Saira & the King of Dreams: Saira

By Natalie Grey

The Imperator is defeated, but not gone.

Saira knows one thing above all: while the Imperator still lives, the world is at risk. But when she seeks to follow him and finish the fight...

...in a moment, everything changes.

Those who should be dead, yet live. Those who were thought to be myth, are reality.

And Saira is about to find the one thing she never anticipated: her family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philippa Werner
• Release date: Feb 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393043546

Natalie Grey

Natalie Grey grew up pretending to be a knight, a mage, a jet-setting international assassin, and, occasionally, a shape-shifting dragon. After reading everything she could get her hands on, she eventually started writing her own stories full of what-ifs and far-fetched occurrences. Born in New England, she currently resides with her two German Shepherd mixes in the frozen wilds of Minnesota.

Book preview

Epilogue

Saira & the Dragon’s Egg

Saira turned her head, and lost her breath. Even in the shadows, she knew that form.

Hello, Saira.

The figure stepped forward, into the moonlight. There was the gleam of metal as a mechanical hand reached up to brush her hood back from her face. Silver strands in her hair caught the light, and her face was deeply etched with pain, but there was no mistaking her. How could Saira ever fail to recognize the form she wore herself?

For a moment, Saira could not remember how to breathe, how to speak, how to move. She felt her human form flicker, and the voice that emerged from her mouth was half a whisper, and half a dragon’s hiss.

"Zeva?"

1

Y ou did very well, Zeva said. The mechanical hand disappeared beneath her cloak, but the smell of metal did not disappear. It was human-and-machine, blood and bone and clockwork, and the combination was dizzying and utterly wrong. The way Zeva stood was too still, and the faint ticking that emanated from her new body….

Saira’s nose flared and she fought down a wave of nausea. Her human heart was pounding in her chest, every sense trilling danger. Could this be a dream? This was the woman she knew…and yet not. The face she looked at now was a face she recognized as her own—and now she wore it more naturally than Zeva did. On Zeva, the face now looked like a mask.

"Where have you been?" Saira managed at last. She had wept for this woman, grieved her sacrifice, raged at the injustice of fate and the callous cruelty of the Imperator. Zeva had once been Saira’s only friend…and now Saira stood rooted in place, staring, as if human eyes had any hope of telling her the past.

Waiting. Zeva did not smile. Even in human form, Saira could hear the agony screaming over the words Zeva spoke. The voice seemed to echo through the years, raging and cold at once.

What were you waiting for? Saira asked slowly. For…me?

For you to bring Anatol to me. At last, something human kindled in those familiar eyes: a savage pleasure. "And you did so much better than I could ever have hoped. His armies are leaderless, scattered before a united force, and Anatol…if we pursue him, if we strike now.…"

Her voice lingered on the suggestion, and Saira remembered herself telling Batur that they must follow the Imperator through the portal. Now she wondered if it had been her idea at all, or something planted there by Zeva.

And if it had been…what did that mean? Had all of this been Zeva’s idea?

But she could not think about that now. There were too many unanswered questions, and to her surprise, she could feel anger beginning to kindle in her chest. She wanted to sing her memories to Zeva as only a dragon could: give her Demetrios’s guilt and Niko’s desperation, Batur’s self-hatred. But the human tongues were too paltry to sing these truths and human ears were too paltry to hear them.

All she could say was, You were alive all this time? Human language. The inadequacy choked her.

Alive? In a way. Bitterness sounded in the woman’s voice. A half-life. Anatol nearly destroyed me.

Nearly, Saira said. And your husband?

Dead. Not the tiniest hint of emotion stirred in the woman’s eyes.

Your children have been grieving you, Saira said at last, the words hollow in the stillness of the hilltop. "I was grieving you, Zeva. We thought you were lost. You could have called on us—"

I did call on you. The corner of her mouth curved bitterly. I set you on the path. I had to hope you would choose this portal, of course, but it was so unlikely that you would travel past the southern deserts… And as I said, you did so much better than I even dreamed you could. Her hand swept out, taking in the festivities below. You rallied the world, Saira.

