"And you are now free from your chains of metal," the white dragon said. "Go. Leave this place. And tell all whom you pass that Issari Seran, the White Dragon of Requiem, the Queen of Eteer, will free all those enslaved, all those in darkness."

She whipped her tail over the concubine's heads, incurring screams. Her tail slammed into the hall doors, knocking them open. Fresh air and daylight flooded the hall. Issari inhaled deeply, breathing the free air for the first time in many days.

The concubines stared at one another. For a moment they were frozen, hesitant, staring from side to side. A few shed tears. One reached toward the shattered hookahs and wailed. A few tried to step back into the hall.

Issari slammed down her tail, blocking their access. She stared at them one by one, meeting their gazes, silent. Slowly, as she stared at them, the women's fear seemed to ease. They dried their tears. One concubine stepped forward and gingerly placed a hand upon Issari's snout, then stroked her gently again and again. Another concubine stepped forward too and stroked Issari's neck. Others approached, caressing her, hugging her, weeping onto her scales.

"Thank you," they whispered. "Thank you, Issari, the white dragon, the savior of concubines."

They left the hall slowly, blinking, holding one another's hands.

Issari stepped outside and beat her wings.

She soared.

She flew from the Gosharian palace and glided over the city-state. Temples, streets, and thousands of brick homes rolled around her, a painting in tan, brown, and yellow, a dry city nestled among the mountains. She rose higher, letting the wind fill her nostrils, and she roared again. Her cry echoed across Goshar and the desert beyond.

Where are you, Tanin? Where are you, people of Eteer?

She flew across the sun, sounding her cry, a free dragon.

LAIRA

 
LAIRA

They huddled behind the roots and vines, two shivering women caked in mud. The sphinxes shrieked above.

"That does it." Maev clenched her fists and made to leap from their cover. "I'll burn them! I'll cut them apart. I'll—"

"Maev, hush!" Laira grabbed the woman and tugged her back. "Please. Please be quiet and still."

Maev grumbled—far too loud of a grumble, Laira thought—but stayed put. The maple's roots rose above them like a cage, thick with moss and vines. Grass and reeds rose beyond the hideout, further obscuring the two women. Laira—small and fragile as a child—easily fit in the burrow. Maev—a tall warrior—had to bend and twist and dig into the dirt. Deeper in the den hid its original inhabitant: a skunk Laira was very, very careful not to disturb.

Its spray won't be deadly like that foul smoke the sphinxes spew, she thought, glancing back at the skunk. But please contain your stench a little longer, my friend.