Issari raced across the hall, chain jangling behind her, and leaped into a cloud of hintan smoke. She held her breath. The purple haze hid her, and she swung her sword down hard. The blade slammed against the bronze shackle surrounding her ankle, nicking the metal.

"Concubine!" shouted the guard. He raced into the cloud, breathed in a mouthful of the spice, and shook his head wildly.

Issari swung her sword at him. The blade sliced through his throat and emerged bloody. Before he even hit the floor, Issari swung her blade down again. Again. Each swing chipped her anklet further. She forced herself to keep holding her breath, daring not breathe the hintan. Her lungs ached for air. She swung again. Guards shouted behind her.

Her sword slammed again into the anklet.

The metal snapped and the blade sliced her skin

Ten guards raced into the cloud.

Issari snarled, grabbed her magic, and shifted.

Her fire roared across the men. They burned and fell.

A white dragon, she stepped forward, her fire shrieking in an inferno, blazing across the hall. The flames crashed forward, knocking down the other guards that raced toward her, spraying across the columns, and washing over the choking abina. The hall became a fiery oven. Issari—finally freed from her chains, finally a dragon, finally a warrior—tossed back her scaly head, and she roared. It was a roar of rage, of pain, of anguish—a roar for the long moons she had lingered here, half-alive; a roar for the man she loved, a man who suffered; a roar for her two homes. The cry shook the chamber, deafening. She knew all the city could hear.

When her howl and her flames died, she spun around to see the concubines.

Twenty filled the hall. They had fled as far as their chains would allow; they now cowered at the back of the hall, hugging one another. Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape. A few wept. All trembled.

The white dragon stared at them, smoke pluming from her nostrils. With a growl, Issari took a step closer. The concubines shrieked and hugged one another more tightly. But Issari ignored them for now. She stepped toward the strewn hookahs of hintan; the vessels lay among the cushions and upon the poolsides. One by one, Issari stomped upon them, shattering each glass vessel and letting its liquid spill.

"You are free from the chains of hintan," Issari said, her voice rumbling through the hall.

She stepped closer. The concubines crowded together, shivering. The chains ran from their ankles to columns across the hall; near the huddle of women, the chains had braided into a single strand. Issari stepped closer, ignoring the women's whimpers and screams. She lashed down her claws, cutting through the chains. They snapped.