"Your children rallied the world," Saira said shortly.

To follow you. To follow one of the few with the power to destroy our enemy. She paused. I saw the battle, you know. To think that you are only a dragon kit now—to think how much power you will wield someday… It is truly impressive.

Saira stepped back. "You sound like him now," she said shortly.

She meant the words to hurt, to give her some indication of whether Zeva was even human now, but Zeva did not seem particularly concerned with either the insult, or reassurances. I never tried to own you, she said simply.

But you used me! Saira rounded on the woman and swallowed back a scream of rage when Zeva only gave a ripple of laughter. You set me like a piece on a chess board!

You, and many others, Zeva said, entirely without guilt. But, look: your enemy is very nearly defeated. There is only one thing that remains to be done. A glance took in the shimmer of the portal, and Zeva swept out one metallic hand. Hunt him down, and destroy him entirely.

No. The word came from Saira too quickly to be anything but a knee-jerk refusal.

Don’t play the fool with me now. Zeva’s tone was sharp. You know it must be done. Did I not I hear you tell my father-in-law the same thing? You were right, Saira. Anatol is not defeated yet.

He is trapped. Saira crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. She wanted to transform and spring into the air, take flight and swim in the starlight until this nightmare ended. Zeva was not here, not really…

But ghosts, as she knew from Salar, had no scent to them, and no mikana could reproduce the smell Saira remembered from her first moments out of the egg. This was Zeva, even if the scent of warm blood was tempered with pain and the shadow of death, walking at her shoulder.

Zeva finally looked uncomfortable under Saira’s gaze; it was refreshingly human. Why are you looking at me like that?

You are… Saira’s lips closed on the words.

Near death? Zeva’s voice was harsh, but she lifted her chin. I know. You need not fear to tell me.

How long? Saira asked her, before she could stop herself. How long do you have? Does it matter? One shoulder lifted, almost negligently.

How can you ask that? Saira could not help but want to save her. That one moment of discomfort, uncertainty—it had been enough to convince Saira of who this was. She might not have all of her memories back, she knew she had grieved Zeva.

Zeva, however, looked steely. "You are right. I should not ask it. It does not matter all, it is not worth asking."

If there is a chance of saving you— Whatever was happening here, whatever Zeva had done, Saira could not suppress the note of desperation in her voice.

That would take time and power we do not have to spare until Anatol is dead. The woman’s voice was flat. As I think you know. If we wish to stop him, nothing else is important.

Saira shook her head, fighting the urge to back away.

From the plains, she caught a thought, a prickle of unease: Saira? She ignored the whisper of awareness, turning away and trying to shape her mind as a human’s. Whoever felt her discomfort, Saira did not want them to know about this.

She wanted to deal with it on her own. Demetrios, she thought suddenly, could not know, nor Nikolas, nor Hester.

Come. Zeva wasted no time asking for Saira’s agreement. She held out her hand, metal silvery in the moonlight.

No, Saira whispered.

Come. This time, no matter how sweet the words, no matter how calm the woman’s gaze, it was a command. I sheltered you all your life, the look said. If not for me, you would be the Imperator’s pet.

I would never have been his, Saira hissed. Do not think to command me by what might have been.

I had forgotten you could read minds. Zeva did not look altogether pleased.

…I’m not sure I can.

But the feeling of another’s unease grew stronger, the same whiff of a thought from the plains; Saira felt, suddenly, the pound of feet on dark ground. She swayed, half in her body and half…

Who was she sensing? She knew these thoughts, but she did not know, yet, how to match the essence of a person to their face. She had been chained for too many formative weeks in a human body.

I don’t feel…

Your powers are still manifesting, Zeva told her. And we have no time for that, or for might-have-beens. We must go now.

