by Emma Hamm
“Sultan!” The shout echoed. “Sultan!”
He spun to see Abdul racing toward him on a black stallion. The advisor reached out a hand for him to take. Without hesitation, Nadir grasped the offered limb and swung himself up behind the advisor.
Abdul kicked the beast away from the battle, but Nadir could see that the Bymerians were losing. Though the ground was littered with animals slowly turning back into humans, there were so many more still coming.
Lightning struck the ground in front of them and their horse lost its footing. Both he and Abdul were thrown over its head and hit the ground hard. Air burst from his lungs.
Stars danced in front of his eyes as lingering electricity made the hairs on his arms lift. But it was not his own safety that he thought of, nor that of his people or advisor. Even through the ringing of his ears, he listened for any sound of her arrival.
“The dragon,” he croaked, reaching for his advisor. “Where is she?”
He didn’t have to ask. The guttural vibration of her call filled the air with tension. Every soldier, man and Beastkin, paused in their fight to look up at the sky and see her.
Moonlight flesh reflected rainbows as she gently soared over them. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her wings did not beat; she did not scream or shout. Her call was a sad cry of mourning as she floated over the battlefield, silent as she flew.
“No,” he whispered. “Don’t do this, my love.”
She was close enough he saw the sadness in her gaze as she tilted her great head and looked down at them with sky blue eyes. One of the Bymerian soldiers fell to his knees nearby, but Sigrid wasn’t attacking the battlefield.
Her wings beat once, twice at the air and then she soared over the Red Palace where so many had seen her face.
Nadir stumbled to his feet, heart racing because he knew he couldn’t forgive her for this. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Her heart was pure. Pain and death were not what she dealt.
If she did this, then he would have no choice but to fight her as well. He would win, because he was bigger and stronger, and he would not be able to control his rage.
“No,” he said again, staggering toward the castle as if he might be able to catch her on foot. “No, anything but this.”
Of all the things Nadir had prepared for, he had never dreamed that she would attack innocents.
Silence fell over the battlefield. Even the Beastkin stilled to watch. Had they not talked about this? Had they not used this as their secret plan all along?
He spared a moment to look at the eyes of the animals around him and realized they hadn’t known she was going to do this. Even they hadn’t thought she was capable of destroying so many.
Sigrid paused over the Red Palace and screams of innocent people filled the air. They weren’t fighting. They were hiding, and still, she beat her wings. He watched her chest burn red as flames built in her chest.
She opened her mouth and released fire onto his home.
“No!” his tortured scream burst free from his chest, and he fell onto his knees.
Her great wing caught the edge of a rounded pillar and knocked it to the ground. Another tower fell under her great claws, and all he could think was how badly she had betrayed him.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Abdul’s voice shook with rage. “I will only say this once, boy, but now is the time to show our people who you really are.”
“They will not suffer a Beastkin as their sultan.”
“They will rejoice at the God King who saved them from the demon who killed so many of their loved ones. Become the dragon, Nadir. Kill this monster.”
He let out a coughing huff, the dragon rumbling to the surface. Battle was battle, although it would never kill the creature it had already decided was its mate. But there was a lesson to be taught here, and he couldn’t control it anymore.
Fire burned his lungs, but he managed to growl, “Get away from me.”
Abdul staggered back. He nearly lost his footing, but finally was far enough that Nadir could let loose.
The dragon burst from his form so violently that he lost sense of space. He chuffed out an angry breath, shaking his head and digging red claws into the sand. Bymerians scattered, shouting in fear and awe. He already heard the cries shouting, “The sultan!”
It didn’t matter. There were people in the Red Palace whom he needed to save. He rose up onto his back legs, stretched his wings wide, and roared. The sound shattered through the air, crackling with power and rage.
In the distance, Sigrid paused in her destruction and turned toward him.
His heart clenched. Even from so far away, her beauty nearly unmanned him. In this form, it didn’t matter that she was killing people he held dear to his heart. It didn’t matter that there was a war or that dead Beastkin and Bymerians scattered around him like fallen leaves.
All that mattered was that there was breath in her lungs and that he desired her more than anything else.
“The sultan is a dragon!” a shout lifted into the air from a nearby soldier who’d lost his helm. He was little more than a boy, just a teen who had somehow managed to join the army. He lifted his scimitar into the air and let out a gleeful shout. “We’ve our own dragon, men. Onward to battle! To the sultan!”
The war started again, and Nadir took to the skies.
Wind whistled through his wings. He’d meet her at the palace if she made him, but she’d turned. He knew she would come to him. She always did.
A shriek echoed from above him and claws raked down his side. Unharmed, he paused and stretched his neck to look at the thunderbird that plummeted from the sky again. Perhaps, Jabbar might have been able to harm Sigrid, but he’d never fought a dragon male before.
Fire billowed up from his chest into his mouth. Nadir let loose a stream of flames so hot it turned blue in the sky. Jabbar’s scream was music to his hears.
