The Fire King (16 page)

His scar tingled. Karr froze, listening to his body. Nothing more happened—no pain, no more sensation—but the warning was there. Whatever had brought him back from the dead was still running its course.

Magic. Blood arts.
Someone had done this to him. He thought of Soria and her shape-shifter ally, but dismissed them both within moments. Soria had been too shaken.

And the leopardess would have preferred to find his corpse in the tomb—of that he was quite certain.

And yet, she
had
unearthed him. Or had been directed to. And she had just so happened to know someone who could speak his language, however Soria managed that feat. Her explanation sounded like magic to him.

Goats,
he told himself sternly, realizing that he had been crouched in the same place for too long. The winds were shifting.

He followed them carefully, focusing on the hunt. One thing at a time. Magic could wait.

He ran back to the lake as a man, carrying the warm body of the dead goat on his shoulders, its broken neck flopping wildly. Stars glittered. At the top of the final ridge he stopped, searching for Soria. He found her kneeling by the water’s edge. Her hair was free of its braids, hanging loose and wild down her back, nearly obscuring the pale line of naked flesh on her right side.

She had pulled up her shirt, the hem held between her teeth. Karr watched her scoop water into her hand, shake the drops loose, and then press her cold, damp palm over the stump jutting from her shoulder. Her arm ended well above where her elbow should be.

Such an odd, painful thing to see her disfigurement. He supposed, in a way, that she was lucky to be human and confined only to one body. For a chimera to lose a limb, especially those whose skins gave them wings, was a loss that could murder the second soul. He had counseled many who had lost parts of themselves in battle; limbs or otherwise. Some had recovered their minds. Others … not.

Karr tore his gaze away, and slowly, carefully, walked back down the ridge, just out of sight. He could hear water splashing, listened to the occasional hiss of her breath, as if she was in pain. He suddenly felt weary to the bone, and set down the goat, crouching beside its dead body. The scent of its flesh made him hollow with hunger, but he swallowed the ache and closed his eyes. Listening. Listening to her.

When finally the sounds of splashing water faded, he stood again, hefted the goat, and as loudly as he could, walked up to the top of the ridge. Soria still knelt by the water’s edge, but her shirt was down, and she was awkwardly braiding her hair.

She gave him a little smile as he approached, and the weary ease of her regard made his breath catch. “Did it put up a fight?”

“She was old, and would have died soon on her own.” Karr dropped the goat, claws emerging from his fingertips. “Would you like a piece of the heart?”

Soria hesitated. “Would you know how to start a fire?”

Karr stared. “Not at the moment, no.”

She stared at the goat as though it might bite her. Or make her sick. He considered her water concerns, but there was little to be done about the matter. Fetid water could make anyone ill, but that was a risk one took—and rather unavoidable if the goal was to keep on living.

Karr knelt beside the dead animal, using his claws to cut open its belly. Guts spilled out, and the smell of fresh meat was so tantalizing he almost forgot himself and started eating. Instead, he gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he was in mixed company, and reached deep into the body. He pulled the heart free.

Still warm. He began to hand it to Soria, took one look at her face and used his claw to slice off a small piece. His stomach roared.

“Here,” he said, almost sick with hunger. “Take it.”

She looked quite pale, and not at all enthused. But she took the meat from his hand and without a word, shoved it into her mouth. Chewed hard, and swallowed. Karr had another piece ready. She did the same, making a face—holding very still for a moment like she would be sick. But she swallowed again, and nodded her head when he offered her more. Karr took a large bite out of the organ, closing his eyes to savor the bursting wild flavor. If anything, his stomach ached even more.

They ate in silence. Karr cut Soria small pieces of the goat, moving next to the liver. She stopped partaking at the eyes, and walked a short distance away when he started skinning the creature and pulled off its leg. He found himself shifting shape as he ate—in subtle ways, becoming more of a lion again. He could not help himself, nor did he want to; it was a pleasure to be free of the cage, free under the starry sky, free and alive. No matter his original reason for dying.

