded him of a fierce warrior. Her smooth, alabaster skin took him aback even as her kohl-ringed eyes opened and met his gaze.
“No,” she whispered. “Not you.”
It wasn’t disgust in those eyes or even hatred. It was fear in her eyes. Fear for him, and it rocked him to the core.
He smoothed a hand over her slick forehead and smiled. “This felt like a husbandly duty.”
A tear built in the corner of her right eye then slid free to drip over his finger and sink into her hair. Such a shame that this woman could only feel so powerfully when she was in pain. Did she think she would kill him?
“I—” Her tongue was already too thick in her mouth to speak. That would come and go if he remembered his brother's torment correctly. But when she could speak, there would be so much pain she would become incoherent.
“Hush. Your sister said changing would help you, and I won’t watch you die. Let the dragon free, Sigrid.”
Her icy gaze warmed, reflected yellow in the firelight, then her eyes rolled back in her head. For a moment, he thought she might be seizing as his brother had done, but then those eyes focused back on him, and he knew it wasn’t Sigrid meeting his gaze.
Her pupils had elongated into tiny reptilian slits. She surveyed him and then dismissed his presence. Flicking her gaze towards the braziers alight with flames, she let out a wheezing hiss and slowly rolled onto her stomach.
Nadir rose from his crouch and backed away. He didn’t know how long it would take for her to transform, but the last thing he needed was to be caught in the midst of it.
She tried to push herself up onto hands and knees, only to crash back to the floor. Whimpering, she crawled on her forearms, dragging her legs behind her. He set his teeth and clenched his fists, restraining from helping her.
This was something she needed to do herself, he understood that. It was a battle she would fight and win. A woman who could catch a sword in her hand rather than allow it to touch his skin could endure this.
Sigrid reached for a brazier. Her fingers hooked at the edges of the searing metal, and the sound of sizzling flesh filled the chamber. She pressed her weight against its side which must have been too much for the ancient structure. It crumbled under her weight an
d sent a wave of oil across the floor.
Nadir jumped back. The fire raced toward him until he had to run farther from her side. Spinning to check on her, he let out a shout as the fire spread across the oil and consumed her.
What had he done? A dragon could survive but he didn’t know enough about Beastkin to hazard a guess whether it would harm her. Her human form seemed just as delicate as any other.
Her body disappeared under the swarm of flames that rose ever higher into the air. A muscle under his eye ticked. He couldn’t walk through the fire to get her, not like this, but maybe—
A low rumble echoed through the chamber. Deep and aching, it filled his chest with an answering call as sudden movement burst from where she had fallen. In an instant, she was no longer a woman at all. Instead, a graceful long neck lifted from the ground.
Alabaster skin gave way to opalescent scales that stretched across the entire expanse of her new body. A long, spiked tail waved behind her, thin and graceful. She was easily the length of ten men, if not longer. She rested upon what had been her arms, but were now ephemeral wings. Taloned tips clicked on the floor as she shifted and turned her great head to look at him.
Icy eyes, just as he had expected. The vivid blue gaze locked onto his. Small sets of horns stretched back from her head, like a crown made of bone and precious stone. She opened her mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth, and hissed.
He thought he would feel disgust seeing this creature that should not exist. He thought she would make him want to run or perhaps even vomit.
Instead, all he felt was a sudden sense of elation that filled his chest until he might sing with it.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Again, she hissed, and that tail swiped across the braziers, knocking them down and spreading more flames across the entire chamber. He narrowed his gaze on her and lifted a hand.
“Now, Sigrid. That’s no way to behave.”
The grumbled response wasn’t one he would expect from his wife. He watched the dragon’s restless movements and realized that there wasn’t a piece of Sigrid left in this giant being. It was in pain, frightened, and had no memory of where it was.
