Read Online The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) by K. J. Taylor - Free Book Online

but other than a small writing desk, those were the only other pieces of furniture. Still, it looked like a home. For someone.
    Laela collapsed into one of the chairs without waiting to be invited. “Thank Gryphus. I thought . . .”
    Wolf put her belongings down on the floor and stretched, rubbing his back. “Argh. Ooh. Ow. Bloody thing. You’d think after this long . . . well.” He turned to her. “Home sweet home. What d’you think?”
    “It’s nice,” said Laela. She paused. “What’s that smell?”
    It was a strange heavy, almost spicy smell. Musty. It made her think of some kind of animal.
    Wolf sniffed. “What smell? Ah, this cloth’s stopping me from smelling anything. Wait a moment . . . I may as well take it off now.”
    He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bed, and Laela saw the long, elegant Northern fingers on his right hand as he pulled the hood away and shook out his hair. It was black, of course—long, thick, and curly. He took off the heavy cloak that had hidden most of his body, and then untied the cloth from his face and turned to face her.
    He was a young man—probably no older than her. He was tall and lean like most Northerners, and carried himself with a certain grace. His face was pale and angular, marred by a long, twisted scar under one eye, and he wore a neat, pointed chin-beard.
    He shook himself. “That’s better.
This
is my face.” His eyes smiled again, but now Laela could see his mouth, she didn’t see it smile, too.
    “Er . . .”
    Wolf shook his head and turned away. “I’ll just get changed if you don’t mind.”
    Without another word, he took off the tunic he was wearing and put it away in a box next to the bed. As he straightened up, Laela felt her stomach lurch.
    He was hideously scarred. She had never imagined that anyone could be so deeply wounded so many times and in so many different places, and still be alive. Pale lines traced their way over his skin, interspersed with ugly red marks where the cuts had gone deeper. He looked as if he had been stabbed over and over again.
    The worst of them was in the middle of his back, just to the left of his spine. It was as wide as her hand, and its edges were swollen and blackened, as if they were rotting. As he turned toward her, Laela saw its twin on his chest, over his heart.
    Oh, Gryphus,
she thought, nearly sick with horror.
It went right through him . . .
    Wolf suddenly looked embarrassed. “Oh, gods, I’m sorry. I forgot . . .” He hastily snatched up a piece of clothing that was lying on the bed and slipped into it.
    It was a long, black robe, beautifully decorated with embroidered spiral patterns and tailored to fit his slim body. He did up the fastenings over his chest, fumbling with his left hand. The fingers on it were twisted and bent at unnatural angles, and the forefinger looked completely paralysed.
    Laela found her voice. “What
happened
to yeh?”
    Wolf looked grim. “Too much.”
    She stood up and came toward him, forgetting her fear. “All them scars . . .” She reached out to touch his hand, and he let her hold it and turn it over, touching the warped fingers. They were painfully red and swollen around the knuckles, and they cracked horribly when they moved. “Gods. Yer fingers . . . what happened?”
    Wolf looked back at her, his expression curiously ashamed. “Laela . . .”
    She let go and stepped back, suddenly horrified. “Oh, Gryphus, I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry, I—”
    Wolf clutched at his ruined hand. “Nobody’s ever touched it like that before,” he said. He sounded a little shaky. “Nobody . . . nobody likes to go near it. I know it looks ugly . . . I try to keep it covered up . . .” He rubbed it nervously, until the fingers cracked.
    “What happened?” said Laela. “How did yeh get all them scars? What did they do to yeh?”
    “My fingers . . .” He wrapped them in his other hand to hide them. “This is what