Free The Fire King by Marjorie M. Liu Page B

answer. “But you were among us. For some time, I think.”
    Soria shook her head, knuckles white as she twisted her empty sleeve. “You are wasting time.”
    “Were you a slave?” he persisted. “I forbade the practice, but I do not know how long I have been gone. Someone else—”
    “Stop,” she commanded, her hand flying up to touch him but pausing just at the last moment. His skin prickled, suffering the heat of her nearness. He wanted to feel her touch, and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. “I was not a slave,” she told him quietly. “Now, please. Move.”
    “Perhaps there was another before me,” Karr went on in his coldest voice, furious at himself for wanting this woman. “Did you learn my language through interrogating
him?
Gaining
his
trust?”
    She blew out her breath and shoved past—or tried to. Karr grabbed her arm and she twisted, shoving her knee up into his groin. No human had ever struck him, and he was unprepared for the attack. Pain exploded, rocking him forward as he stifled a throat-cutting gasp. Tears squeezed from his eyes. He was dimly aware of the woman standing beside him, still and silent as a grave.
    “I am sorry,” she said. “Reflex.”
    Both were lies. He could hear it in her voice. But he felt no anger, none except for himself. The woman was a fighter—in spirit, certainly—and he had cornered her. Underestimated her.
    Karr wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach. He fought for breath, sparks dancing in his vision, keenly aware that the woman stayed by his side. When he finally managed to steal a glance at her face, she was pale but resolute. No fear filled her gaze. Just a question:
What is he going to do?
    Karr looked down, found himself staring at a dead man. The air was thick with the scent of blood. Memories rose, swimming inside his mind with devastating clarity. With them, fear. With them, heartache.
    Enough.
Karr closed his eyes, placed his hands on his knees and, after a careful negotiation with all the disparate, aching parts of his body, finally managed to straighten. He loomed over the woman. She had to crane her neck to look into his eyes—which she did, unflinching.
    “How is your arm?” he asked.
    Her gaze finally wavered. “Fine. Your balls?”
    “Still attached,” he rumbled. “Shall we go?”
    A wry smile touched the corner of her mouth, and for one moment—defying sanity—he almost smiled back. But his groin still ached, it was difficult to stand, and he was still a prisoner, even though Soria had assured him otherwise. He would be a prisoner in his own ignorance until he learned about this new land he had found himself in. And why he was still alive.
    Gritting his teeth, he began walking down the hall, struggling not to hobble. Soria murmured, “Ahead, turn left,” and when the corridor split, Karr did as she suggested, pausing briefly to test the air.
    He smelled the shape-shifter, as well as the red-haired man who had entered his cell and killed the soldiers. The man’s scent was strong here, twined with another—perhaps the young woman Karr had glimpsed, dark and long-legged. And then, quite abruptly, cool air touched him. He saw no door but smelled the desert, and the rush of relief that poured through him was both agonizing and sweet.
    He looked over his shoulder at Soria. “You need not follow. I can go the rest of the way alone.”
    “I suppose we all tell ourselves that.”
    Karr deliberately settled his gaze on her empty sleeve. “And how long have you been alone?”
    Anger sparked inside her eyes. Karr grunted, turning quickly before regret could shadow his face. He had never been good at hiding his emotions. Of course, he had never felt so compelled to speak so freely as he did with this woman.
    Small heart,
he chastised himself.
Using words to hurt her.
    Cool air caressed his shoulders and chest. Karr walked faster, straining his senses for any hint of danger. He heard nothing, and when he rounded the bend