by Emma Hamm
“You’ll get used to it.” Hallmar strode to the chair in front of Nadir’s desk and sank down into its plush pillows. “You seem to have taken much more control than I remember you having.”
“Someone told me that a ruler chooses, but a slave waits for others to tell him what to do.” Nadir tilted the glass in a mock toast. “I took that to heart.”
“As much as I wish to take credit for this change, I have a feeling it has very little to do with me.”
“You might be right about that.”
Hallmar cleared his throat and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “You are a Beastkin as well?”
“I thought rumors of that would have reached your kingdom by now.”
“Hearing it and seeing it are two very different things. Rumors always hold a fraction of truth, but I never guessed these tales were entirely truthful.”
Nadir spread his arms wide and let the king look his fill. “Then see the Beastkin for yourself, Earthen King.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Hallmar murmured. “Considering how adamant you were that there was no such thing as a dragon Beastkin.”
“Can you not understand why? I hardly wanted to believe that I was even capable of this madness. Seeing another person who was the same as I was? Afflicted by the same plague which had always made me hide in the shadows? It’s not something I ever wanted to face in my lifetime.”
Hallmar leaned back forcefully in his chair, then hooked his ankle over his knee. “Is that what you believe? That being a Beastkin is something like a disease or an illness?”
Nadir watched the king’s foot bounce and pondered his words. If he’d asked them years ago, then his response would have been a very swift and resounding yes. Of course he had believed the Beastkin were a problem. They were a pest which needed to be dealt with swiftly and eradicated so the rest of his kingdom could flourish in their absence.
Now, he wasn’t so certain. He’d seen the way Sigrid had been an asset to his kingdom. She’d guided his people toward a softer future, one where they were significantly kinder to other people. Even to each other.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I don’t know what to think of the Beastkin. On one hand, my entire training and life has been spent hating the creatures. The history of my kingdom is in direct opposition to them. But on the other, I’ve seen what they can do. I’ve seen the good in their hearts and how their children don’t view us as anything other than a terrifying mass of people who want them dead. It’s hard to reconcile what I know with what also is.”
“Being a king isn’t all that easy, is it?”
“A sultan,” Nadir corrected. Then cautiously added, “but you are correct. I have to think from every angle. I will admit, it’s difficult to view the world as some of my own people do. Namely, because of what I am.”
“This is why I wanted your ear.” Hallmar stared him down, blue eyes so full of emotion they almost glowed. “Our people don't need to fight. This is a century-old hate that comes from Beastkin and humans, not from kingdom and kingdom. What fight do we have together? There’s no reason to hate each other’s countries.”
“It’s widely known that Wildewyn steals water from Bymere, which is why our kingdom is arid and desert.”
Hallmar waved a hand in the air, dismissing the words and wiping them away as if Nadir had never said them. “That’s simply the way the world was formed. Wildewyn didn’t do anything other than survive with your leftovers. Flourish, even. Our people want to live in peace, just as yours do.”
The words made sense, but they didn’t fit in with the world Nadir knew. He’d already seen that there was much he didn’t know. So many things that Bymerians had gotten wrong, or perhaps just the royals had gotten wrong.
Stories and fables were one thing, but facts that he could see, touch, understand were far more important to him now. Nadir nodded slowly. “I see your point, Hallmar.”
“Then you do not wish for this war either?”
“I didn’t say that.” Nadir rifled through some of the paperwork on his desk, then slid a single sheet of parchment toward Hallmar. “You also can’t deny the truth in this.”
The king’s eyes scanned the document for a moment before glancing up. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that Nadir recognized from staring in the mirror in the morning. The king had the same reaction to the truth in front of him. That was just how Nadir had felt when his advisors had brought it before him.
“Damning evidence,” the king said quietly. “I’m not sure how or why you have this.”
“Neither am I. This is one of the many documents of Beastkin hunting in Bymere.” Nadir leaned back, exhaustion riding on his shoulders like a well-worn cloak. He’d felt this way so often lately that he didn’t know what it meant to not be tired. “If this gets out—”
“Then we can’t let it.”
“How am I supposed to stop people from finding out the truth? Your people used to hunt ours for sport. That’s how the Beastkin ended up in Bymere. That’s why we hunted them in return, and that is why such hatred grew.”
Hallmar leaned forward, his voice pitched low and his shoulders tense with emotion. “We cannot let this get out. This is something you and I can control. Let such foolish pain remain in the past and our people will forget the follies.”
“If I had that much control over my advising council, do you really think I would have accepted your visit?” Nadir tilted his head to the side and felt the satisfying pop of his neck. Some of the tension drained out, but not enough. “I wish there was more I could do, Hallmar. They’re blackmailing me just as much as I am blackmailing you.”
“Then there’s nothing you and I can settle on?” he asked. “Nothing at all that could save our kingdoms centuries more of fighting and death and bloodshed.”
“If I could do more, I would. My people desire some kind of retribution for the attack from before, and all the history between our countries. I don’t want to fight anymore.” Nadir clenched his fists. “There’s only so much control I’ve gained here, and much of it is superficial. I have to be careful about my decisions in the coming years. Once the kingdom rallies behind me, I can get rid of my council for good. These are words that stay between the two of us, yes?”
