The Fire King Read Online Free

Actions made echoes, from birth into eternity, and he had known very little peace in his life.
    Karr was in a small room. Not a tent, not a wagon. Four solid walls and stone beneath him. He had been here for a long time, and while he had no clear recollection of how he had arrived, the presence of a pure-blooded shape-shifter did not bode well. He had not yet seen her face, but he could smell her. Every time the door to the room opened, her scent lingered.
    Close. She was very close. Which only made Karr wonder why she had not yet cut his throat. It was no less than he expected. No less than what had been done to others of his kind. No less than what his own hands had done.
    A single white light burned overhead with an uncannily steady flame. It was not fire but something different, perhaps born of magic or some arcane tinkering, such as those fast-moving wagons. This was a new world, he had decided, and one he was ill prepared to confront. Though if shape-shifters were still declaring war on the chimeras, then some things had stayed the same.
    We must kill them first,
Tau had told him often.
We must destroy them.
    And Karr still remembered, so clearly, what he had always said in return.
They fear us. For good reason. So we will kill, but we will not destroy. We will have mercy. We will not be like them.
    But he had, in the end. His worst fears had come true.
    And he was alive again. Despite his friends burying him, despite bleeding to death in the catacomb.
    The wound was fatal,
Karr thought, feeling his side itch as it had, unmercifully, for what felt like days.
    He could not move to scratch himself, or to feel for a scar. He could not move at all, not one inch. Iron surrounded his body. His arms and legs were pinned in place by a series of cold, thick bars, and his hands and feet had been wrapped in a heavy cloth made of linked iron ribbons. An iron collar bound his throat to the stone floor he lay upon, and every time he breathed, his chest expanded against yet more cold metal.
    A soft sheet covered his loins, but nothing else. Sores were forming on his hips, but the pain was no worse than the boredom. There was very little to look at but the shining light and smooth stone walls. Nothing else was visible beyond the confines of the iron hood that had been placed over his head.
    Clever,
thought Karr coldly, forcing himself to be careful as he breathed. A small hole had been left for his nose and mouth, but the hood was already moist from his sweat, and hot. He could shape-shift, but his body would be too large for the restraints—he’d be risking impalement or a crushed skull. He had been lucky in that wagon; wood and leather could be broken or snapped, and nothing had covered his face. Here, now, a full shift would surely kill him.
    Probably. Maybe. Death, apparently, was not so easy to come by. Karr wanted to know why.
    So, patience,
he told himself. Waiting, in utter stillness, for just the right opportunity. Little different than hunting, really. Less painful than his other brief incarcerations before and during the war.
    But always,
always,
he felt the shape-shifter close by.
    That female. She stirred all kinds of unpleasant memories the longer he remained confined.
    Until finally, again, something changed.
    He had just been fed. Like a baby, fed, swallowing the mashed, tasteless food placed in his mouth, careful not to let any dribble past his lips because he knew his face would not be cleaned, his itches not scratched, his tears not wiped away when he slept, briefly, and dreamed.
    Karr heard the door open and a tingle rode over his skin. With it, a familiar scent. Shape-shifter.
    She moved slowly into the room. Quiet. He imagined the lashing of her tail, though he knew she walked on two feet. He could taste the feline in her scent, wild and musky.
    Something else, too. Sunlight. Heat. She had been outside recently, or near someone who had. The new scent tasted sweeter than water, and he drank it in with restrained,