Weight struck his side hard. He lost control of the flames and fell, catching himself at the last moment with powerful beats of his wings. He looked up and caught sight of Sigrid’s spiked tail just before it hit him in the jaw.
The strike was so powerful that it knocked him even closer to the ground. The blasts of air from his wings made men and Beastkin fall beneath him. Angered, he shot back toward her.
His dragon took over. Instinct had him opening his mouth again. Fire poured from between his jagged teeth and flowed over her like a wave. She screamed. The creaking sound of scales reached his ears, then she blasted back her own fire that met his in the air.
A surge of triumph heated his blood. He got close enough to lock back feet with her and tugged her closer. Their wings fought for control, but he kept his claws curved together with hers.
She could fight him all she wanted, but they would remain together till the bitter end.
Let go, he thought. You cannot win this fight, you foolish woman.
They both lost their breath, and the flames died. He stared into her blue eyes, determination so easily read within their depths, and knew she wouldn’t give up unless he made her. His lips curved into a snarl.
He gave a harsh twist, sending her spinning from his side. The sunlight gleamed off the gossamer membranes of her wings. Again, bitter resentment rose in his chest. Why couldn’t she understand what he was trying to do? She should have left a long time ago.
Just as he was about to follow her, to grab her and shake her as best he could in this form, a whistling sound rocketed through the air.
Dragonslayer.
Time seemed to stop. He saw in his mind’s eye the brutal arrow slicing through her body, and realized that even though she had done something so impossible to forgive, he couldn’t watch her die. Not like this.
Never.
He twisted in the air and flung out his form until he managed to knock her to the side. A burning ache spread through his shoulder and wing. In shock, Nadir looked down and saw the jagged edge of the spear stuck between his scales. It had punctured them inward u
ntil it was his own body causing pain as well as foreign metal.
He tried to use the wing, but it folded against his side. Useless.
A soft growl escaped his lips and then he was falling, tumbling toward the sand and unable to stop himself. A thin stream of blood lifted into the air from the wound that slowly began to seep.
He looked up at Sigrid who let out a keening call that echoed in his own chest. He hadn’t wanted to see her die. He couldn’t watch such a terrible thing happen to someone he adored so much.
But now he was forcing her to watch him die.
Sigrid
Sigrid screamed as all her worst nightmares became reality. He plummeted from the sky, a tangle of red limbs and mahogany wings. A cry escaped from her mouth, and she hesitated only a moment before following him.
Beastkin opinion be damned. He was a part of her, and she could not watch a piece of herself die. Not like this.
She folded her wings close to her sides and speared through the air until she was close enough to catch him. Her claws scrabbled at his, jerking his legs at the last second so that when they both struck the ground with a force hard enough to shake the earth, it would not be a deadly impact.
Sigrid was tossed from his side, rolling through the sand until she came to a stop. The air knocked from her lungs and she tasted blood on her tongue.
Shaking her large head, she lifted her neck to stare over at his still body and the red blood that streaked his form and stained the sand around him.
A shaking call escaped her again. The weak cry was little more than a whimper, a sad sound desiring little more than to know her mate still breathed.
The sounds of battle faded around them. She sensed the eyes of hundreds watching two great beasts of legend, fallen and wounded.
Rivals be damned. She would not watch him die.
Scales melted away into a cream, silk gown. Gold armor hammered into the shape of feathers stretched from her back, over her shoulders, and down to her belly She spat blood and pushed herself up from the sand.
“Nadir,” she croaked, dragging her wounded and sore body to his side.
Sigrid slumped against him, pressing her hands to the overheated plates of his neck and following them up to his head. Blood smeared over her dress, leaving streaks of war and hatred that branded her very soul.
She sniffed, tears making it difficult for her to see.
“Husband,” she whispered. Her hands shook as she smoothed them over his giant head, larger than her whole body in human form. “Wake up. Please wake up.”
He didn’t move. His large eyes remained closed, and she wanted nothing more than to see the golden color again.
“Please,” again she begged. “Nadir, you can’t leave me like this. Not now. Not now.”
She felt his large body move, shifting under her hands as his great head turned to look at her. He couldn’t open his eyes the entire way, but he was alive. And that meant her heart started beating again.
“There you are,” she said and swiped a hand underneath her eyes. “We’ve to get that spear out of you, and then you can change back. I’ll take care of you. You’re going to be fine.”
Hands scooped underneath her arms, lifting her from his side and yanking her backward. Pale and strong, she knew whose they were the moment she looked down.
Jabbar growled in her ear, “We have to go. The Bymerians have accepted defeat, but they won’t for long. You’re defenseless, foolish woman.”
“Let go of me.”
“Are you going to risk your life for him? Are you going to die just to make sure he lives? Because that’s what they’re going to do to you, Sigrid. They want to see you die.”
She looked up and saw a wall of Bymerians with scimitars raised marching toward them. They were blood-covered and their numbers small, but she knew their intent. They wouldn’t let her go, not when they saw her as the instrument of their destruction.