Hallmar nodded.
“Then listen to me, Earthen King. If you can survive a war for the next few years, then I will be able to do much more than just sign paperwork. I can stop our people from fighting. I can do more than a sultan can do now. But in this moment?” Nadir shook his head and tried to hide that his fingers were shaking by crossing his arms. “I cannot stop the growing beast of hatred within my kingdom. I’ve tried. And I failed.”
“I had hoped my appearance here would somehow ease the fears of Bymerians. They could see that myself and my soldiers are nothing more than men. There are so few Beastkin in my kingdom.”
But that was a lie, wasn’t it? There were far more Beastkin in the king’s homeland than here in Bymere.
Nadir shook his head. “That’s not exactly true, now is it? You’ve not only harbored Beastkin for centuries, but now you’ve given them a kingdom. I have no more words to argue with. The Bymerians are convinced you support the animals who have attacked us for years.”
“I do,” Hallmar replied. “And so do you.”
“In this case, my wishes are irrelevant.” Nadir reached forward and took the parchment back from Hallmar.
He wished he didn’t feel powerless now. When Abdul had brought the documentation to Nadir, he’d done everything he could to prove it wrong. Surely this was forged. There was no way that the Beastkin had been sent by a previous Earthen King. No one was that foolish.
But apparently, they were. There were problems across every kingdom on this godsforsaken rock, but this was something that couldn’t go unnoticed. It didn’t matter that it had happened centuries ago. It didn’t matter that Nadir’s line likely hadn’t even risen to power yet.
It mattered that the Wildewyn people had hunted, murdered, and eaten many Bymerians in their days. Something like that couldn’t slide by without a good sultan addressing it.
He’d tried to argue they could seek restitution in another way. That the Wildewyn king could pay them in food, grains, water—anything that would make the people prosper and grow without more bloodshed.
His advisor council had shot down each suggestion, growing more angry each time. They wanted bloodshed. They advised that a kingdom grew more during times of war. That he would be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this.
And then Abdul had said the crowning words which had forced Nadir to this moment in time.
Nadir would never forget the words that were now burned into his mind.
“You may love her, Sultan, but that doesn’t mean we won’t take the steps to give this kingdom what it deserves. If you aren’t prepared to do this, then the council members will take it upon themselves to reveal the truth to our people. No matter what the cost.”
At first, he’d thought it a bluff. The council wouldn’t go behind his back. They wouldn’t try to strong-arm their sultan into doing what they wanted.
Only after he pushed did he realize they were all very serious about the transgression. The copy they had given Nadir was nothing more than a copy. The original was locked away somewhere, far from Nadir’s grasp. They would do whatever it took to make sure the Bymerian people knew that the Earthen folk were the monsters underneath their beds at night, the howl of the winds at their door, the drag of a sword across their throats.
A war was coming. Whether Nadir wanted it or not.
The tension in the back of his neck burst into an aggressive headache that made him wince. He touched a hand to the tender flesh at the back of his neck. “I wish there was more I could do, Hallmar. I really do. There’s so much our people could build if we could but work together. I want you to know I see that. The future in my mind is not war or bloodshed.”
“And yet, you will do nothing to stop this.”
“I cannot.”
“You are the Sultan of Bymere. The fact you still think there are chains around you shows that you haven’t grown as much as I thought you had.” The Earthen King stood abruptly. His eyes stared down at Nadir, disapproving and cold. “The way Sigrid spoke, it sounded as if you were well on your way to being a respectable ruler. I see now, she was wrong.”
“There’s only so much I can do.”
“You are the royal blood. You are the Sultan, their leader, their god if you wish to be. Do not tell me there are limits to what you can do.”
Hallmar stalked to the door without looking back. He slammed the door open, the precious wood hitting stone walls with a thud that echoed throughout the room.
Soldiers snapped to attention, the metal of their armor clanking as they tried to prepare themselves for the wrath of their king.
“We’re leaving,” Hallmar snapped. “This was a wasted effort. The entire kingdom is filled with fools.”
“Careful what you say,” Nadir called out, eyes still on the desk in front of him. “You are in my kingdom, Earthen King. Only so many insults will be ignored before I will have to take action and make sure you remember insulting the Sultan of Bymere is a dangerous thing to do.”
Rage shook Hallmar’s shoulders. His voice deepened in his reply, “You are nothing more than a boy.”
An answering anger rose in Nadir’s chest. Slowly, he stood from his desk and straightened his broad shoulders. He waited until the Earthen King looked toward him, then Nadir lifted a dark brow.
“I may be a boy king,” he replied, “but I have an army at my disposal and a dragon in my chest. Threaten me one more time, and I will pick your soldiers’ meat from between my teeth with your bones.”
The Earthen King and his soldiers stalked away, leaving Nadir with a pit in his stomach. What had he just begun?