Saira gave one last look over her shoulder. If she closed her eyes, she could see Demetrios with the firelight gilding his black curls and Batur smiling at his grandson’s songs, Eleni showing Nikolas the workings of some gadget or other. Was it reality, or just her imagination?

It did not matter. Tonight was feasting and celebration, and tomorrow would be time for rebuilding, for burials, for the long, agonizing progress of justice as the Archon brought the Imperator’s allies to justice. They would look for Saira’s help then, and if she followed Zeva, she would be gone—gone, without saying goodbye.

Silence, and the pound of feet on the ground, coming closer, still not audible, but there.

The world had many people who could dole out justice, and only one who could open a portal and pursue Drall’s greatest enemy into another world. Saira closed her eyes, remembering the sight of the fires flickering on the plain, and the faint sound of marching songs and laughter.

Awareness spiked. At last, the flicker of movement caught her eyes. She let herself begin to transform, sharpening her dragon eyes. Now she knew who it was, and her choice became clear in a single moment.

We have to go, she said urgently.

What? Zeva frowned, looked. Who comes?

No time, Saira snapped. She grabbed Zeva’s human hand and yanked her toward the portal. There was no delicacy in her magic when she hurled it at the doorway.

Brute forced, however, was enough. The portal slid open.

Saira! she heard behind her; Lian’s voice, filled with duty, knowing that Saira was trying to leave without her. Whatever bond lay between them, Lian knew Saira was facing danger.

Don’t look back. Saira could not let Lian throw herself into danger like this, not again—the woman had lost two lives in others’ wars. Saira sprinted through the doorway, hearing Zeva’s cry of pain as the portal took them both, and praying…

She only just made it. The air around them shifted and stretched. Saira felt herself pulled apart and remolded, as magic slammed into her in a wave. They plummeted through ether and nothingness, minds unmoored, two shapes in the space between the worlds, and they landed on ground that jolted Saira with magic.

…Ow, she muttered.

There was a click and a whir of hidden machinery as Zeva stood. Her eyes raked over Saira, and impatience flickered around her like a second cloak. Come. Up, and start moving. We haven’t got much time.

Saira pressed herself up on one skinned palm with a wince and looked back at the portal. For a moment, she thought she felt Lian’s despair. There was the sense of fists beating uselessly on the barrier—

Lian had walked twice into the jaws of death. She did not need to do so a third time, and not at the side of a woman who might be friend or nemesis or both.

Saira turned back to watch Zeva as the woman stared around herself. Zeva had said that they must pursue the Imperator, and kill him, and that was true. But there was more to her choice.

Whatever this woman was, Saira had now locked her away from those she might hurt.

2

It was difficult to know what to say, of course, after one had just tumbled through a portal unexpectedly with a long-lost friend. Saira settled for pushing herself up and brushing off her pants.

Demetrios liked to say that Saira made bad plans, but this had to be one of her worst so far. Or perhaps it had simply been rash instead of bad. She preferred to think of it that way. Still, from here on out, she should probably do a better job of planning things in advance.

She cleared her throat, turning to look at Zeva. So, do you have any idea where we’re… Her voice trailed off at the look on Zeva’s face. What?

I gave you my own form to protect you from Anatol, Zeva said. An adult dragon would choose its own form, as I understand it. Her gaze traveled over Saira’s face and body. You will choose another body now that you are old enough.

It was not a request.

That’s not important right now. Saira bared her teeth in something like a smile, amused to be throwing Zeva’s words back in her face.

From her expression, Zeva herself was far from amused, and Saira could not bring herself to feel anything but childish satisfaction at that. She looked around herself…and felt a prickle of unease.

It was identical to the place they had just left. The two of them had landed on the other side of the shimmering portal. From the stars above to the grass under their feet, all was so similar that Saira felt a flicker of self-doubt. Had they come through the portal?

With that in mind, had the Imperator?

It was then, panic spiking in her blood, that she noticed the silence. No birds sang here, and the war songs of the camp were gone, without even a breeze to carry them. In fact…

Saira climbed the hill and gasped. The camp itself was gone.

