“I thought they were deeper,” Fox said, not quite relieved, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He ran a finger over the skin, and she shuddered.
“Me, too,” she admitted. She traced a finger over the bloodstains, her mind wanting to articulate something she couldn’t quite grasp—like trying to grasp a wave as it crests. She shook away the thoughts. There were more important things to worry about now.
“Well, I’m fine. We should check on the others.”
Fox nodded. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her. She wantedhim to kiss her. It wasn’t the time, but her chest ached for it. Instead, he pulled away, eyes not quite meeting hers.
They left Chalia’s father behind, still trying to quell the chaos the attack had created. Chalia brought them up and out of the mountain, the cold air from outside slamming into Sofia like a wave and making her shiver. Her skin was wet from the humidity and sweat, and it made her feel all the colder. Fox wrapped himself around her, bringing her into his body until she stopped shaking.
Out on the slope, the battle had ended. Red streaked through the snow and down the slope, and Sofia’s breath caught.
“Chalia, do you see Javi?” Fox asked, reading Sofia’s mind before she had to ask. Chalia dove, sweeping low over the slope so they could take in the scene.
Sofia breathed out when she saw Javi’s curls. He twisted around to watch as they landed directly behind him. She was off Chalia immediately, throwing herself into his arms. He was covered in blood, but she couldn’t see any major wounds. None worse than her own bleeding cuts from her fight.
“You’re okay?” he asked, looking her over the same way.
“I’m good. We’re good.” He looked over her shoulder at Fox, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. “They went after the eggs. We saved a couple, but they still got too many.”
Javi’s eyes darkened. “They got at least four more dragons as well. Aurelia is counting everyone since some were out on flights or in the mountains. They also took the three scouts she’d sent out.”
Sofia felt her hands shaking as she looked at the damage around them.
“How many of our people…?”
“Only two, Maya and Victor,” Javi said. “But more wounded.”
Her hand clenched, nails biting into her palms, and her spine straightened with resolve. She was done with losing. She was done with failing. She was going to kill the chief commander and end this war. It didn’t matter if it killed her. She knew she’d promised Fox she wouldn’t sacrifice herself, but she didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t let Harlow take anything more from her.
A roar echoed through the air, and Sofia turned to see Aurelia flying out of Quelia’s Womb.
The ground shook as she landed, a large piece of snow breaking off from the slope and sliding away in a cloud of snow.
Her words echoed through their minds, her people turning to look at her.
“They will pay for what they did. They’ve declared a war, and we will not let this stand. Today we mourn. Tomorrow, we go to war.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IAN
I can still taste you on my tongue. I have refused to eat or drink since last night, not wishing to rid myself of the taste of your release. I know my thirst or hunger will get the best of me soon, but know that I hate myself for letting such base needs control me. We will have to meet again soon so I can remember.
-Handwritten letter from Leon Ocon to Ian Martín, date unknown
The night rang with cheers, and drunken songs shouted across fires. Ian had been drinking at the same pace as the rest, but couldn’t quite find the energy to fake joviality. He hadn’t gone on the mission to raid the dragons’ nesting grounds. He and a few dozen men had remained behind to watch the prisoners and the camp. So, when the men returned days later, cheering and covered in blood, he was left wondering who had died and who had survived of the resistance.
He couldn’t exactly ask.
Harlow wasn’t celebrating fully, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. So Ian knew Fox and Sofia were likely alive, but that left so many more friends who might have been killed at the hands of his fellow soldiers. And here he was, sitting by the fire as they celebrated theirdeaths. The moment they got too drunk to notice, he grabbed one of the nearly full bottles of whisky and left the fires. The night was bitter, but the liquor warmed his blood. It was a false sense of safety, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He gazed out into the dark trees that surrounded the camp, shadows shifting as creatures prowled just beyond the light. Or perhaps it was just the wind. He wondered how far he’d make it if he just left. If he packed a bag and started walking. Not to the resistance, but away. He could walk until he made it to the ocean—maybe wave down a passing merchant’s vessel. Anything to get away from the fight he’d been waging for sun cycles. He was tired. He was tired of watching everyone around him die as he broke bread with his enemies.
The rising pitch of the revelers just beyond the tents drew his attention. The din had shifted, the air seeming to sour with something bitter and angry. Ian pulled himself up reluctantly. He tucked the bottle against the tree so he could come back for it later, and he stumbled forward, running a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the drunkenness.
“Those things have half a dozen elk just waiting to rot, and what do we have? Beans seasoned with stones!” The soldier was standing on a log, body swaying precariously as he gave his speech. But no one cared as he drew cheers from the others who circled him.
The man wasn’t wrong. Any food they’d packed for the trip had dwindled, and Harlow had only resupplied the alcohol and weapon stores when he’d come. The seasonings were gone, along with the vegetables and meat. There’d been attempts at hunting, but the animals avoided the camp, and when they’d sent a small group out to hunt, only one had returned alive, ranting about monsters in the trees.