Zalfaqar raises his head and stares into the crowd and then he moves toward me in long, measured steps. The Sihde captives are hypnotized, moved beyond the fear of death. And then, over the loud whispers from the crowd, he raises a jeweled dagger and waves it over their heads. They cheer and chant his name. He is standing so close I can feel the fur of his mane touching my right arm.

He places his hand on my shoulder and waves the dagger like a giant brush. I try to run, but he grabs my long hair and pulls me close. The tide rolls in and the storm clouds darken, as he slides the edge of the blade along my neck.

I feel no pain — nothing at all. The light from my crown grows bright, illuminating the sky in brilliant waves of green radiance. Zalfaqar falls to the ground, blinded, confused, and fearful. I hold my hands to my unscathed throat.

I feel thick scales on my neck, and I stare down at my hands to watch my fingers grow into claws and my skin fade to a dark shade of green.