by Emma Hamm
He hoped it was his mind telling him where to go. That his mind knew where this journey needed to lead him while his body slowly failed.
If he could change, this would be so much easier. The dragon still raged in his mind, slamming at the gates of its cage and desperately trying to save the two of them. He could fly up into the air, scout where he needed to go, and immediately change back if that was what Nadir wanted.
But it wasn’t. He couldn’t do that to the people, couldn’t reveal that the sultan wasn’t even in the palace where a man should be ruling them. Their sultan was wandering the deserts like a mad man, desperately trying to find Falldell when he knew damned well the kingdom had been lost for centuries.
No one knew how to get to the home of the assassins. Only the few people who had been brought there by one of the Alqatara themselves.
Stumbling, Nadir fell to his knees on top of a sand dune and tilted his head back. The wind was blistering and unforgiving. The sun burned through the haze of the sky, and his water had run out a day ago.
He didn’t know how long he could go without water. He wasn’t like human men. He could likely go much longer, but that would only prolong his death.
Wasn’t this what he deserved? Finally, after all his years searching for a way to end this curse of life, he was finally at the point when it would happen.
Again, the coil of hair slid across his face, trailing around his neck like a noose. He felt her lips against his ear, her voice so comforting he leaned into it.
“You don’t really want to die,” she whispered. “Not yet. Now get up, Nadir. There’s so much more for us to conquer.”
The dragon in him lifted its head, pleased at the sound of her voice, but even more at the images she conjured. They could take the world if they wanted. Spread their wings wide, breathe fire upon the kingdoms that didn’t want them and take back everything they should have.
She pressed her lips against the whorls of his ear. “Get up, Nadir.”
With her voice in his head, he slowly lifted himself onto his feet. There was more to do here, more than he could conquer and more he could learn. She was right.
Giving up wasn’t an option.
His steps wavered, but he continued with shaky steps. There was a kingdom here, a city filled with people who knew how to kill with the smallest finger on their hand. He could find them. He was sultan of these lands, and damned if they would hide themselves from him.
Mere moments after the thought, or perhaps hours of nothing but quiet in his mind, he saw a figure appear on the horizon. This one was clearly more solid than the last, but it wasn’t the woman his eyes caught upon.
A lion stood beside her, far larger than any creature he’d ever seen before. The woman was tall herself. Nadir had to look up to meet her gaze, but she barely reached the lion’s shoulder. The beast was far too big for him to fathom, and yet there it was. Real and as solid as the sand beneath its feet.
He came to a stop at the bottom of the dune where they stood and looked up. Slowly, he peeled the fabric over his face away and called out, “Greetings.”
The woman looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. Her skin was as dark as the night sky, her eyes sparkling like stars captured within it. Vibrant blue fabric swirled around her figure, pieces of it whipping out like snakes snapping in his direction. “You are him I suppose?” she asked.
“I am the Sultan of Bymere, first of his name.”
“You’ll find there are no titles here, Sultan.” She gave him a mocking bow, then stood up. Her hair was twisted into two buns on either side of her face, a rather unusual looking hairstyle but one that seemed to fit the laughter in her eyes.
“And you are?”
“A friend, for now.” She nodded toward the lion. “He’s here to make sure you actually make it to our leader.”
“How so?” Nadir looked for a litter behind the lion, something the creature could drag along the sand so Nadir could rest for a few moments. There was nothing attached to the creature’s hide. He furrowed his brows, glancing up to meet the creature’s gaze that seemed to smile back at him.
The woman coughed. “You’re going to ride him, Sultan. Or did you think we could make it all the way to Falldell on foot?”
“Am I not near it?”
This time, she tilted her head back and burst into laughter. “No, Sultan, you aren’t even close.”
He watched the woman make her way to the lion’s side, grasp a handful of his mane, and pull herself up onto his back. He didn’t seem to react at the tugging of his hair, although Nadir was certain it must have hurt. She was no small woman, but strong and broad.
“Come on then,” she said. “He’ll manage you and your pack just fine.”
Nadir didn’t have to be told twice. He understood this was likely a one-time offer, and the lion was already pawing at the ground, ready to run. If they left him, then he was really going to die in this sands. Just another body lost to the desert like so many before him.
Sigrid’s voice whispered in his mind again, and he refused to give up. Like she said, there was much left to do. He strode up to the lion, tossed his pack to the woman, and yanked himself up behind her.
Let her do all the work. He didn’t know how to ride a lion like he did a horse. There was no saddle for him to hold onto. There was nothing but fur beneath his thighs. Gods, he was going to fall off as soon as this thing started to move, wasn’t he?
The woman glanced behind her while leaning forward. “Hold on tight. This is going to be a quick ride, and if you fall off, we aren’t stopping.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Nadir reached out, hooked his hands in the belt at her waist, and held on for dear life as the lion lunged forward.