Soria busied herself with the bloodstained cloth, spreading it on the ground. He asked, “Why did you insist on bringing that?”

“I know it seems strange,” she replied, glancing at him. “But my people have ways of … checking blood. Reading signs from it. Yours would tell them very different things. You do not want that.”

“Would they make magic upon me?”

“No. But they would become aware that someone like you exists. There would be proof.”

Karr set down the leg he had been chewing. “You say that as if no one already knows.”

“Few do. I told you that.”

“What you told me is that if my people were alive, almost no one remembers them.”

Soria sat down, rubbing her face. “No one remembers. Almost no one knows. Or imagines. If they did, you and anyone like you—shape-shifters included—would become a spectacle. Your life would no longer be your own.”

“We would be hunted?”

“In more ways than one.” Soria gave him a deeply weary look. “So would I, for what I can do. What saves me—and others who are different—is that no one expects us to do the things we do. And what no one expects, no one sees. No one asks the crazy question: is it magic?”

Karr no longer felt hungry. “Has the world changed so much? What you are suggesting seems …”

“Impossible?”

“Impossible,” he agreed. “And sad. That time can erase so many lives, until even the possibility of them becomes reduced to … nothing. What, then, is left?”

Soria opened her mouth, hesitated, and shook her head. She tapped the stained cloth. “We need to burn or bury this.”

“If you bury it, animals will smell the blood and dig it up.”

“So we wait for fire.” She looked unhappy, and began rubbing her shoulder. A shiver raced through her. Karr set his jaw, glancing down at the goat carcass. He stood and walked to Soria.

“We should move away from the water before we rest,” he said quietly. “Not far.”

She nodded silently, and began gathering up the cloth and soft pants she had tried to give him earlier. The idea of clothing made his skin crawl. Too much like confinement.

But he took everything from her, ignoring her brief look of surprise as he tucked the bundle under his arm. He grabbed the remains of the goat—reduced to several legs and hide—and dragged it behind him. There was no use leaving more proof of their presence; the goat did not look as though it had been torn apart by an animal.

They walked along the water’s edge, and over another ridge. Karr did not rush. Soria was much smaller than he, requiring two steps for every one of his. He stole glances at her face, and found her eyes hollow with exhaustion.

“The humans come often to this place,” he told her. “Same path I took to find them. I could smell it on my way to their settlement. We are far less likely to encounter anyone on this side of the water. We will have some warning, if nothing else.”

She nodded. “How do you know where you are going?”

“The stars have not changed,” Karr said. “How far are we from where I was buried?”

“You were found southwest of here. Less than a thousand miles, I would guess. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, tight-lipped. “Those of us who could fly were returning from a trading mission. We had found a human settlement that was willing to deal with my kind.”

“So what happened?”

Death. Insanity.
“My life ended.”

“Before, you used the word ‘murdered.’ ”

Murdered. He remembered telling her that—even thinking it—but it was the wrong thing to say. He had committed suicide, and used his friends to take his life.

“It is complicated,” he told her, far more sharply than he intended.

She gave him a hard look. “Death is never complicated. Just the how and why. Especially so in your case, Mr. Dead Man Walking.”

Her phrasing was unfamiliar—one of the words foreign—but her meaning was perfectly clear. He looked around them, and found they had crossed the ridge. The lake was out of sight.

Karr tossed down the goat and the cloth bundle. “This is far enough.”

Soria stood still, watching him. “The people who killed you. Were they capable of doing this? Bringing you back to life?”

“No.”

“Someone is responsible. Unless your kind can—”

“No,” he said again, interrupting her. “No.”

“Fine,” she said coldly. “But who, then?”

“One of you?” He stepped too close, deliberately using his height against her. She craned her neck but did not move. Her gaze was stubborn, defiant. “Are there any among your kind who could resurrect the dead?”

She hesitated. “I do not know.”

That was not the answer he expected. “Really.”

