Read The Fire King for Free Online Page B

heard you lied to your own daughter for years. I don’t expect much from you, Serena McGillis, except falsehoods and meanness.”
    The shape-shifter went utterly still. Soria braced herself.
    Serena said, “I could say there was an accident, you know.”
    “Yes.” Soria crumpled her empty sleeve. “And luckily for you, there would be less of me to hide.”
    Nothing. And then an unpleasant smile ticked at the corner of Serena’s mouth. “I asked how you lost your arm. Roland would not tell me. So I dug. And discovered an unexpected story.”
    It was Soria’s turn to go still and quiet.
    Serena leaned in, close. “I will not turn my back on you,” she whispered. “I know what you did, to yourself and to that man. He was family, if I understand correctly.”
    Pain throbbed, radiating from Soria’s stump up through her neck. “I’m certain you might have done the same, in my situation,” she remarked.
    “Indeed,” replied Serena. “But I would not turn my back on
me,
either.”

Chapter Three
    The human woman returned while Karr was being cleaned. Naked, exposed, his genitals and hindquarters wiped down by warm washcloths. It was humiliating, though the old woman responsible for the task was efficient and quiet. Her strong, wrinkled hands did not hurt him.
    The old woman had been tending his needs for days. Karr marked time by her arrival and departure. He supposed he looked forward to her presence, in some small fashion. Solitude had never disturbed him, but seeing her took his mind away from the torture of forced stillness.
    Where are your wings?
whispered a familiar voice inside his mind, memories so keen that Karr could close his eyes and imagine his friends were with him again. Althea with her snow-spotted pelt, or gruff Delko, more crow than fox.
    Tau, especially, lingered in his mind; too much a wolf to ever be mistaken for a man, whose own wings were born of an eagle skin.
Where are your wings,
Tau would tease, when Karr was very young and desperate to fly.
Little brother, where are your wings?
    Here,
thought Karr, as his shoulder blades itched against the cold, hard stone.
Ready to be free.
    He heard the door to his cell open, followed by a sharp breath. The old woman, who had been bundling up the soiled clothes placed beneath him, paused and looked up. Karr heard a familiar voice say several quiet words in a musical, rolling tongue.
    Soria,
he thought.
    He could not see her through the slit in the iron hood, just the old woman, who tossed a clean sheet over his hips and then squatted to finish her routine. He smelled his liquid meal, bland and warm, and beneath that his nurse’s scent, rich with meat, pepper. She had been eating well, and recently.
    Soria’s footsteps sounded light on the stone floor. She said another soft word, but the old woman ignored her, reaching out with that odd, hollow glass spoon she always fed Karr with. Long as a branch, and filled with liquid. Despair filled him when he saw it. Terrible fury. He was sick of this. Sick to death.
    Soria’s pale hand grabbed the old woman’s arm, preventing her from feeding him. Her fingers were long, her wrist delicate. Not much strength. So small and frail, he could snap those bones with two fingers. Her hand was weak, soft.
    Her voice was another matter. Low and compelling, it was a melody of words. He did not understand what she was saying, but he understood her tone: furious, demanding. Her anger intrigued Karr. It meant something to him.
    The old woman, who had been utterly emotionless throughout the feedings and cleanings—and his occasional bouts of rage—began muttering to herself. She set down the bowl so hard he thought it might break, got up with a grunt and then, with great deliberation, spat on the floor.
    Soria remained silent. The old woman walked away, her shoes loud against the stone. She slammed the door behind her. The room felt very quiet without her, cut only by sounds of soft breathing. After a moment, Soria stepped