5
Sigrid
Sigrid crouched on top of the highest peak of the keep, watching the Beastkin work in their daily toils. Her hand curled around a tall wooden spire. It crumbled beneath her solid grip, but she continued to slide her hand down to give herself balance.
If anyone looked up, they would see their matriarch precariously close to falling. Not that it mattered really. She would change before she hit the ground.
But that was the main problem, now wasn’t it? The Beastkin were almost too powerful. They could change at will, tumble from the sky, fall off a cliff, and they would still come out unscathed. How was that fair to the humans who had looked to them as monsters in the night? They couldn’t fight against animals. They couldn’t battle creatures that looked one way and then changed in a moment’s notice.
In some small way, Sigrid understood why the humans feared them so much. Why they would want to destroy every last one of them if only to sleep well at night.
Feathers touched down on stone beside her. Sigrid hadn’t heard Camilla approach. The owl’s wings were far more silent than any leathery appendage, or even that of a hawk or eagle.
Her sister planted her butt on the steep roof, crossed her arms over her knees, and stared down at the people as well. “You’ve receded back into your mind,” she commented.
“It’s the only safe place for me to truly say what I think.”
“You could always talk to me.”
“You’re one of them,” Sigrid replied, but her tone was soft and kind. “You always were more like them than I ever could be. I never understood it until all of us were together. You see the animals inside them, and you accept that for what it is. You can hear their voices in your head, and it doesn’t sound like a garbled bang of animalistic sounds. Their language is yours.”
Camilla shrugged. “It could be yours as well if you let go a little. But you’ve always had trouble with that. It’s why I’ve always stuck around beside you. I help.”
But could Camilla help her any more? Sigrid wanted desperately to learn what the other Beastkin were thinking. She wanted to let go of her human chains and become something more, like they had done.
She didn’t think it was possible. Every fiber of her being wanted something more than to be just a dragon. Something more than just… Sigrid sighed and shook her head to clear the dark thoughts from her mind.
There was only so much she could dwell on before it all turned to shadows and darkness in her mind.
Camilla shifted again, staring straight at her with eyes that saw too much. “Sigrid, tell me what’s going through your head.”
“You were right,” she whispered. “They don’t need a queen or a leader. They need a martyr, a symbol that will make them realize the world isn’t at their feet. Someone has to prove to them that the world out there can be more than just enemies.”
“I don’t like where your thoughts are going.”
“Neither did I. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.” Sigrid met her friend’s gaze and tried to soak in every inch of Camilla. It could be a long time before she saw her sweet sister again. “And I need you to help me.”
“What are you planning to do?”
She almost didn’t want to tell her, but there was very little time to put it in place. Sigrid had spent the better portion of the night staring into the darkness, thinking about this moment. There were times when she wished she hadn’t ever become a matriarch.
This was one of them.
Sighing, she released her hold on the spire and slid down beside Camilla. Taking her sister’s hand in hers, Sigrid lifted it to her mouth and pressed a kiss to Camilla’s knuckles.
“They need a martyr. And the only way to do that is for someone to die.”
“You aren’t killing yourself.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Sigrid looked down at the dark hand in hers and wished they’d had more time together. Camilla was her dearest friend, but also part of her own soul. How could she say goodbye when there was so much that was going to be left unsaid? “Remember the stor
ies you used to tell me? The ones your mother always told by the fire before the sickness took her?”
“Which ones?”
Sigrid lifted their joined hands and pointed toward a range of mountains almost entirely out of sight. “The ones about those hills. About the caverns and the people who lived in them.”
Camilla nodded. “The ancient Beastkin who could not die, and who could not live among us. Sigrid, those were just stories. Little things to tell children so they believed in a history that wasn’t just death and sadness. The ancients aren’t real.”
“But what if they are? What if those legends were passed down through generations because the ancients wanted us to find them?”
Sigrid hadn’t put much thought into the stories either until she’d been dragged all the way to Bymere and realized there was so much more to this world.
Lying in the darkness of her bedroom, terrified that the path she'd led her people down was even more dangerous than their original one, she’d heard Camilla’s mother’s voice in the shadows. Like tendrils of a song, they reached for her and whispered the old tales.
In her mind, she saw Camilla’s mother, the woman they’d both only known as “Mother,” beckon them forward.
“Come here, little girls. Would you stop putting your fingers in the bread before its risen, Camilla? My goodness, the two of you are going to be the death of me. Sit by the fire, if you’re so impatient, and I’ll tell you a story.”
They’d raced to the hearth immediately, tumbling on top of each other in a tangle of girlish limbs and giggles that lifted into the rafters. Mother had smiled, patted the both of them on the head, and then settled into her rocking chair she always kept by the flames.
Sigrid could still smell her scent, the warmth and happiness in her gaze when she and Camilla remembered the little things she’d taught them. Camilla’s family had taken her in when her own mother had died. They’d given her a good life. One that made her more than just a dragonling, but a little girl.
“Have you ever heard of the ancients? No? Well, let me tell you then, my sweet. Long ago, before the Beastkin climbed down from the mountains and into the arms of men, we lived in a kingdom all of our own.