The Fire King (27 page)

Soria grabbed Serena’s foot and shoved it off Karr’s shoulder.
“Where are you taking us?”

“Someplace productive.”
Displeasure twisted the shape-shifter’s mouth.
“What have you learned from him?”

“What does Long Nu want?”

Serena eyed her, and then eyed Karr.
“He does not understand us, does he?”

The incredulity that passed over Soria’s face was so convincing, he very nearly found himself believing that he was imagining all those words. Except, while he might have lost his mind once before, no hallucinations had ever been involved. Just a blackout. Darkness, swallowing him. Spitting him out into a sunlit morning where he was covered in blood, and there was a woman’s body nearby. And his friends—Tau, in particular—staring at him as though he were a monster.

A wave of nausea passed through him. He swallowed hard, focusing on a spot on Soria’s foot. Her shoes were odd. He had not noticed until now. Scuffed leather that had once been white, they were laced with delicate white string. Seeing such a simple yet alien article of clothing, combined with every other little and not-so-little thing—enclosed wagons moving of their own accord, lights that burned without flames, the prevalence of metal, and the fine delicate substance that those children had been reading (reading!) in that nomad tent—combined once again to hammer home his displacement. Karr had no home. He had no one.

Except Soria,
he thought.

Yet he could not be certain if his feelings toward her were genuine or due more to the fact that he was utterly, magnificently alone. Alone, with only one person in the world who could understand him. Desperation could make a heart feel many strange things, attachment toward a captor included. Even if that was something that had never happened to him before.

You think too much about the wrong things. Focus on now,
he told himself sternly, studying the men and Serena.
Sort out the rest when you have the luxury of knowing you will survive.

The air was bumpy, and the metal box in which they traveled—a flying wagon, Karr thought—rattled too much for comfort. But they were not in it long before he felt the beginnings of a slow descent. Soria tensed, and Karr rumbled, softly, “Stay with the shape-shifter. She will protect you from the men.” That was all he cared about.

“I am not leaving you,” she muttered.

“This has happened before. I was caught several times during the war. Caught and tortured.” He held her gaze, feeling the scrutiny of everyone seated around them. “I have always escaped. Stay alive. I will find you.”

Soria’s jaw tightened. One of the men said,
“Sounds rabid. All that fucking growling.”

“Sex talk,”
said another, and laughed.

The shape-shifter gave her men a cold stare, which she then pinned on Soria and Karr. Disturbingly thoughtful, her one good eye narrowed, glinting sharp as the light on a blade. Karr stared back, unflinching. Finally, she looked away.

The structure around them shuddered and then went still. The surrounding roar quieted to a whine and then an odd rhythmic sound that was just beginning to die when the men slid the vehicle open and began jumping out. Karr’s leg restraints were hooked again, and he was dragged out, falling several feet. It knocked the breath out of his lungs. Soria scrambled after him, shouting at the men. No one paid attention. Karr wanted to tell her to save her voice, but could not find his own.

He smelled another shape-shifter. A new scent. Wild and old, and full of ash, like the remains of a burned forest. Except, the scent was cut with a spice that reminded him of a hot jungle: warm, wet, verdant. He craned his neck, trying to see.

Finally, he did. It was an old woman wearing a human form, golden eyes glowing faintly. Her hair was silver, mixed with strains of black, and she was small, slightly hunched, clad in a glossy dark coat of fine cloth and loose pants. She was barefoot, like Serena. Her hands were hidden, but Karr would not have been surprised to see claws pressing into her palms. She radiated an unusual energy, like the edges of a storm gathering lightning.

The old shifter ignored everyone but Karr. When he was tossed at her feet, a rattling cough escaped her, as if her lungs were being squeezed with a fist. He met her gaze, but unlike Serena she did not back down. She showed no fear, no hate, no compassion. Nothing but emptiness.

Soria was brought close. Spine straight, left hand curled into a loose fist. Her empty sleeve twisted in the wind. Around them, a short distance away, he saw the sharp edges of a human settlement. Few lights, no people.

