If she could have plastered the words over every surface of the keep, she would have. It seemed as though the Beastkin refused to see reason. They’d already had their battle. They’d seen dragons fighting in midair and the fall of both creatures of old.
Why were they not pleased with what they had already wrought?
Sigrid shouldered aside a Beastkin man with a beard so long it touched his ribs, then pushed against the shoulder of a lion who stood at the entrance to the keep. There was already a growing crowd, those who wanted to protect their home against any intruder, and those who hated humans so much it made their chests ache.
She didn't want the courier to have to suffer this injustice. Hallmar, the king of all Earthen folk and Wildewyn, would expect more from her.
The courier stood alone beside his horse. The animal was white as snow, and its hide rippled with fear as more and more animals arrived. She was shocked the beast remained where it was, but it was obviously well trained.
In contrast, the man standing next to the beast was little more than a child. His beard had barely grown in and suffered from a patchiness of young men not yet grown. His clothing was simple and plain. Perhaps to allow him to travel to this place easier and without people wondering why the king was sending a message to the Beastkin. Or, perhaps because he wasn’t really a courier at all. Just a farm boy Hallmar had commandeered away from his family.
She’d seen worse things during her stay in the castle, but always in the name of the kingdom. If she could say anything about her renounced king, it was that he was just and fair.
Sigrid strode toward the boy with purpose, her gaze cold and her temper held in check. “I apologize for the unusual welcome. You’ll have to excuse my brethren. We are unused to guests.”
She hoped he heard the words underneath those she spoke. The ones that said she was embarrassed, to hold his tongue when he returned to the king. That she would make it up to him with gold and food if he made certain her secret was safe.
The courier bowed awkwardly. “Milady dragon. I’ve heard tales of you in the capital.”
“I’m sure you have,” she murmured softly. “They are likely true and untrue. What news do you bring from our king?”
“Our king?” he repeated.
Her blood froze in her veins. No answering murmur rose from the crowd behind her, so it was unlikely any Beastkin had overheard her words. They weren’t so discerning a folk that they would listen to her speaking to the courier. To them, every word was something only royals knew. They let her do the talking and then report back when they wished to know what had happened.
But she would have to be more careful. She needed to remember that Hallmar wasn’t her king anymore. No matter how much she respected the man, no matter how much she regretted her choices, she was not to refer to him as her own king.
Sigrid cleared her throat and looked the boy in the eye. He flinched back, perhaps not used to someone directing their words so painfully toward him. “He used to be my king as well. I honor him, as I understand he would do for me.”
The boy nodded. “He respects you a great deal, milady.”
As he should, she was the only barrier between him and outright war.
Sigrid glanced back at the swarm of Beastkin still within the castle walls. They stared back at her with fear in their eyes, and rage. A rage so powerful it swelled around them in a powerful crest that threatened to break over their own heads.
How could she teach them rage like that could only end in bloodshed and sadness? How many more people had to pay with their lives until they saw the world as she did?
“I’ll go now,” she said. “I suspect he’s summoning me for a reason and hasn’t sent you with just a message?”
“No, milady.” The boy cleared this throat. “He’d like you at Greenmire as soon as possible, but also requested I tell you he understands you are a busy woman and—”
“I said I’ll leave now,” she interrupted. “Camilla?”
Her dark friend stepped forward, owl eyes watching the courier with curiosity. “We’re leaving, I take it?”
She wouldn’t take anyone else. Camilla was the only person she trusted, save one Bymerian man who had taken to wandering Wildewyn rather than staying within the keep.
“Are you flying or riding?” she asked.
“If there’s an option of riding, I’d rather not tire my poor little arms,” Camilla replied, dryly.
Sigrid felt the change flex through her. Elation at becoming a dragon once again made her head spin and her nerve endings spark with joy. Together, they would fly to the King of Wildewyn’s home.
She just hoped he wasn’t about to tell her about another impending war.
2
Nadir
“Sultan? Perhaps you wish to give your verdict on this case?”
The words came out of nowhere, although they were likely words he should have been listening to. Nadir sat on his throne in the massive hall where he met with his people, and where they voiced their complaints.
Great swaths of red fabric streamed from the ceiling to coil in snake-like tendrils on the gold, marble floor. Pools lined either side of the room and, if he’d looked within, fish swam in the shallow depths. For all intents and purposes, this was a beautiful place filled with so much splendor that it should have made his eyes water.
It didn’t. But then again, it never had before.
Nadir straightened on his gold throne. When had he leaned his chin on his fist? And had his eyes just been closed?
The advisors all stared at him with varying expressions of disappointment. The expressions weren’t any different than what he’d been getting for months now.
In a way, he didn’t blame them. No one wanted to lose their power suddenly, and they certainly didn’t like that their words weren’t heard anymore. But Nadir simply didn’t care what they had to say.
Poison had flooded his city for too long, and they’d suffered with a sultan who did not know what he wanted. Or even how to find out what he wanted.
Those times were long past. The city had begun to rebuild itself under his watchful eye. It was a struggle. Every step of the way was faced with people who didn’t want to work with a dragon, or those who didn’t like change. But he’d fought each battle as Sigrid had taught him.
Quietly. With poise and a calm demeanor that won people over before they even realized they’d let him do what he wanted.
He just hadn’t realized it would make him so tired.
Clearing his throat, he pressed his spine against the back of the throne and nodded. “Say it one more time. I want to make sure I understand the issue fully before I give my verdict.”
The man in front of him wasn’t the man he remembered before. This was just a farmer, and wasn’t he supposed to be a tailor? Or had his eyes closed before the other man had even left?
The farmer gave him an odd look, but clasped his hands in front of him once more. “My cows have a sickness, Sultan. I’m inquiring if I may go outside of the city to buy new ones from Misthall?”
Oh, that was all? Nadir waved his hand in the air. “Please do. Take a few other farmers with you. Perhaps they too wish for new bloodlines in their stock.”