She swayed toward one of the low tables, her bracelets chinking. Her gilded chain dragged behind her along the mosaic. Golden platters rose upon the table, full of figs stuffed with almonds, clusters of walnuts and carobs, rolled pastries thick with pistachios and dates, sugared fried breads shaped as swans, and many other delectable sweets. Issari reached for a platter of steaming honey cakes, the abina's favorite. She lifted the golden plate and walked toward her husband.

Seated upon his cushions, the abina licked his lips. His small eyes—they nearly drowned in his puffed face—glittered with hunger. Drool dripped down his chin and onto his naked, powdered chest.

"Here, my sweetness." Issari held out one of the small cakes. "Eat."

He opened his mouth, and she placed the cake inside. He chewed greedily and opened his mouth again, ready for more. She kept feeding him cake after cake, cleaning up the drool and crumbs. It felt like feeding a giant, thousand-pound baby.

"Mmm, they are as sweet as you, my wife." Abina Sin-Naharosh licked his lips. "Will you stroke my head and sing me a song?"

"Of course, my husband." She kissed his cheek, stroked his head, and sang to him. She sang the only songs she knew—the old songs of Eteer, her home upon the coast.

Eteer!

The memory returned to her.

Eteer—a land of white towers, of hanging gardens, of a canal full of many ships. Eteer—the land where she'd lived as a princess. The memories flooded her: the smell of the carob trees below her balcony, her brother's smile, and her father's cruelty . . . a father who would strike her, who had tossed her to the demons.

Those demons destroyed Eteer. She kept singing, but inside she trembled. I led my people across the desert, but now I'm here, chained, trapped in a dream state.

Clouds of hintan smoke coiled before her, all but obscuring the abina's many concubines. But here, where Issari stood, the smoke had cleared; the abina did not smoke his hookah while feasting. Slowly her thoughts coalesced.

I am Issari Seran, the Priestess in White, she thought as she sang. Tanin needs my love. The people of Eteer need my leadership. Requiem, far in the north, needs my wings.

Her wings! Of course! She could become a dragon! She had that magic. How had she ever forgotten?

"Sing louder!" Sin-Naharosh demanded. He struggled to lift his arm, but it was too heavy; his hand only rose an inch, then slapped back against his thigh. "Sing, my wife."

She nodded and sang louder, but all the while her mind worked feverishly. She had been lingering here far too long, too muzzy to track the passage of time.