Where are they all? Her voice rose in panic.

In our world, you fool. Zeva’s voice was heavy with contempt. Did you think they would come with us?

"I think this is the same hill, Saira said heatedly. There, look—that’s where I was captured." Long furrows raked the earth where she had scrabbled against the net. She shivered at the memory and looked for something to distract herself. Keep moving. And there—Lian carved her family’s crest onto the ground. This place…

She looked around herself, finally noticing the faint, wavering quality to the images.

…is a dream, Saira finished, the words seeming to come from some place beyond conscious thought. She turned, half-transforming. The picture flickered madly in the corners of her vision, another world disappearing and reappearing as she narrowed her eyes. She let her lids drift closed and tried to clear her mind—

The world she opened her eyes to was different entirely. It was no longer night, but instead a half-light that could have been either dusk or dawn, and no way to tell which piece of the horizon hid the sun.

Clouds piled and shifted on the horizon, lit in brilliant shades of gold and pink. As she watched, a ship formed itself from a towering cloud and glided across the sky; the next moment, it had flickered away into a school of fish, a fleet of airships, a dragon…

Below, creaking in low music, the mountain ranges stretched for the sky. Snow coated their flanks like powdered silver and clouds lapped at them like waves. The water that ran cold through the gorges and the foothills was rich with magic—Saira could smell it even from here.

The ground that led away from the portal was a shifting patchwork of grass and stone and flowers. An inlaid marble floor appeared, and—as if realizing it was the wrong sort of ground—hastily removed itself.

This whole land is an illusion. Saira looked across the landscape, trying not to smile as one of the clouds hopped about in the shape of a rabbit. She looked over at Zeva, We shall have trouble seeing things as they are here.

One never sees things as they are, Zeva said cryptically. Her eyes narrowed. "What’s that?"

What’s…oh. Off into the distance, a massive storm swirled—or what looked like a storm to Saira’s eyes, in any case. What do you see?

I’m not certain. Zeva was uncharacteristically subdued. One moment it looks like fire, the next like endless night. And there…it’s as if there is a wall to hold it in, but I can’t see the wall.

Indeed, the clouds and winds were hurling themselves angrily at a barrier Saira could neither see nor sense. She fancied she could hear them crying angrily to themselves. A she watched, a cloud swirled up the wall as if searching for a way over. Finding nothing, it fled along the mountain range, lightning licking at its belly.

It’s a cage, Saira said, frowning. But for what?

Whatever it is, I wouldn’t want to be trapped in there with it, Zeva said with feeling. I—Saira?

I sensed him. Saira was turning, scanning the horizon in all directions. The Imperator. Just now. He’s been here…

A creak of machinery made her turn, and she saw Zeva settle something spiderlike on the ground before herself.

What is that?

Think of it as a bloodhound. Zeva did not look up from where her mechanical hand was bending the metal into place. It already has Anatol’s scent.

How?

A wise practitioner always holds the essence of her enemies. Long before Anatol and I came to open war, I was prepared for it. And even if I had not been, Zeva added with surprisingly delicacy, he left a good deal of blood the night he attacked the castle.

Mmm. Someday, Saira thought, she would have to ask about that battle. The invitation was there, but she had no time for it now. Will that thing work here?

We won’t know until we try, will we? Zeva stood, a bit jerkily.

Saira bit her lip, wondering, uncomfortably, just how much of Zeva remained human.

As far as I’ve read… Zeva was staring at the tiny mikana, seemingly unconcerned with her companion’s distaste, this world should be much as our own, only richer in magic. Ah. She smiled as the mikana took a few tottering steps, oriented itself, and then set off across the uneven terrain.

Can’t it go any faster? Saira asked as they strolled behind. This is going to take forever.

He isn’t far, Zeva said confidently, checking a dial on the side of the machine. And better it go slowly, than too quick for us to follow.

What are we even looking for? Saira asked. He was a spark in our world—the other world—what will he look like here?

