Read Online The Sand Prince by Kim Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kim Alexander
Tags: Fantasy
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my fire last year, so I can blast some, too. But Niico is the fastest. He's the best."
"He's the worst." There was a pause. "Mother says I’ll get my fire soon. I don’t think that’s right, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get it." He had never told anyone this, although he was certain it was true. He wasn’t simple, far from it, but he was different. And here, that was worse.
He wasn’t sure why he was telling Aelle. Maybe because she had cried in front of him?
Aelle took his arm, taking care to avoid grabbing a still healing burn. "Come on. Let’s go out."
"But I can’t—"
"But I can."
The bigger ones didn’t get him that day. Aelle was around a lot after that.
***
S he was around a lot, but she wasn't always, and besides, it would have made him feel like a baby to have someone standing in front of him all the time. So, after lessons about heroes from before the Weapon, the geography of cities that no longer existed, and the names of the mountains that no one could see anymore (they were still there, of course, hiding behind a sky full of dust), there were still days when the bigger ones caught him.
This particular day, he'd done his best to avoid ruining another tunic, but still ended up with a tear on one knee. At least the leggings were black, that way no one could see the bloodstain. It was because I got mad , he told himself. That's why they came after me. If I was invisible, they'd leave me alone. But he had yelled after them in a rage, and they'd left off picking on some other pre-fledged victim and come at him.
He ran for it.
He headed for the Streets of the Pearl Suspended in Sarave (which in the ornate, old language of Eriis referred to the Pearl Moon adrift in the sarave of the night sky, but these days everyone just called the Quarter) where the buildings were close together and there wasn't room to fly, and sure enough, after several twisting alleys, they got bored or lost him, because he was alone.
His mother told him to stay out of this part of the Old City, but like so many other things she said, there was never an explanation. He hated it when he didn't understand something, and finally, he decided he'd obey his mother if he could figure out why she gave the order. So far, the Quarter was just little kids playing in the dust, shops, people hurrying and talking and laughing, and ( sometimes) loud voices. No one bothered him, and while there were just as many furtive stares, there were far fewer whispers.
Usually he had time to stop and say hello to the old Master who sorted sand from chunky grit to stuff so fine you couldn't feel it even if you stuck your hand in the basket. And the Mother who made sweet ice always had a new flavor to sample. (He was partial to the brown kind.) He always nodded at the group of kids, some fledged, some not, who hung around the doorway of their own school. It was smaller by far than the school the royals and the clans sent their own children to, but he wished it was his school. It had no play yard, for one thing, just a dusty side street and marks on the walls where generations of fireballs had struck. They acknowledged each other but had never exchanged a word.
Today he passed it all by, blind to everything but his own anger. The children watched him pass, noting his fierce scowl and ripped leggings. They nodded to each other as if to say, "You see? He may be the prince but he comes here to escape his problems."
Rhuun finally ran out of steam and came to a stop, looking around curiously. It was quiet and a little dim on this side street. He didn't think he'd been this way before. Then he remembered the sting of the gravel when he'd fallen, the laughter of the bigger kids, and the white pain of the fire that caught him on the arm. He got angry all over again.
" Scorp ," he muttered, examining his leggings. " Scorping scorp. " It was the worst word he knew. It had something to do with joining, but he only had a vague idea of what that meant, either.
"He's the worst." There was a pause. "Mother says I’ll get my fire soon. I don’t think that’s right, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get it." He had never told anyone this, although he was certain it was true. He wasn’t simple, far from it, but he was different. And here, that was worse.
He wasn’t sure why he was telling Aelle. Maybe because she had cried in front of him?
Aelle took his arm, taking care to avoid grabbing a still healing burn. "Come on. Let’s go out."
"But I can’t—"
"But I can."
The bigger ones didn’t get him that day. Aelle was around a lot after that.
***
S he was around a lot, but she wasn't always, and besides, it would have made him feel like a baby to have someone standing in front of him all the time. So, after lessons about heroes from before the Weapon, the geography of cities that no longer existed, and the names of the mountains that no one could see anymore (they were still there, of course, hiding behind a sky full of dust), there were still days when the bigger ones caught him.
This particular day, he'd done his best to avoid ruining another tunic, but still ended up with a tear on one knee. At least the leggings were black, that way no one could see the bloodstain. It was because I got mad , he told himself. That's why they came after me. If I was invisible, they'd leave me alone. But he had yelled after them in a rage, and they'd left off picking on some other pre-fledged victim and come at him.
He ran for it.
He headed for the Streets of the Pearl Suspended in Sarave (which in the ornate, old language of Eriis referred to the Pearl Moon adrift in the sarave of the night sky, but these days everyone just called the Quarter) where the buildings were close together and there wasn't room to fly, and sure enough, after several twisting alleys, they got bored or lost him, because he was alone.
His mother told him to stay out of this part of the Old City, but like so many other things she said, there was never an explanation. He hated it when he didn't understand something, and finally, he decided he'd obey his mother if he could figure out why she gave the order. So far, the Quarter was just little kids playing in the dust, shops, people hurrying and talking and laughing, and ( sometimes) loud voices. No one bothered him, and while there were just as many furtive stares, there were far fewer whispers.
Usually he had time to stop and say hello to the old Master who sorted sand from chunky grit to stuff so fine you couldn't feel it even if you stuck your hand in the basket. And the Mother who made sweet ice always had a new flavor to sample. (He was partial to the brown kind.) He always nodded at the group of kids, some fledged, some not, who hung around the doorway of their own school. It was smaller by far than the school the royals and the clans sent their own children to, but he wished it was his school. It had no play yard, for one thing, just a dusty side street and marks on the walls where generations of fireballs had struck. They acknowledged each other but had never exchanged a word.
Today he passed it all by, blind to everything but his own anger. The children watched him pass, noting his fierce scowl and ripped leggings. They nodded to each other as if to say, "You see? He may be the prince but he comes here to escape his problems."
Rhuun finally ran out of steam and came to a stop, looking around curiously. It was quiet and a little dim on this side street. He didn't think he'd been this way before. Then he remembered the sting of the gravel when he'd fallen, the laughter of the bigger kids, and the white pain of the fire that caught him on the arm. He got angry all over again.
" Scorp ," he muttered, examining his leggings. " Scorping scorp. " It was the worst word he knew. It had something to do with joining, but he only had a vague idea of what that meant, either.
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