Read Requiem's Song (Book 1) for Free Online Page A

you
beat me down, I stood up again. Whenever you hurt me, I grew
stronger. My face is ruined now as yours is. And our spirits are both
strong." She took a step closer. "In the mud, in the dog
pen, in puddles of my own blood, I proved my strength to you. Let me
show you this strength upon a roc, a bow in my hand. I will hunt with
you, and I will prove that I'm worth more than scrubbing your feet."
She took another step, raised her chin, and stared at him with all
the strength she could summon. Her tears were gone. "I will kill
for you."
    Slowly,
his joints creaking, he rose to his feet. He loomed over her; the top
of her head did not even reach his shoulders. He stank of ale, sweat,
and his old injury.
    "You
have the curse." His voice was low, full of danger. "You
lie, maggot. Your mother had the reptile in her veins. You carry it
within you too."
    "I
do not!" She raised her chin, staring up at him, refusing to
cower. She would show him her strength in this tent. "You lie to
yourself so you may hurt me. I cannot fly as a dragon, but I will fly
upon a roc." She raised her fist. "I am small and weak; you
made me so. But my spirit is as strong as bronze."
    Quick
as a striking cobra, he reached out and clutched her throat.
    She
gasped, unable to breathe.
    "Your
spirit is strong?" He leaned down to bring his face close to
hers. His breath assailed her. "I could just . . . tighten my
grip. And your neck would just . . . snap. Like a pheasant bone. You
are a woman, and all women are weak."
    She
sputtered, struggling for air, forcing down the urge to strike him.
His grip loosened just the slightest, and she whispered hoarse words.
    "I
am a woman, yes, my chieftain. And I have a woman's strength."
Even as he held her throat, she tugged at the lacing of her cloak.
The patchwork of rat furs fell to the ground. "I have a woman's
gifts to give."
    He
released her throat, and she gasped and held her neck, sucking in
deep breaths. He took a step back and admired her. She stood naked
before him, chin still raised.
    She
was not comely, Laira knew. Years of hunger had left her body frail.
She had not the wide hips or rich breasts the men liked to carve into
their images of stone. Red marks covered her skin—the scars of the
leeches Shedah, the tribe's shaman, often placed upon her. The crone
would mix the blood in potions she drank; she claimed that the blood
of a princess gave her long life. Shedah lingered on in her mockery
of life, and the leechcraft left Laira bruised and added to her
fragility.
    And
yet, despite her meager size and marked body, lust filled Zerra's
eyes. Men such as him, hunters and conquerors, were easy to please.
They saw every woman, even a scrawny and broken thing like her, as
lands to conquer.
    "I
will give you this body," she said. "But my chieftain . . .
you must give me a roc."
    He
stared at her for a long moment, and strangely she no longer
trembled. She was no longer afraid. She did not feel exposed. She
felt, for the first time in years, in control of her life.
    This
body, she thought, is
the only power I have left.
    He
doffed his own cloak and removed his tunic. He stood naked before
her. The scar that covered half his face—the burn of
dragonfire—spread down half his body, twisting his arm, chest, and
leg, and even half his manhood bore the marks.
    He
grabbed her arms.
    He
took her into his bed of animal hides.
    As
he thrust into her, nearly crushing her with his weight, she closed
her eyes and bit her lip. He pressed against her, slick with sweat,
and the pain drove through her, and she clenched her fists and
thought of the sky. In her mind she was a dragon again, a beautiful
animal of golden scales and long claws, too strong to hurt, too proud
to tame. She flew upon the wind, free and noble and far from home.

 
 
JEID

    Jeid
Blacksmith stood above the grave of his daughter, head lowered and
fists clenched.
    A
boulder marked the hilltop grave, overgrown with ivy and moss. An oak
shaded it, and