Read Online A Night of Dragon Wings by Daniel Arenson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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tilted it. The gruel began spilling into her mouth, and Mori coughed and sputtered.
"No spilling!" Sharik grumbled. "For every drop you spill, Sharik break one of your fingers."
Mori could barely swallow fast enough. The slime rolled down her throat, and she coughed but forced herself to keep swallowing. His fingers dug into her jaw so painfully, she thought he would snap it off. Her throat kept working. She spat out a bit, whimpering. Sharik growled and she kept swallowing, letting the sludge keep pouring. She could barely breathe and her belly roiled.
Finally the bowl was empty. Sharik pulled it back and Mori swallowed, gasped, and coughed. Her limbs, still chained to floor and wall, trembled.
"Hope you enjoyed meal," Sharik rumbled and smirked. "Sharik cook. Special recipe."
He chuckled, a deep sound, then slapped her face. Pain flared, and Mori felt her lip split. She tasted blood.
"Next time you eat silent," Sharik said and growled. "No more coughing. No more choking. Or Sharik hurt you more. Sharik cut your fingers and feed you them."
With that, he left the chamber and slammed the door behind him. Mori heard the keys jangle in the lock, Sharik chuckle, and his boots thump away.
For long moments, she could think of nothing but breathing; every breath that entered and left her lungs was a struggle. Her belly ached and her limbs would not stop shaking. But whatever foul concoction he fed her, it had kept her alive thus far; Mori tried to draw comfort from that.
Food gives me strength. Strength will let me escape. Strength will let me kill him.
Her hands were too weak to form fists, but she curled her fingers as far as they'd go.
"I will escape," she whispered. "I will kill him. I will find Solina and I will kill her too."
She kept inhaling deeply, struggling to calm the shaking of her limbs. She breathed in and out, focusing on the flow of air—rancid as it was—into her lungs, into her fingertips, into every part of her. She thought of the leaves on the birch trees back home. She thought of her friends and family. She thought of harps playing in Requiem's marble temples and of her stars. She nodded.
"All right, Mori," she whispered to herself. "It's time to try again."
Pain flared in her belly and spun her head. Every time she tried to shift in these chains, she ended up weaker, her wrists and ankles bleeding. She had come to dread these attempts, but she tightened her lips, inhaled sharply, and nodded again.
I must keep trying. I must. If I give up hope, I can only wait to die. Even if escape is impossible, even if my magic will forever fail me, I will keep trying. I will keep hope alive. Even a fool's hope is better than no hope at all.
With a deep breath, she summoned her magic.
It rose tingling inside her, bright as starlight, warm as mulled wine. She let it flow through her chest, into her limbs, and into her head, smooth and soothing like her breathing.
Help me, stars of Requiem. Light my way here in darkness.
Wings began to sprout from her back; she felt them scrape against the walls. Her fingernails began growing into claws. Her teeth began lengthening into fangs. Across her frail legs, golden scales began to appear.
I will find your sky, Requiem! Help me fly.
Her body began to balloon, and a tail began to grow beneath her, and Mori could taste the sky and starlight, and—
As her limbs grew, the chains dug into her flesh. Pain burst. Her magic began to fizzle.
No. No! Clutch it. Shift! Break the chains!
She clenched her jaw, growled, and clutched her magic, tried to keep shifting, to keep growing, to—
A yelp fled her throat.
Her limbs grew too fast. The chains tore into her. Blood dripped, and her magic vanished like birds fleeing a disturbed tree.
Her scales disappeared, her claws and fangs retracted, and Mori lowered her head. She sat shaking, and blood dripped from where the
"No spilling!" Sharik grumbled. "For every drop you spill, Sharik break one of your fingers."
Mori could barely swallow fast enough. The slime rolled down her throat, and she coughed but forced herself to keep swallowing. His fingers dug into her jaw so painfully, she thought he would snap it off. Her throat kept working. She spat out a bit, whimpering. Sharik growled and she kept swallowing, letting the sludge keep pouring. She could barely breathe and her belly roiled.
Finally the bowl was empty. Sharik pulled it back and Mori swallowed, gasped, and coughed. Her limbs, still chained to floor and wall, trembled.
"Hope you enjoyed meal," Sharik rumbled and smirked. "Sharik cook. Special recipe."
He chuckled, a deep sound, then slapped her face. Pain flared, and Mori felt her lip split. She tasted blood.
"Next time you eat silent," Sharik said and growled. "No more coughing. No more choking. Or Sharik hurt you more. Sharik cut your fingers and feed you them."
With that, he left the chamber and slammed the door behind him. Mori heard the keys jangle in the lock, Sharik chuckle, and his boots thump away.
For long moments, she could think of nothing but breathing; every breath that entered and left her lungs was a struggle. Her belly ached and her limbs would not stop shaking. But whatever foul concoction he fed her, it had kept her alive thus far; Mori tried to draw comfort from that.
Food gives me strength. Strength will let me escape. Strength will let me kill him.
Her hands were too weak to form fists, but she curled her fingers as far as they'd go.
"I will escape," she whispered. "I will kill him. I will find Solina and I will kill her too."
She kept inhaling deeply, struggling to calm the shaking of her limbs. She breathed in and out, focusing on the flow of air—rancid as it was—into her lungs, into her fingertips, into every part of her. She thought of the leaves on the birch trees back home. She thought of her friends and family. She thought of harps playing in Requiem's marble temples and of her stars. She nodded.
"All right, Mori," she whispered to herself. "It's time to try again."
Pain flared in her belly and spun her head. Every time she tried to shift in these chains, she ended up weaker, her wrists and ankles bleeding. She had come to dread these attempts, but she tightened her lips, inhaled sharply, and nodded again.
I must keep trying. I must. If I give up hope, I can only wait to die. Even if escape is impossible, even if my magic will forever fail me, I will keep trying. I will keep hope alive. Even a fool's hope is better than no hope at all.
With a deep breath, she summoned her magic.
It rose tingling inside her, bright as starlight, warm as mulled wine. She let it flow through her chest, into her limbs, and into her head, smooth and soothing like her breathing.
Help me, stars of Requiem. Light my way here in darkness.
Wings began to sprout from her back; she felt them scrape against the walls. Her fingernails began growing into claws. Her teeth began lengthening into fangs. Across her frail legs, golden scales began to appear.
I will find your sky, Requiem! Help me fly.
Her body began to balloon, and a tail began to grow beneath her, and Mori could taste the sky and starlight, and—
As her limbs grew, the chains dug into her flesh. Pain burst. Her magic began to fizzle.
No. No! Clutch it. Shift! Break the chains!
She clenched her jaw, growled, and clutched her magic, tried to keep shifting, to keep growing, to—
A yelp fled her throat.
Her limbs grew too fast. The chains tore into her. Blood dripped, and her magic vanished like birds fleeing a disturbed tree.
Her scales disappeared, her claws and fangs retracted, and Mori lowered her head. She sat shaking, and blood dripped from where the
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