“I have heard stories, and seen strange things,” she told him. “Stranger than you. But that does not explain motive. Who are you, Karr? Who
were
you?”

“And if I tell you?” he asked harshly, leaning over her. “What will you do with that information?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “I am in the middle of the fucking Gobi Desert. What do you think I am going to do? Run screaming for the first phone I can find?”

Not all of that was perfectly comprehensible, but her tone was. Karr forced himself to take a deep, careful breath. “Despite your … acts of kindness, we are on opposite sides. I forget that when I am around you, but your connection to the shape-shifters—”

A frustrated growl boiled out of her. “You are so one-track-minded.”

“I am … not,” he said, not quite sure what he was denying, but rather certain she had insulted him. “I am protecting myself.”

Soria sat down on the ground, and then flopped backward, staring at the starlit sky. Her arm crossed over her stomach. She looked cold. Karr, after a moment, sat beside her.

“I am—was—a warlord,” he told her quietly. “Though that is a human term, and does not describe the whole of it. I led my people. I protected them. It was my duty and honor to do so, because I was the strongest, in both heart and body.”

“Were you born to the role?”

“Chosen.” Karr lay down, watching the stars. “The elders appointed me.”

“And was someone jealous of you? Is that why you were killed?”

He closed his eyes. “You ask too many questions.”

“I think I have a right.”

“I suppose, then, I have a right to know how you lost your arm.”

Her answering silence was long and painful. Finally, she said, “I apologize.”

“Do not,” he whispered. “You have a reason for asking.”

Soria sighed, holding the wrist of her empty sleeve. He thought, perhaps, that she was done with words; but then she said, “Thank you, for earlier. What you said about my arm. It helped.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“A little.” Soria spoke as though pain was something to be ashamed of. “Comes and goes. The more active I am, the more chances there are for my body to … imagine my arm is still there. When that happens … it hurts.” She glanced sideways at him. “Your scar? More blood going to come gushing out of you?”

“I cannot say.” He fingered the spot, trying not to think of the events that had preceded his death. “We should sleep.”

“Sure,” Soria muttered, still clutching her sleeve. “Easy.”

“Are you cold?”

She gave him a long, steady look. “Yes.”

Dangerous,
whispered his mind.
You fool.
But that did not stop him from saying, “Roll over on your side.”

Soria chewed the inside of her cheek, still staring at him, her expression utterly inscrutable. Finally, though, she sat up and grabbed the loose, soft pants she had brought with her. She threw them in his lap. “Put those on.”

“I would rather—”

“Put. Them. On.” Firm voice, unflinching stare. Cold as ice. Karr considered arguing. His skin crawled at the idea of cloth rubbing his skin, confining him to one body. But he thought about every other human he had seen, even the leopardess shape-shifter, and all of them had been clothed.

I would not expect
you
to go naked simply to conform to
my
standards,
he told Soria silently. But it was an image that was far more intriguing than it should have been.

Gritting his teeth, he jammed his legs into the soft pants and pulled them up over his hips. They were too small. He hated the sensation. Soria, however, nodded at him with all the imperiousness of a queen, and rolled over. Karr briefly considered letting her freeze.

Instead, he curled close against her back, tucking her deep within the curve of his body. A perfect fit. He slid his arm under her head, draped his other arm over her waist, noticing that it was her empty sleeve that he touched. She stiffened but said nothing. He almost wished she would.

She smelled warm and sweet, and felt too good in his arms; small, astonishingly delicate. He had never noticed whether females were fine-boned or even feminine; the only qualities that ever mattered were integrity and strength. Nothing else could be counted on in battle, or in life. But he noticed now.

“Does that help?” he asked quietly, tasting tendrils of her hair against his lips.

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“And this?” A golden glow spread over his skin, leaving a thick coat of fur in its place. He pulled her even closer, splaying his hand over her stomach. Her heart rate jumped. He could hear it, mirroring his own, though he wondered if she suffered the same powerful ache of loneliness that crawled from his heart into his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Yes,” she whispered.