The beast flew across the sands in great, leaping movements that evened out and quickly became far smoother than a horse. The wide pads of the lion’s feet blasted sand in every direction, but it didn’t matter because they were long gone by the time the grains would ever even touch them.
Wind blew past him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Nadir remembered what it felt like to be free. The wind rustled through the long length of his hair, the curls brushing against his face.
Freedom flowed through him in this moment with a powerful beast racing across the desert sands.
He didn’t know how long it took them to reach their destination. Only that he enjoyed every moment of it. His thirst disappeared in the wake of awe and happiness.
Eventually, as the sun touched the horizon and the moon began to peek its face out, they reached a place where the lion began to slow. Its sides heaved, but he didn’t think it was from exhaustion. If anything, the animal seemed ready to run even more. They must have been going for hours according to his tracking of the sun. And still, the beast was ready for more.
Was this a Beastkin? He couldn’t imagine that it was. The legends always claimed some Beastkin in Bymere were far larger than what the action animals were like, but that was just a legend. He’d seen the Beastkin before. They were the same as the other animals, impossible to distinguish unless they had some kind of birthmark that crossed over when they changed. It wasn’t like that; the change didn’t make them more powerful.
Had he been wrong?
The woman in front of him patted a hand to the lion’s sweaty side. “Not bad. I think you’re losing your touch a bit though, old friend. That took us at least an hour longer than it should have.”
The lion huffed out a breath.
“Don’t argue with me. You know it would have been much easier if I took one of the younger ones.”
Again, the lion let out a growling chuff.
“Fine. We were safer with you. I’ll give you that. The older ones do know how to fight better.” And with that, she slid off the lion’s back and looked up at Nadir expectantly. “Well? Are you coming?”
Why was he following this strange woman’s orders? He’d never taken well to people telling him what to do, but this w
oman appeared out of the desert and he did whatever she wanted. Still, he found himself sliding off the lion’s back and looking at her expectantly.
Trying to take back a little bit of control, he squared his shoulders. “What now? Am I to meet your leader?”
“She called for you, didn’t she?” The woman turned away from him, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, “Why, none of us will ever understand.”
He didn’t either. There wasn’t much here for him. Of course, he should have visited a long time ago. Sultans were meant to know all the districts of their kingdoms without just assuming that one was running on its own. But that’s how the Falldell had always been.
It wasn’t really a part of his kingdom. It stood on its own with the understanding that should Bymere need to call upon it, that it would rise up and devour anything in its path.
Right now, he felt as though it were going to consume him.
He followed the strange woman, who had yet to give him her name, over the last dune and then gaped at the city he had never known was hidden in the sands.
A wall surrounded the entire place, writhing with carved bodies of snakes, twining around each other. There seemed to be hundreds, perhaps thousands of snakes so large he couldn’t fathom their size. The gate appeared to be the only place where one could enter the kingdom, and it was here where the snakes’ heads began.
Twin faces stared at him, large rubies glimmering in their eyes. It seemed as though they could actually see him. Their expression so vivid, and their fangs so sharp.
The woman gestured with her arm for him to get a move on. “Come on then, Sultan of Bymere. The Alqatara will only wait for you so long before they decide to move on without you.”
“And what exactly is moving on?” he asked as he rushed to her side. Sand kicked up at his feet like gold coins rolling through the desert. “What do the Alqatara want with me anyways?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know everything the mistress wants. She says she wants to see the sultan. We make sure that she sees him. It’s as simple as that.”
“Have any other sultans been brought here?”
The woman didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. There were journals kept by each sultan. Private thoughts and dreams that each one detailed while he was seated upon the throne. They were meant for other sultans, certainly, but there were no secrets among those of the same blood. He’d read many of them, and no one had ever been brought to the home of Falldell.
Nadir edged past one of the large snakes, watching it carefully to make sure it was actually a sculpture and not a Beastkin about to lunge at him. “When was the last time anyone saw one of the Alqatara?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Today,” was her response.
He snorted. So she wasn’t going to give him much of a response then. She’d earned that right. He could only assume that she was one of the Qatal as well, a deadly assassin who could easily kill him without a second thought.
That didn’t make him want to poke at her any less. A voice deep inside his head whispered, “Just try her. See what she can do.”
He’d done that with another woman recently, and he remembered how soundly Sigrid would have defeated him. He’d tired her out first with tens of warriors. A memory that still plagued him to this day.
Why had he been so afraid of her when he’d first seen her? Was it because he’d somehow understood there was a connection between them?
Nadir certainly hadn’t believed she was really a dragon. He’d been raised his entire life to believe that there were no others like him. Beastkin weren’t mythical creatures who could fly through the sky and breathe fire. They were regular animals, blending into the crowds of beasts until they were impossible to tell which was which.
It had been easier to believe she wasn’t like him as well. He hadn't wanted to think that another shared his curse, the affliction that had made him different since he was a child. The affliction that he was certain would earn him death one day.
Now, things were different. He wanted to know what Sigrid was doing, because after all this time, he wasn’t truly alone.
