Requiem's Song (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

day her mother had
died. Though a woman now, she stood barely larger than a child, her
growth stunted, her frame frail. Her head often spun when she walked
too much, and her arms were thin as twigs. Zerra enjoyed mocking her
weakness, shoving her down and laughing when she could not rise. He
claimed she was weak because of her curse, the disease he was
determined—but could not prove—she carried.
    To
complete her misery, the chieftain sheared her hair every moon,
leaving her with ragged black strands and a nicked scalp. He clad her
not in warm buffalo or bear fur like the rest of the tribe, but in a
ragged patchwork of rat pelts. He had pissed on that garment once and
refused to let her wash it. "That is how I mark what is mine,"
he had said. "And you are mine to torment." The tattered
cloak still stank of him.
    Her
only redeeming feature, Laira thought, was her eyes. On their own,
they were perhaps ordinary. But in her gaunt face, they seemed
unusually large, a deep green tinged with blue. Whenever Zerra forced
her to stare at her reflection—to see her slanted chin, her crooked
mouth, her sheared hair like ragged porcupine quills—Laira would
focus on those large green eyes. They
are my mother's eyes, she thought. And they
are beautiful.
    And
so no—it was not Zerra's scars that frightened Laira today, for she
was no prettier. It was the rage in his eyes—the rage that promised
another beating, that promised days of hunger, that promised he would
hurt her, break her, make her regret every word and beg for mercy.
    I
need not fear him, Laira thought, staring up into his eyes. My
father is a great prince in a distant kingdom. My mother told me. I
am descended of greatness. I—
    She
was so weary with hunger—she had not eaten in a day—that she didn't
even see his fist moving. It slammed into her head, knocking her into
the mud.
    She
lay for a moment, dazed. Her head spun. She wanted to get up. She
wanted to fight him.
    I
can turn into a dragon, she
thought. I did it once.
I can do it again. I can burn him. I—
    The
vision of her mother reappeared in her mind, interrupting her
thoughts—a memory of the woman burning at the stake, screaming.
    I
promised. I promised I would never shift again.
    A
weight pressed down on her wrist and Laira whimpered. Through narrow
eyes, she saw Zerra stepping on her, smirking, and she thought he
would snap her bone, tear off her hand. He wiped his other foot upon
her face, smearing her with its filth.
    "You're
right," he said. "You are worse than shite. Your mother was
no better." He snorted. "I know what she told you. She
claimed she had bedded some southern prince, that she spawned a
princess. But you are filth. You are only a princess of worms. You
will never leave this place. And someday . . . someday I will uncover
the reptilian curse in you too, and you will burn like she did."
    He
kicked her stomach and Laira doubled over. Through floating stars of
pain, she saw him walk downhill toward their camp.
    She
lay wheezing and trembling. With her crooked jaw, she couldn't even
cough properly. She should be thankful, she knew. He had not broken
her bones this time. He had not cut off her ears, which he had often
vowed to do, or burned her body, another common threat. He had shown
her mercy today.
    "I
must be strong," she whispered. "I am the daughter of a
prince."
    She
closed her eyes, trying to remember that distant kingdom across the
sea. Laira had been only three years old when Mother had fled with
her, coming to this northern land, for the cursed ones—those who
could become dragons—were hunted in Eteer too. In a haze, Laira saw
faded images, perhaps memories, perhaps the stories Mother had told.
Towers in sunlight. A great port that thrust into a city of countless
homes. Walls topped with soldiers and lush gardens that grew atop the
palace roof. Laira had seen villages here in the north; Zerra
sometimes stopped at these small settlements, trading meat and fur
for bronze and