The Fire King (18 page)

“Do not,” she said quietly. “Not if you are going to ask me what my motives are. I understand why you want to ask those questions, but I am tired of them. I am here. Send me away if you want, or leave me with those people and their goats. But whatever you do, remember that it is
your
choice. You chose to let me come with you. The burden of that does not belong to me.”

She removed her hand, heart beating a little too rapidly. Karr’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment he inclined his head in a subtle nod. “Fair enough.”

“Good,” she said, tense. “Now tell me about the sword that killed you.”

They walked through the desert, and the predawn air was cool and dry. Thirty minutes from the lake, grassland gave way to rock and sand, a flat plain that broke into sharp ridges resembling bony spurs in the early light. There was not a sign of life around them, but she knew how deceptive that was.

Karr did not revert to his human body. He stayed a dragon but moved like a lion in a cage, restless, graceful, every inch of him a breathtaking display of muscle, bone, and power. Traveling at his side made Soria feel like a princess in a fairy tale—the bedraggled kind, one-armed, hungry, and exhausted.

“The sword was forged by the Chalybes, who were of the Hittite people,” Karr rumbled, as they walked. “Master craftsmen. Just one of their swords was worth a man’s weight in silver. Most were made of iron, but the weapon that killed me was part of an experiment. Melting iron ore with charcoal and glass to make a new metal that could hold a finer edge than any other.”

Steel,
thought Soria. “How did it come into your possession?”

His tail lashed the air. “Chimera have always been skilled in war. We are stronger and faster than pure-blooded shape-shifters, and there was a time when we were tolerated for our usefulness in such matters. In the case of the Hittites, there was a long history of alliance between my kind and their ruling family. When they required protection from invading northern tribesmen, we came to their aid. In return, we were gifted handsomely—and I was given the sword.” He peered sideways at her. “You ask because of the dream we shared.”

The wind blew, kicking up a small storm of fine yellow dust. Soria coughed, and rubbed her burning eyes. “The last image of the sword was no dream. Not your memories or mine. Something different.”

“In my time,” Karr said slowly, “those who found power in dreams were either shamans, witches, or the insane.”

“I am none of those things,” she told him sharply. “Just a woman.”

“And I am just a man.” He tilted his head, staring at the glowing horizon. “Am I not?”

Soria gave him a dirty look. “It means something. Was the sword … special in any way?”

“I used it to kill. There is nothing special about that.”

“Unless you consider that it killed
you,
or was supposed to have. And yet, here you are. Alive.”

“You are grasping.”

“At threads,” she agreed, picturing the map again in her mind, red lines spreading like rivers or roads—or entrails—into the core of an odd little doll. A chill rushed through her. “Do you trust dreams?”

“I do not even trust my memories,” he replied, glancing sharply over his shoulder. “We are being followed again.”

“The shape-shifter?” Soria scanned the horizon but saw nothing. “If your parents were shape-shifters, then how is it you hate their kind so much? You are one of them, no matter what you say.”

“You might love your parents,” he rasped harshly, “but if their family exiled and murdered them—attempting to do the same to you—I suspect you would understand my feelings about the matter.”

She stopped walking, and stared at him. “I know many shape-shifters, and they are good men and women. They would not do that.”

“And your leopardess?” Karr shook his head. “You are not that blind. And neither am I. I know that the actions of one should not condemn the whole, but it is safer, in my experience, to assume the worst. Do otherwise … and you die.”

“If I assumed the worst,” Soria began to say, and then stopped, thinking,
If I assumed the worst, I would still have my arm.
But she swallowed that down, and continued, “I would never have freed you from that cage.”

“You are too naive.” Karr gave her missing arm a sidelong look. “Or perhaps you wish to prove something to yourself.”

It took a strong effort not to grab her empty sleeve and give it a good tight twist. “Do you plan on wandering through this desert forever, or do you know where you are going?”

“It is not my custom to lead rats into my home.” Karr sat up on his haunches, a golden glow shimmering over his skin. He studied the sky again and said, absently, “Was that a map in your dream?”