They passed through the twin snakes, which he swore turned their heads to watch them, and continued down a path toward a city made of white stone.
The houses were a familiar style to the Bymerian peasants. Made of white mud and bricks, they were built from the ground up by careful hands. Each stretched out of the sand with a small opening on the top for smoke to leave if they were cooking, although most would cook outside.
This was the legendary Falldell? The small huts stretched as far as his eye could see, but there was no palace. No castle for any of their leaders to stay.
“Where is the leader of the Alqatara?” he asked. His spine straightened and his hands fisted. Surely, they wouldn’t have played him like this? They wouldn’t have brought him here only to force him to make yet another journey?
The woman glanced at him and raised a brow. “In the home ahead of us.”
He looked for something more extravagant than all the others, but didn’t find anything other than yet another white brick house. “Where?”
The hide curtain in front of the home’s doorway shifted. A familiar woman stepped out of the home, striding toward them with confident steps.
Dark slashes of brows drew down the moment she saw him. Yet another person who immediately reacted with hatred when they cast their eyes on his face. Would he ever get tired of it? Yes, but there was still a thrill in his chest when he realized someone immediately didn’t like him simply because he existed.
Nadir dropped into a mocking bow. “Tahira.”
“Sultan.” She faked a curtsey. “Welcome to the home of the Alqatara.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe you’re the leader of these people, darling. But I have no time for such foolishness. My kingdom is in the hands of one of your own, and if you have double crossed me I will—”
She clapped her hands hard, forcing him to pause in the middle of his sentence in shock. Had she really just interrupted him?
“I’m not interested in a pissing contest with you. We’re not hurting the kingdom. The matriarch would like to speak with you.”
What else could he really say about that? They’d already gone around with this conversation, but he wanted them to know how important this was. Bymere was his home, and he’d only just realized that. He wasn’t willing to give that up without a fight.
Following Tahira, he swept aside the leather covering and stepped into the small hut.
There wasn’t much inside, but he didn’t know why he expected more. The inside was painted a warm yellow, likely from the tiny water plants that grew next to any oasis in the desert. A fireplace in the dead center was cold. It was too hot for them to have a fire. A few paintings hung from the walls, but it was the cot in the corner that caught his attention.
A woman laid out on the small bed. Patch-work blankets laid across her lap, a thousand colors all tangled together in something so beautiful it hurt his eyes.
Not because the blanket was well made. It wasn’t. There were stitches coming out of every corner, pieces of it falling apart, and one side wasn’t even finished being sewn. But it had clearly been made with love.
It was an emotion he didn’t quite know how to understand yet. Like a butterfly, it flitted at the corner of his eye. Always out of reach, but something he desperately wanted to know.
The woman under the blanket was so small he almost didn’t notice her. The folds of her face were lined with hardship and a difficult life.
Tiny, so tiny it almost scared him, she shifted underneath the blanket made with love and smiled up at him. “My son, it’s good to see you.”
He bowed to the Matriarch of the Alqatara. “My lady, it is an honor as few sultans receive.”
“I had hoped to see you before time took me away from this world. You are just as handsome as I thought you would be.”
The words didn’t quite sink in,
even as he straightened and met her gaze. Then, all at once, it rushed down upon him like a waterfall of emotion. He saw the straight edge of her nose, the square shape of her jaw, the slight curl to her gray hair that was so rare in Bymere.
Above all else, he saw the tears in her eyes and suddenly understood what that meant.
Nadir didn’t know how to process the thought. His knees went suddenly weak, and there was nothing for him to catch onto. Instead, he took a shambling step forward, halting before he could get too close to the bed. “What did you say?” he croaked.
“My son,” the matriarch said again. “You may call me Nahla, if you wish. You were named after me, and the sands where you were born.”
“Mother?” he asked. His mind raced to catch up with the conversation, but he couldn’t think past the word. Mother.
He’d always had one in his life. The word meant a warm-hearted woman with hair that turned red in the sun and a smile that could light up the entire palace. The woman who would chase him and Hakim through the concubines’ quarters with laughing bubbling up into the ceiling.
Until he realized she wasn’t his mother at all. That she’d been the woman who had raised him, but not the woman who’d brought him into the world. The one who had been there for his first gasping breath.
He didn’t want to feel like this. The memories of his own mother, the woman who had kissed his bruises and lifted him into her arms when he fell, burned in his memories. She was the one who had taken the time to teach him to be a good person.
And yet, this woman looked like him. He saw the shape of her eyes and saw his own emotions reflected in them. She looked up at him as if he was the one person left in this forsaken kingdom that mattered.
Maybe he was. In this moment, she wasn’t the leader of the Alqatara. She was just a woman, seeing her child for the first time in a very long time.
He shuffled forward, dropped to one knee, and placed his hand on the bed beside hers. “Why?” he asked, his voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it himself. “Explain that to me, please.”
Nahla looked up at the other two women and nodded toward the door.