The woman spoke to Soria. She used an incomprehensible melodic language, one that reminded him of the words his caretaker had uttered back in his cell. Same rolling tones and sharp accents. Her voice was smoother than her skin, soft and compelling—but not in a gentle way. Listening to her reminded Karr of the old shifter queens and human royalty, men and women of such power and authority that they found it unseemly to raise their voices.

Soria remained silent, jaw tight, staring back with disgust and fury infusing her scent. Utterly, carelessly defiant.

Serena walked up behind her, graceful and swaying.
“She has formed an attachment to him. I doubt she will help you.”

“You bet your ass I won’t,”
Soria snapped, not once taking her gaze off the old woman.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, pulling this shit? Kidnapping, imprisonment, torture? What has he done to you?”

“He exists,”
said the old woman, a hint of weariness in her voice that was utterly at odds with her steely demeanor.

Soria dragged in a deep breath.
“He can’t tell you why he’s alive. He doesn’t know.”

“You misunderstand me,”
she replied, weariness bleeding into malice.
“I do not care why he is alive. Resurrection and immortality are the least of my concerns. What I want to know is where the others of his kind are hiding.”

Soria stared in disbelief, but Karr was not surprised. Thousands of years had changed nothing. He could not hide his contempt as the old woman met his gaze, studying him with cold, hard, unbending strength.

I am stronger than you,
he thought.
Let me go and I will show you.

Her eyes narrowed, almost as if she heard him. Karr clamped down immediately on his thoughts, tightening his focus. His mother had been born with limited mind-gifts. Magic. Karr had shown little talent for it; his attempt at mentally searching for others of his kind being a prime example of just how disastrous his efforts could be. But pure-blooded dragons were never to be underestimated. And though no one had said so, he was quite certain he knew who this old woman was.

She turned and walked away, a slow shuffling motion that kicked dust from the grass. Soria lunged, but Serena grabbed her arm, holding her back. Soria tried to shake her off, but when it did no good, she looked at the retreating old woman, and shouted,
“What will you do, Long Nu? What will you do when you find them?”

Long Nu said nothing, though her pace briefly faltered. Karr tugged on the metal wire binding his wrists and said, “She will kill us all.”

“Yes,” Soria muttered in his language, glancing at Serena. “I figured.”

No one eased the tightness of the wires cutting into his skin. No one took care as he was hauled another long distance across open ground. Rocks cut his face and chest, and bruised his genitals, and he felt the wet heat of blood running down his legs. He was dragged the entire way, suffering in silence, wondering if he would find himself crippled by night’s end.

Soria could do nothing to help him. Serena hauled her out of sight into the human settlement, which consisted of wooden structures, a street, and little else. No people. No signs of life. Even the scent of the place was dull and dead, in the same way as a corpse: something vital was missing; a spark was gone.

The mercenaries spoke to each other as they dragged Karr. He could not understand them, even though the sounds of the words were familiar. Not being near Soria made the difference, he decided. Somehow, he truly was absorbing her gift for language. Or rather,
her
language.

He found her again when he was finally dumped inside the front room of a small brown structure. She was seated in a chair—tied down to it, her left arm bound behind. Her braids were even more frayed, and the flush that filled her olive cheeks was deep and rich. Her eyes were wild with anger, lips clamped so tightly they disappeared into a thin line. She rocked forward when she saw him, the back of her chair rising off the floor and then falling so hard he thought it would break.

Long Nu stood behind Soria, her hands still clasped behind her back. Serena was nowhere in sight, though her scent lingered. The old shifter ignored the mercenaries as they left, though the bald-headed man took the longest to go. His gaze lingered on Soria with thoughtful menace, and after he shut the door, he loitered outside, his gear shifting, rubbing, every time he moved. Karr could hear this, though he barely had the strength to lift his head.

Karr lay on his back, savoring being still. Fighting not to show his pain, or wince every time he breathed. It took all his willpower, but when he glanced at Soria and saw the tears in her eyes, he knew what he looked like, and no amount of hiding was going to change that.

