Free The Fire King by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

about. Perhaps it was magic, as the lights seemed to be, or another manifestation of human tinkering. Certainly it was nothing as straightforward as good sharp steel or his own claws.
    “I require a weapon,” he said.
    “You can kill a friend just as easily as an enemy with one of those. They are difficult to control, and you have no training.”
    “But you do.”
    Her expression hardened. “I know enough.”
    Karr studied the weapon, its long dark lines. It was hammered from some odd metal, he thought, a construction both clunky and elegant, depending on the angle from which one studied it.
    He reluctantly held out the weapon. Soria released her breath and took it from him, gingerly, with distaste, kneeling quickly to set it down. She lingered, though, studying the weapon, and squeezed part of it with her fingers. Karr heard a click, and watched as the base slid free. Soria held it up to him, turning it sideways so that he could see the small objects tucked inside: made of metal, pointed on one end.
    “Bullets,” she said, pronouncing the word carefully. “And this is a gun.”
    “Gun,” he echoed.
    She tossed aside the bullets and stood. Karr gave the gun another long look, then started moving again down the hall, stealing the lead from her. Such weapons caused great damage from a distance, and though he and Soria could just as likely be attacked from the rear, it bothered him that she should be so exposed by going first. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. She was the enemy. She was allied with a shape-shifter.
    Shades of gray,
whispered a small voice in his mind.
You do not know where the lines are drawn in this place. Make no assumptions. Just watch and learn.
    He could see the human woman in his mind, standing in front of the masked soldier, pale, sick, her weapon unsteadily raised, her dark eyes lost. But not with fear. Just memory. Karr knew the signs.
    Not that it helped explain anything about her. Or about why seeing her in danger so utterly stopped him. Suddenly, killing the shape-shifter had no longer seemed so important. Suddenly, breathing was impossible. Suddenly, despite his strength, he could not move fast enough to reach her.
    But he had. And the shape-shifter, rather than continuing her attack, had acted to save the woman, too.
    You are living in a mystery,
Karr told himself. In war, as in life, he had become accustomed to finding himself in situations where he had no control. Even over himself. But this was wholly different.
    Perhaps
he
was different.
    He touched his side and felt the thin line of a scar. Behind him, Soria made a small, irritated sound.
    “About the clothes. If you want to survive outside this place, you need to follow basic rules. Covering up is one of them.”
    “Do not patronize me,” said Karr mildly, listening hard for anyone else who might be close. He continued to finger the scar in his side, remembering the blade that had slid into his body, twisting. “I understand survival.”
    “Not like this,” Soria replied, with an intensity and gentleness that cut him so deeply he could do no less than stop again and look at her.
    “I do not trust your interest in helping me,” he said.
    “I do not care,” she replied. “Trust is irrelevant when committing oneself to an honorable action.”
    It was an old proverb. Her mouth had trouble pronouncing the low, formal tones, but the meaning encapsulated in those few short words was perfectly clear. Karr had heard it often while growing up, and it startled him to hear her repeat an adage known to few outsiders. He thought she looked surprised, as well.
    “Where,” he asked slowly, “did you learn my language?”
    She ducked her head, braids swinging. “We have to keep moving.”
    Suspicion filled him, then a thought, a theory that made his chest tighten with unease. “Were you held captive by my kind? Was that how you lost your arm?”
    She flinched, then met his gaze. “No.”
    He felt little relief at her