“Our dream,” she said. “And yes, I think so. I may even recognize the location of where all those lines were streaming from.”

Karr made a low grunting sound, still distracted. Soria saw nothing in the sky except fading stars, but moments later stood back as his wings unfurled. “Dreams,” he muttered. “I do
not
trust them.”

His wings thrust down, kicking up a whirlwind of dust. Soria turned to shield her face, and missed seeing him leap upward from the earth. She almost tumbled over, though, buffeted by the power of his beating wings.

He was well into the sky when she could finally see him through her watery eyes, and was hit again with a lurching sense of wonder and disbelief. It was one thing to see a woman turn into a leopard, but a
dragon
hit her in that place reserved for childhood fantasies, the kind that never died but just slept, waiting for moments like this: affirmation that the world was, indeed, a mysterious place.

Karr flew high into the dawn sky, obscured by lingering shadows. His body reminded her of a bird, though not nearly as graceful, and his wings seemed to labor so intensely it was difficult to imagine him carrying her.

Until, suddenly, he wove sideways in a tumbling roll that sent him into a steep dive. Quick, tight, his speed utterly punishing. Soria was so enthralled—and concerned—she almost missed the black speck in the sky that was twisting wildly to avoid him. A bird, she realized.

A crow.

She stood for long moment, stunned, unable to do anything but stare as her stomach filled with terrible, desperate dread. And then something broke inside her, and she started jumping up and down, waving her arms.

“No!”
she screamed.
“Stop!”

Too late. The dragon crashed into the bird, sending it spinning wildly toward the earth. Soria started running, well aware it was useless: no way was she going to catch him. At the last moment, though, Karr tucked his wings against his body and swooped low to snatch his victim from the sky.

Soria exhaled sharply, staggering to a stop, but her relief was short-lived. Karr landed roughly, hopping several steps before coming to a full stop. Whirlwinds of dust surrounded him, but this time Soria did not shy away. She dropped onto all fours, scrabbling beneath his belly, struggling to reach the crow he had pinned to the ground. Karr made a muffled sound of surprise but did not move, even when she slammed her fist against his chest.

“Let go,” she snapped. The crow twitched, opening its shining golden eyes. Staring at her with familiar intelligence.

She hit Karr again.
“Let him go.”

He tossed the crow aside like a piece of trash. Soria threw herself across the small, feathered body. Karr snapped at her head, raking his claws through the rocky soil. Beneath her, the crow began to glow.

Soria sat back, breathing hard, and an immense clawed hand clasped her aching shoulder. Karr’s touch was gentle but unmistakably firm. She did not think, simply reached up to grasp his hand, as much of it as she could. Her fingers traced the hard, cool curve of talons, as well as soft scales. He stiffened but did not pull away.

The crow transformed, lost within a well of light. In moments, feathers faded into flesh, and Soria leaned backward against Karr to make room as a man took the place of the bird. He was tall and lean, covered in tattoos. Long black hair, snarled and dirty, covered much of his handsome face. He looked as though he had not bathed in a week. Scratches covered his chest. Blood.

“Koni,” Soria whispered.

He replied hoarsely, his gaze flickering to Karr. “Nice to see you again, Soria.”

Quite oddly, there was a moment when Karr felt certain he understood what the shape-shifter was saying. The words melted and reformed inside his brain, flowing from gibberish into something that was meaningful.

“Nice to see you,”
he heard, and then everything else faded into a puzzle, and he was lost once again; frustratingly so. He had never realized how isolating language could be—or how inclusive. He rather preferred the latter, though watching Soria’s body language as she spoke to the crow was quite illuminating.

Clearly, she knew the shape-shifter—which at this point was hardly a surprise. She might very well be acquainted with every one of them in existence, and it would not be a discovery any less traumatizing than the one she had given him this morning, when he realized that she could see inside his mind.