Long Nu drew near. Karr watched her, studying the lines of her face, the emptiness of her eyes. A careful blankness, he thought. She was trying hard not to show him her true feelings.

“I know you understand me,”
she said quietly to him.
“Do not waste your energy trying to pretend otherwise.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Soria.
“You did something to him.”

“No,”
Soria replied, tugging on her restraints.
“You’re mistaken.”

The old shifter gave her a grim look.
“Try all you like, but you won’t free yourself. I have heard how savage you are when cornered. I took precautions.”

Soria froze. Karr murmured, “Tell her I do not know the answer to what she wants. She can ask me all that she pleases, but I am alone in this world. If there are others, they are as unknown to me as how to speak your tongue.”

Soria gave him a long look, wetted her lips, and then translated. Long Nu watched him all the while, her gaze piercing, sharp.
Reading my mind,
he thought, scrambling to remember more of what his mother had tried to teach him of such things. Some he had put into place the moment he sensed that the old dragon was a mind reader. But on the surface of his thoughts, all he could think of was the stretch of his mother’s powerful wings, and the golden light of her gaze, which was warm and soft and utterly the opposite of the old woman who stood before him.

Long Nu shut her eyes, drawing in a deep, hissed breath.
“Your mother was a dragon.”

“And she was murdered by one,” Karr replied, in his own language. “My parents were killed by those they thought were their friends.”

“For having you,”
Long Nu breathed, as if she understood his every word.
“Making certain they could not have another.”

Soria made a low sound. Karr could not look at her. “You can read my mind. You know I am telling you the truth. I cannot tell you whether there are more.”

“But you know how to find them,”
she said, her voice deathly quiet.

Karr’s breath caught. “No.”

Soria hopped in her chair, dragging it toward Long Nu.
“Stop this.”

“I cannot,”
whispered Long Nu, still staring at Karr.
“There are things you do not understand.”

His scar tingled. Fury rose through him, and grief. Now was his chance to ask how the war had ended, and what had happened to his people—but he suddenly could not bear to hear what she would tell him. “I counseled mercy during the war, though we were shown none. I was called a fool for it, but I believed in being better than your kind.” He lurched upward, growling against the pain. “I am not the same man. I will not make that mistake again.”

Long Nu glanced at Soria.
“You already did.”

Soria rocked violently forward.
“You had an alliance with Dirk and Steele. We trusted you!”

“I know what I am sacrificing. I do this for the good of my people. They cannot be allowed to know what he is. What any of them are.”

“Or what is possible,” Karr rumbled, tearing his gaze from Long Nu to look at Soria. “The crow did not know. He did not believe such a thing as me could exist. Our history has been murdered. But if that changed—”

Long Nu’s hands flashed golden as the sun, claws sprouting like hooked daggers from her wrinkled fingers. Scales burst over her skin, and her slow movements suddenly quickened as though her joints were made of hot oil. She did not hit him. He thought she would, and braced himself—

He was still bracing himself when she turned and lashed out at Soria. Time slowed down. Karr could not think, could not react. All he could do was stare in horror as the old shifter razored her claws through the air, straight for Soria’s throat.

But Long Nu stopped, perfectly still, just before making the killing blow. Her claws were pressed so tightly against the human woman’s skin that blood welled under each sharp point. Soria sat frozen, eyes huge. Her breathing was ragged. So was Karr’s. He had never been so frightened in all his life—a shocking, nauseating fear that put such pressure on his chest that he thought he might suffocate.

“I will kill her if you do not do as I ask,”
whispered Long Nu, though there was a tremor in her voice, and her hand shook, ever so slightly. All that emptiness in her eyes was faltering now, flickering with heat and pain; but Karr was not reassured. He was quite certain she would do as promised. Dragons never lied.

“Coward,” he breathed. “You are nothing but an old bitch queen. Using pain and tricks to get your way. Too afraid to stand against me with honor.”

“There is no honor in survival,”
Long Nu said.
“Survival demands sacrifice. And to live, sometimes it means being the monster. You should ask
her
about that.”