Nesto’s face remained neutral, but Ian saw the way he seemed to tense. “I know they aren’t actual gods, but it doesn’t seem right, does it? Forcing them under control.”
Ian looked over at him, studying the way he set his shoulders and the way his foot tapped against the ground. At least someone else in this camp had a moral compass. Perhaps one day it would matter. No one else was paying attention to them, but they were still dangerous words to say. Harlow had been locked in his tent all day, but Ian almost expected the man to pop up behind them, screaming treason.
“It’s a war,” Ian said after a beat. “What is right or not doesn’t matter.”
“We’re the good guys, though? Aren’t we?” Nesto said, scraping the spoon across the empty bowl. “We’re supposed to do what’s right.”
“Are we the good guys?” Ian asked, the words slipping out before hecould bite them back. Nesto looked at him, blinking slowly, chewing on his lip.
“I suppose the Dragonborn think they’re the good guys, too,” he said at last.
“Exactly,” Ian said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Everyone thinks they’re the good guys when they’re killing.”
“Maybe that’s how Fox convinced himself to betray his people.”
Ian looked at Nesto. The rest of the soldiers had beards growing haphazardly from their time away from mirrors and razors, but this kid barely had peach fuzz across his chin. He was younger than even Ian and Leon had been when they’d entered the king’s men. The age of enlistment over the past decade had just gotten younger and younger as the king had expanded the guards’ reach and presence in the city.
Nesto shouldn’t be out here. He should have been at home with his family still, worrying about how to flirt and what the latest city gossip was.
“If something happens tonight,” he said, his voice so low he wondered if Nesto would even hear, “you should stay in your tent.”
Nesto’s face went pale, his wide eyes staring at Ian’s for a beat—two—before he finally gave a slow nod.
Ian stood before the boy could ask any questions. He didn’t bother with a goodbye as he walked away from the fire, the heat of it draining from his body almost instantly. He needed to change.
Ian didn’t havehis own tent, but it didn’t matter. The three soldiers he slept with didn’t come back. He assumed they were still out by the cook fires, singing and drinking. He sat on his bed, breathing through his nose as if it might calm his nerves, waiting for the seconds to tick by. There wasn’t a specific time the mission would begin—just after the moonsrise. Sofia wasn’t sure how long the distraction would take.
The moment he saw the light from the first moon shining through the tent flap, he was up. He couldn’t sit still anymore. But he didn’t need Sofia’s distraction for the first step. He pulled on his cloak andwalked with his head down, not wanting to talk to anyone. But there were only a couple of soldiers amongst the sleeping tents, their own minds focused on their destinations. Ian didn’t slow until he was outside the prison tent, the two guards outside standing at attention.
Step one was to get Sofia’s father out of the cage and make sure he was prepared to escape.
“Junior Major Martín,” the left one said—Junior Specialist Hill. Ian swallowed his guilt.
“I need to talk to the prisoner.”
They exchanged a look, but Hill only shrugged and stepped aside. Ian nodded as he passed them, sending a prayer to the dragon gods, begging for forgiveness.
Sofia’s father was inside, sitting against the bars of his cage—too small for him to stand properly. He only looked up briefly when Ian entered, seemingly uninterested, but he saw the way his body stiffened and his breaths quickened.
Ian could feel the guards behind him, facing into the tent now. His dagger sat heavy against his thigh, just beneath his cloak. It would be easy. It would be quick. He still hesitated.
Perhaps he could distract them. Tell them to leave.
“Junior Major Martín?” Hill asked behind him.
A howl broke through the night outside, and all of them turned, staring through the open flap and into the night. Still, neither Hill nor his companion moved from their station, and Ian’s stomach plummeted. His choice was made.
Before either of them could return their attention to him, Ian whipped out his dagger, slicing across Hill’s neck first and then the other guard. They dropped, Hill never having a chance to turn his gaze of betrayal back on Ian. Acid burned up his throat, but he didn’t look down, only turning and throwing the metal picks into the cage.
“Unlock yourself and get into a uniform. Sofia’s friend is coming to get you.”
Sofia’s father blinked up at him, not moving for a minute.
“For Sofia,” Ian said, running out of the tent before her father couldsay anything. He pulled the flaps closed behind him and moved toward Harlow’s tent.
It took a few minutes to get there, but by the time he rounded the corner, he let out a breath. Harlow’s guards were gone, meaning Harlow had taken the bait.
Ian didn’t bother with stealth—there were plenty of people running around. He darted across the small clearing and into Harlow’s tent, closing the flap behind him the second he crossed the threshold.