Free Soul of Fire by Sarah A. Hoyt

friends. No, better. Because Sofie had never felt at home with the girls in London. She’d never felt at home at all. Both girls had longed for India.
    “And she’s your friend, milady?” the king asked.
    “Yes. Oh, yes.”
    “Well, then. Because she is your friend, we will find her.” He paused. “Besides, it would be good to find out what the dragons want with her. Perhaps the Chinese . . .” He looked toward the shadows to his right, where amid the soaring columns courtiers pressed together, and he waggled a long, agile finger.
    From the shadows slid a man, dressed in loose white pants that seemed to shimmer with a pearlescent sheen. His tunic, too, was white, but embroidered in shimmering gold patterns. He wore a turban that hid most of his hair, save for a few straight, black tufts sticking in disarray from the edge. A pearl of considerable size secured his turban, and gold earrings dangled from his ears. He glanced at Lalita furtively, giving her a glimpse of heavily lidded, sultry black eyes. Then he turned to the king and bowed deeply.
    “Hanuman, you will go with the princess, my niece,” the king said. “And you will find her friend for her. And if you can find the ruby, too, and keep both from the tiger, I shall give you whatever your heart desires.” The courtier thus called was named after the monkey god Hanuman, and Lalita couldn’t remember anyone of power or influence—nor any of the main families of their were kingdom—who would give their child such a name. She stared at him, trying to discern his caste and his standing, but saw nothing save his finery and his cinnamon-colored skin. And she remembered nothing but those sultry eyes of his.
    He bowed to the king and said, “How am I to do it, Your Majesty?”
    “I trust your resourcefulness, my friend,” the king said with a chuckle.
    Lalita didn’t, and would have said something, but at that moment the king twisted and writhed. His royal clothes were suddenly empty, sitting on the abandoned throne, and a monkey scampered amid the columns to the ceiling, whence it called in sharp cries to its court.
    Following suit, all lords and the few ladies who could change shapes let go of their clothes, and their human form with them. Lalita stared at Hanuman. From Hanuman’s look at her, the smile on his mobile face, he might be thinking it would be great fun to shift now and chase Lalita along the rafters of the long-hidden palace.
    Lalita shook her head severely at him. “My mistress is lost,” she said, “and we must find her before the horrible creature hurts her.”

 
     
    A SLIP OF NOTHING
     
    The dragon fluttered within him at her words, but Peter Farewell stopped it, reflexively. When threatened with being exposed, the very worst thing one could possibly do was shift into dragon form.
    Besides, he was tired. The transformation into dragon always seemed to exhaust him—drawing more strength from his body than a full day’s work or a night’s wakefulness. And he hadn’t been feeding the dragon. What he ate, and the quantities he consumed in his human form, barely fed the one transformation. If he changed into the beast now, he’d be ravening.
    No. That he could not do. As a human he calmed the beast, held on to it with an iron hand, thinking soothing thoughts. He was so busy with those it took him a few breaths to realize how angry he was.
    This slip of a girl had said she’d bring the Gold Coats down on him. They’d come eagerly, too, stationed nearby as they were—and perhaps her family had already called them. Peter Farewell chewed on his lip to prevent words emerging that he would not be able to control. She was young and beautiful and angry . . . and he would hurt her if he stayed here.
    He turned neatly on his heels and started walking away before he realized what hurt him most was her ingratitude. He had saved her from a plunge to her death. He’d risked his life—the discovery of his other form would surely lead to his