It is difficult to say; we will have to trust that you can sense him again.

I didn’t even imagine he could escape that way. Saira swallowed and looked down.

He had prepared for the battle to go poorly. Grudging respect sounded in Zeva’s voice. There could be no finer compliment to you.

I’d have preferred it if he didn’t attack me at all, Saira muttered. She paused. And he never struck me as the type to plan for defeat.

"Once, it was all he planned for. Zeva picked her way over a stream that seemed as much magic as water, hardly sparing a glance for the fish that teemed there, flickering all different colors in turn. Perhaps she could not see them. The fear that someone might surpass him…it consumed his thoughts. Then—after me—he began to believe that no one could defeat him."

Saira narrowed her eyes at Zeva’s back. How could you know that?

He told me much of it himself. Zeva looked over her shoulder, a bitter smile on her lips. He came back to the castle often enough, to speak to me.

He knew you were alive? Saira demanded.

No. At least, I think not. If he knew my condition, I believe he would have killed me. Anatol did not leave loose ends; it is one of the reasons he prevailed for so long. No, he came to Castle Maymuna to speak to the dead. He…missed me. We always understood one another better than anyone else. She looked into the middle distance as she walked, and her face had gone so expressionless that she might be a mikana herself.

Unease skittered down Saira’s spine. She had assumed they sought the Imperator to kill him, but what if—

A shriek rent the air ahead, primal in its power.

That’s him. Saira didn’t need the mikana and its dials to sense that much. She knew the scent of the Imperator’s power.

They took off, cresting the hill together and skidding to a halt in horror when they saw what lay before them. Zeva swore, and Saira covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to throw up.

The mikana, meanwhile, marched unconcernedly down the slope towards the pile of corpses.

3

The inhabitants of this place had not been human—or anything close to it. What lay on the ground were shards of something like glass, clear and oddly lifeless in this ever-shifting landscape.

There was no blood, no twisted bones to show violence, but there was no mistaking that a massacre had taken place here. The glass that lay on the ground held no magic, dry as a bone without marrow.

Saira knelt among the shards, trying not to cry, and reached out to touch one of them. An image took place in her mind: swirling winds, the glass alive and alight with color, holding the life force of a being she could hardly comprehend.

What were they? She cupped a tiny sphere of glass in both palms.

This land has creatures beyond anything we know. Zeva was already scanning the horizon again. We may not have a word for what they were. Where is Anatol now, can you sense him?

Have your mikana search for him. Saira wanted to cry. She should give these creatures a proper burial, she thought, but the idea of burying their bodies below the earth seemed wrong, somehow—they were of sky and living air. What rituals did they give to their dead?

It seems to be having trouble finding him. Zeva’s hands were at Saira’s shoulders, pulling her up. Now is not the time to grieve these, whatever they were.

Give me a moment, at least! Saira spat the words at her.

Zeva’s face flickered, but she thrust aside any doubt within a moment. If we allow ourselves to be lost in emotion now, there will be a great many more bodies to mourn later.

Saira wanted to shove Zeva’s hands away, but the words resonated. There was a terrible logic here, and one Zeva had clearly learned well. Saira looked over at her, taking in the deeply etched lines on the woman’s face. She could not bring herself to ask why Zeva was so certain.

She knew the answer, and it had been painted in Demetrios’s guilt and Batur’s grief.

"Why can’t your mikana find him, then?" she asked after a moment.

That, I do not know. Zeva seemed annoyed and intrigued by the problem in equal measure. I hoped you might determine that.

How?

Transform, Zeva suggested. "This world speaks to you in ways I cannot understand. But it will say more if you do not cling to your human form. My human form."

It truly upsets you, Saira said slowly.

Yes. Why should it not? I watch another woman wearing my face.

…Am I even female? Saira asked, suddenly wondering.

"Does that matter?"

Just as much as whose face I wear, surely. Saira pushed herself up. I don’t know any other forms. So until we catch the Imperator, you’re just going to have to accept this.