Fox didn’t bother to be quiet, the night plenty loud with the sound of a battle in the distance. He climbed down haphazardly, receiving a glare from Jacinta.
Javi was there by the time Fox made it to the ground.
“What happened?—”
“Your mother wasn’t there. I tried going over to Harlow’s tent, but it was empty. I don’t know where she is.” His words raced out, and Fox could see the guilt written plain across his face.
He glanced at the man standing hunched behind Javi. He saw Sofia in the arch of the man’s brow and the green ring in his eyes. At least they’d gotten her father away.
Fox moved forward, grabbing Javi by the shoulders and forcing the man to look at him.
“Hey,” Fox said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”
He tasted iron on his tongue. It wasn’t okay, but there was nothing Javi could do about it.
“You got Sofia’s father. Get him to Jobin and then both of you find her and tell her what’s happening.”
Javi’s face was still pinched, his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek. “Maybe Ian has her, but I didn’t see him.”
Fox squeezed Javi’s shoulders before stepping away. “I’ve got it from here. I’m going to go find Ian.”
“It could be a trap,” Jacinta said, her hand gripping his arm.
“It could be,” Fox said. “But I trust Ian, and we have little choice. We need to get those bones.”
Jacinta let out a string of curses in dragon-tongue that Fox recognized only vaguely.
“Fine,” she said—as if she had any choice in the matter. “Don’t get yourself killed. I don’t want to face Sofia’s wrath.”
Fox nodded, checking his weapons. Before he could step around Javi, the man grabbed him, wrapping him in a hug that had Fox going rigid with surprise.
“Be careful. The moment shit hits the wall, you run.”
Fox only nodded, not sure his throat would work in that moment.
And then he ran, making his way straight across the camp. He was wearing his uniform, torn and bloody as it was, and the few stragglers left behind on this side of the camp were more bewildered than curious. The trees that had seemed so close before from his perch stretched away from him, his heart in his throat, beating with each step. It could be a trap. It was probably a trap.
But he needed to know. He needed to see Ian. He owed it to his brother to trust him.
Even after he reached the trees, he didn’t slow down. He didn’t know where he was going, the shadows deeper here than he expected.
Stop. He grabbed a tree trunk, stopping himself from going farther. He took a deep breath and held it, ears straining for some sign of life. The yells echoed in the night from the north side of camp, but he could hear something else—quieter but closer—the snapping of branches underfoot.
“Ian,” Fox hissed in the night, all pretense of subterfuge gone.
No one answered, but he heard another snap, his head swiveling to the left. He started forward again, with some semblance of direction until he was breaking through into a clearing, the trees falling away suddenly.
A figure stood in the center of the clearing. He was in shadows, but he was tall and slim, dressed in black. He stood rigid, unmoving and unspeaking, and Fox felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The airwas icy in his lungs, and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.
He should turn around and walk away. Sofia would kill him if he put himself in harm’s way, but the sick twist in his stomach wouldn’t let him stop. He didn’t have control over his feet, as if the shadows tugged him forward on a string.
The clouds that covered the moons seemed to shift for only a moment, sending a dull stream of moonlight into the clearing, and Fox’s heart stopped. The figure in the center wasn’t standing, but tied to a post, head slumped. Dark liquid stained the man’s shirt, dripping into the soil below. Fox ran the last few steps, gently tilting the figure’s face to catch the light.
It wasn’t Ian. It was a young soldier with soft golden curls. Fox didn’t recognize him from his time with the march. Now that he was closer, it was clear the young man was dead, his skin cold to the touch.
“He needed to be punished for leaving his post,” Harlow’s hard voice broke through the clearing, directly behind him, and Fox turned, stomach roiling.
Torches flickered to life, one by one, circling him and the clearing as soldiers stepped from the trees, two dozen arrows pointed directly at him. For just a moment, he felt honored that Harlow saw him as such a threat.