The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) by Emily Gee Read Free Book Online Page B

right here. His sister, I reckon.”
    Karel raised his eyes and gazed at the man, unresponsive, as if he hadn’t understood the words. The armsman was baiting him, seeing if he’d rise. You think I’d risk my family’s freedom for one such as you?
    The armsman snorted in disgust. “Little better than an animal, you are. Nothing up here.” He tapped his forehead.
    Karel marked the man’s face in his memory and looked back down at his plate, cut another piece of blood sausage. I’ll have you on the training ground . During wrestling, he decided as he chewed. An accidental knee in the groin. The man wouldn’t be able to rape bondservants for a week. Forever, if he kneed him hard enough.
    And then he regretfully laid the fantasy aside. His position was too precarious, his family’s freedom too precious. He dared not step outside the rules. He’d trounce the armsman, but there’d be no knee to the groin. It would be a clean win. Nothing anyone could cavil at.
    “He’d’ve done it, if he could,” someone said around a mouthful of food. “But I don’t see how.”
    “Don’t you?” The voice was low. “Don’t you remember his visitor last week?”
    Karel glanced to his left. The speakers were some of Jaegar’s personal armsmen.
    “Which visitor? He had several.”
    Karel looked back at his plate, listening intently.
    “The peg leg.”
    “Him?” someone said scornfully. “What’s he to do with anything?”
    “Jaegar was real careful we couldn’t hear anything, wasn’t he?”
    “So?”
    “So what did they do?” the armsman said, his voice growing exasperated.
    “I dunno. Talked.”
    “You’re as thick as that idiot islander,” the armsman said. “He gave Jaegar something in a flask and was paid for it. Don’t you remember?”
    “So?”
    “I reckon peg leg’s a Fithian poison master.”
    “What?” someone said loudly. “A Fith—”
    “Keep your voice down,” the armsman hissed.
    Karel concentrated on keeping his expression bored, trying to look like a cow chewing its cud. Listening? Me?
    “No way he was Fithian,” someone disagreed, his voice prudently low. “Only got one leg.”
    “And even if he was, you need to keep your mouth shut. Jaegar’ll have your head on a stake for a rumor like that. With your tongue cut out.”
    Karel silently agreed. He finished his meal while the mess hall emptied around him. Jaegar’s armsmen departed, some to sleep, others to find bondservants to rut.
    Karel sipped his ale, turning the conversation over in his head. A Fithian poison master with a peg leg? It sounded ludicrously far-fetched.
    But from what he knew of Jaegar, he could believe the man had poisoned his father. That wasn’t far-fetched at all. Three of Esger’s four wives had been murdered. Why not Esger himself?

 
     

    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    H ARKELD SPENT THREE evenings practicing how to put out fire. On the fourth evening, when Cora held a flaming branch towards him, his hesitation lasted less than a second. He called up his magic and reached out to grasp the branch. There was a sensation of warmth, but no pain. Snuff, he told it. The flames instantly extinguished.
    Harkeld put the branch back on the pile that was to be their campfire.
    “Did you burn yourself?”
    He shook his head.
    Cora snapped her fingers. His right cuff caught fire.
    Harkeld didn’t jerk back in panic, as he had the first time she’d done that, two nights ago. He laid his left hand on the burning fabric. Snuff .
    “Excellent.” Cora flicked her plait over her shoulder and turned to the piled wood. “Fire-lighting. When you snap your fingers, tell your magic you want a handful of flames.” She demonstrated, snapping her fingers, opening her hand to show him the flames burning on her palm.
    Harkeld reached for his magic. It came easily, a warm tingle in his blood. He visualized a tinderbox—flint striking steel—and snapped his fingers.
    His palm became even warmer, a tickling sensation. He opened his