Harlow strode forward, dragging Ian at his side. The man was gagged and bound, blood dripping down his forehead. But he blinked, emerald eyes bright in the night. He was alive, and Fox could feel his rage from where he stood, simmering beneath the ropes. His own chest tightened with dread.
“I’ve brought you a welcome party,” Harlow said with a smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
IAN
I know you sometimes question whether telling me the truth of your affiliations was the right choice. I know you wish to protect me—to shelter me—from the horrors of this city. But you must know that I would have it no other way. You opened my eyes to the world and gave me a purpose. I am grateful every day that I know a part of you that no one else is privy to. I hold that secret in my heart.
I’ll be at the fort with Fox the week of our next harvest, but I wish to see you if we can sneak away long enough.
-Handwritten letter from Leon Ocon to Ian Martín, date unknown
Ian’s head was spinning. He could feel his hand swelling from the fingers Harlow had broken, and the gag made his jaw ache. He hadn’t given the man any information, but it didn’t matter. Harlow had guessed enough of the plan the moment Nesto had come running to him, telling him that Ian had warned him of trouble. The younger soldier had looked pale and shaken, but stood by, silent during Ian’sinterrogation. He shouldn’t have trusted him. He shouldn’t have warned him.
But Ian had thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one who disagreed with what Harlow was doing. He thought he hadseen something of himself in Nesto. Perhaps he was a terrible judge of character.
Poor Mattia was already dead by the time Harlow had cornered him in his own tent—punished for following Ian’s orders like the good soldier he was.
Ian’s body and soul ached as he stood, staring at Fox across the clearing. He fought against the gag, as if he could do anything—help anyone.
Fox was alone and surrounded, his face drawn and eyes bloodshot. He shouldn’t have come for Ian. He should have gotten away while he had the chance.
“Where’s my mother?” Fox asked. The pain in his words scraped through his throat.
“She’s fine,” Harlow said, jerking Ian’s ropes as he spoke and sending a fresh wave of pain through his shoulders. “I had her moved the moment I realized Ian here was a little snake.”
Harlow threw him to the side, and he lost his footing, his knees hitting the ground hard as he fell. Harlow sent a stiff boot into his side, and he coughed into the gag.
“This one was quite unhelpful despite multiple methods of interrogation,” Harlow said. “I didn’t appreciate your father and his ways nearly enough. He always knew how to get to the bottom of things.”
Ian took a second to catch his breath, his side aching and his lungs fighting for air. He scraped his face across the ground, pulling at the gag until it loosened. He worked his jaw, spitting it out as he raised to his knees.
“Just run,” he attempted to yell, but the words croaked out. He couldn’t tell if Fox hadn’t heard him or was ignoring him. The man’s fiery gaze was only for Harlow.
“Easier said than done,” Harlow sneered. “You’re surrounded, and my dragon is just behind me, waiting for you to step a toe out of line. You’re going to stand there and be nice and quiet while we wait for your friends to catch up to us.”
Of course, this wasn’t just about Fox. Harlow wanted Sofia, too. And Ian hated himself for being the bait. After all these sun cycles of fightingand giving in to being thebadguy for some greater good he couldn’t even see, he was going to be the reason more people died. He was always the reason everyone died. He’d killed Leon. He’d killed Isadora. He’d killed so many Dragonborn trying to be good enough.
Something cracked inside him, and Ian bent in half, still on his knees. He just wanted out. He’d always thought if he did enough—worked hard enough—he’d find a way out.
“You know what, Harlow?” Fox said, his voice ringing in the night. “Fuck that.”
Ian looked up just in time to see Fox hurl himself at Harlow. He had a single dagger in his hands, his only armor the leather vest, and Ian couldn’t turn away, watching in horror as arrows rained down on Fox.
Some missed, but a few sliced past him, cutting into his forearm and another across his leg. One arrow lodged in his shoulder, and Ian knew, even with the vest, the arrow would have at least partially pierced skin.
Beside him, a flash of silver caught his eye, and he turned to see Harlow in the process of unsheathing his sword. Ian moved without thinking, slamming his body into the man’s legs and throwing him to the side. Harlow caught himself before he fell, the sword forgotten. He snarled, hands reaching out to grab Ian by the neck, but Fox was quicker, already there, overpowering the distracted man quickly. He brought his dagger to the man’s throat.
“No one move!” Fox screamed into the clearing, his voice echoing above the fray. The clearing went quiet in the space of a breath. “You move, he dies, and I’llsavorit.”
The men looked to Harlow. Ian couldn’t see his face, but whatever they saw held their hands.
“If I even hear Eha coming up behind me,” Fox said, “I’ll slit your throat. The moment you’re dead, that dragon will kill every one of you.”
“You put a lot of faith in such a wretched creature,” Harlow said, voice cold. “You should see the way it cowers away from iron and the whip.”
Fox jerked his dagger hand, and Harlow hissed. “You should be careful how you address the gods.”