Her body fell limp in Jabbar’s hold, and she let him pull her away. But her eyes remained locked on Nadir’s yellow gaze that followed her. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she pressed a hand against her heart.
Though they both had fallen, she hoped he knew that her heart still beat for him.
She lost track of time and sense until she felt claws release and drop her into the waiting arms of her sisters in Woodcrest. They curled warmth and love around her, drawing her to their sides and whispering words of encouragement.
They stripped her of bloody clothes and sank her into a hot spring where they brushed her hair until it gleamed. They scrubbed her fingertips and poured ceremonial liquid over her hands and feet.
Golden and shimmering in the dying light, they dragged her out before their people wearing little more than a ceremonial wrap and metallic paint.
They waited for her in droves. Men and women with their faces painted, victorious. They reached out for her, stroking hands down her arms and touching the loose strands of her hair.
“Sigrid,” they whispered, “our dragon.”
She was numb to all of it. What had she done? What had she started in her desire for freedom and hope for a better life?
Jabbar, Brynhild, and others waited at a podium for her. In their hands, they held a golden crown of twisted metal that looked like branches and her gold dragon mask.
“Let it be known,” Jabbar shouted, “that all of our history will sing legends of this day. The moment when Sigrid of Wildewyn felled the red beast of Bymere. Come, Sultana. Wear your crown with pride, and set aside your mask forever, knowing that you have saved us all, and that you will lead us through many battles to come.”
Her stomach clenched, but she stood beside them and felt the crown heavy on her head. Today, she lost her title of Earthen woman and sultana.
So began the reign of the Warrior Queen.
Nadir
Nadir placed a forearm on the railing of his balcony, looking out over his empire with a tired gaze. His shoulder still burned. They’d pulled the spear out, ruining muscle and sinew along the way. Though the healers thought he might be able to use the limb again, he wasn’t so confident.
The battle had taken much from him. The loss of so many lives, the destruction of his city, and her.
Gods, he would never forget the look in her eyes as she left his side, or the words she had whispered in his ear. She still felt something for him, she still desired him at her side, and yet, she left without much complaint.
He’d never understand the woman, but there was something deep inside him that called out for her even now. Every inch of his person knew that she was meant to be at his side. Unfortunately, their fate had other ideas.
A door opened and closed behind him, footsteps following the sound.
“Sultan?” A soft rush of fabric suggested Abdul bowed behind him. “Shall we address the people?”
“Are they ready?”
“As they’ll ever be.”
When he turned, Nadir saw something like appreciation in Abdul’s gaze. “It’s the first time they’ve seen me since the battle.”
“They have been waiting all morning to catch a glimpse of you.”
He didn’t ask if they were afraid of him. He knew they were, and they should be. A dragon was a fearsome thing to behold, let alone two battling in midair. He didn’t expect them to accept him for what he was, but he knew that they had no choice.
Nadir had always thought he would bring about a time of prosperity for Bymere. He’d been wrong. All he had managed was a time of fear and loss.
He followed his advisor through the halls of the Red Palace, or what remained of them. Chunks of the walls were missing, pieces of armor and priceless heirlooms shattered on the floor. They’d tried to rebuild as much as they could, but he’d insisted that they rebuild the peasant homes before they focused on the palace.
After all that he’d done, he deserved to live in a ruin.
His bare feet crunched through the rubble to the same pavilion where he’d given so many speeches in h
is short time as sultan. First with his wife, second against his wife, and now… Now he didn’t know what he was going to say.
Nadir stepped forward and allowed the remaining populace of Bymere to stare up at him. There was fear in their eyes, he’d always known there would be. But there was something else there that he hadn’t expected.
Hope.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed a hand against his wounded shoulder and slid it down to where his limp hand was strapped to his side. “My people. This is not the future I desired for Bymere.”
His words echoed, and Nadir paused. He tried to get his bearings, to figure out what was the right thing to tell them but realized there were no right words. There was nothing he could tell them that would ease their minds of fear or soothe the ache of hatred.
And so, he swallowed all sense of pride and stepped forward to the very edge of the pavilion. Amongst confused murmurs, he carefully sat himself on the ledge and let his legs dangle down into the crowd.
He was closer to them here. Could smell their unwashed bodies, could see their confusion and worry. They could see him, his pain, his sadness.
His shoulder throbbed with its own heartbeat, and he winced.
“For most of my life, I have believed a sultan was not a person, but an instrument of your desires. What you wanted, I would fight for. When you needed protection, I would be your shield. When you required defense, I would be your sword. But I tell you now, I am just a man. More than that, I am Beastkin, one of the two remaining dragons to draw breath.
“I’ll hide it no longer. I have chosen you, my people, time and time again. I hope you understand the depth of my pride for this kingdom and its people. You are the reason I draw breath each morning.” He ran fingers through his hair and let out a huffing chuckle. “I understand some of you may wish for me to abdicate the throne, and I’ll tell you now I have no interest in doing so. I intend to remain here until Bymere is returned to its former glory.