There was, however, a level of comfort in her behavior around the crow that both fascinated and disturbed Karr. With the leopardess, there had been distance, anger, distrust. Here and now, only the anger was present, but it was an exasperated irritation, the kind born from long familiarity. She talked fast, her one hand gesturing wildly, occasionally making stabbing motions. Karr detected tension in her, even awkwardness, but not enough to consider worrisome.

And she hugged the shape-shifter. Which Karr found that he did not like at all.

The crow was nearly as agitated, and just as informal. He was a tall, lean man, quick in thought and movement. He spoke to Soria as though she was an equal, but unlike the leopardess there was no underlying threat. Karr could tell they were friends, even though his gaze kept flicking down to her empty sleeve. As though he was used to seeing her arm, and found its loss glaring.

It can be done,
Karr remembered telling the children of his clan,
friendship between our kind and humans. The imbalance of power is not so great. The barrier is in how we are perceived—and in how much we dare trust those who might fear us.

Fine words. But he had rarely seen the truth of it. Until now.

“We are all in deep shit,”
he heard, suddenly understanding every word the crow said; even the nuances.
“Soria, she’s not making sense.”

He said more, but the words faded into nonsense, an incomprehensible riddle that was completely frustrating. Karr found himself wanting to squeeze his hands into fists, and remembered at the last moment that he was still holding Soria’s shoulder.

He could not bring himself to release her, though he had no good reason for his reluctance beyond some lingering distrust, some desire to give the shape-shifter a message, a warning:
I am guarding her back. Do not hurt her. Do not think dark thoughts of her. Be her friend or I will hurt you.

Not that it seemed necessary. Karr reverted slowly into his human body, descending from his dragon height. He still dwarfed the other man. His wings receded, yet his scales remained: iridescent and golden beneath the rising sun, curved into soft plates like the skin of a snake. His right hand retained its claws, but Karr took care with his left, making certain it recovered its blunt human nails. He tightened his grip on Soria’s shoulder.

The crow-man watched him transform with wariness but no fear. Curiosity, perhaps—a far odder reaction than what Karr was used to seeing in a shape-shifter. It was both annoying and intriguing.

“Tell me what was said,” he rumbled. “Before I kill him.”

“You will not,” Soria replied. “He is a friend.”

“Give me a better reason.”

Soria looked as though she wanted to strangle him, which he continued to find refreshing. Perhaps more so than was healthy. “His name is Koni. We are part of the same group. Different from the one that Serena works for.”

“The leopardess. How many of you are there?”

Koni rattled off a stream of words. Soria held up her hand, focusing on Karr. “I know it is complicated, but please, just once, believe me when I tell you that I am trying to help. As is he.”

It was nearly impossible not to believe her when she stared at him so openly, with that weary annoyance lingering in her gaze. Such a natural expression, confident and utterly unaffected. As though she trusted him to listen and would set him straight if he did not. It made his heart ache with unsettled wonder to be looked at as a man and not just a monster.

You are such a fool,
he told himself.

“Koni was sent here. Told to follow us,” Soria said.

“And he obeyed.” Karr stared into the shape-shifter’s golden eyes. “Who sent him? Another of your … allies?”

She looked down, and then back at Koni. Spoke a long, soft sentence that flowed through his mind.

“This does not make sense,”
he imagined she said.
“Not even to me.”

“Join the club,”
replied Koni, his words trailing through Karr’s head as gibberish, and then reforming into something understandable. A strange sensation, almost like listening to a conversation in a dream. The crow-man rubbed his tattooed arm as though it ached.
“I was in Russia on other business when she called and told me to get here. I haven’t been able to speak to any of the other shifters, so I can’t be certain she’s been in contact with them. I must have arrived in Erenhot soon after you did.”

“You didn’t let Roland know?”

“She told me she was speaking for him, which I didn’t question closely enough at the time. When I did, finally, she made it very clear that if I wasn’t with her, I was against her. In that I’m-gonna-rip-off-your-dick-and-make-you-eat-it sort of way.”

Karr squeezed Soria’s shoulder again. “Who is this woman he keeps referring to? The leopardess?”

She gave him a startled look. “You understood all that?”