Ian staggered to his feet, eyes sweeping between Fox and the rest ofthe army staring them down. He loved seeing Harlow brought low, but he didn’t understand what Fox’s plan was from here.
“The gods,” Harlow said, his voice low. “You truly are gone, aren’t you? Was the Dragonborn girlthatgood, or was it always a lie?”
“This country was built on lies. What does the truth even matter in all of this?”
“The kings are the truth. They’ve always been the truth.” Harlow’s voice echoed out for the others. “The dragons have always been a plague on this land. This isn’t about Dragonborn versus Dereyan. This is about the survival of the humans of Wueco.”
Fox shifted his hand again, and Harlow’s words choked off. Ian could see blood welling from where the dagger cut into skin.
“Shut up and untie Ian.”
“Don’t,” Ian said, jerking in his binds. “Just run.”
He didn’t know what Fox was thinking. They were surrounded, and even if Ian were free, they would still be outnumbered, with only a couple of daggers to their names.
“I’m not leaving without you,” Fox said. “Sofia wouldn’t leave you.Leonwouldn’t leave you.”
Ian’s chest tightened and his eyes burned. He’d never deserved either of them, and he didn’t deserve this.
“Do it,” Fox said, pressing Harlow down until he was on his knees. “Untie him. Now!”
Ian swallowed, looking up at Fox’s face in the moonlight. In that moment, he looked so much like Leon—passionate and powerful. The perfect juxtaposition to Harlow, with his gray hair disheveled as he kneeled in the mud. The moonlight and shadows deepened the lines along his face and for the first time since Ian had known him, the great chief commander looked like just any other old man.
Harlow’s eyes burned into him, and Ian was tempted to shrink back from the withering gaze. He watched as the man reached down, his eyes sparked with rage and hatred, and something more—triumph.
Harlow smiled.
And Ian realized two things in less than a second.
Hewould never leave Wueco. Because he was agoodman. And this gods-damned kingdom destroyed good men.
And Harlow’s hand was already wrapped around the dagger in his boot.
The old man moved faster than Ian thought possible, already twisting by the time he had registeredwhoHarlow was aiming for. Fox didn’t have time to react. His eyes only widened in surprise as the man turned, heedless of the dagger cutting a thin slice into his neck.
Ian lunged without thinking, unsure if he’d be fast enough. But then he was slamming into Fox, shoving him aside as red-hot pain flared in his chest, tearing the breath from his lungs.
He fell, and as Harlow jerked the blade from his body, blood splattered hot and salty across his face. Ian tried to move but was shaking too hard, so instead he let himself slump to the ground. Pain radiated through his body for two beats of his heart before a strange numbness overtook him. The tips of his fingers tingled, and ice trickled up his spine. He released a breath—one he’d been holding for over ten sun cycles.
Ian wasn’t going to make it out of Wueco. He wasn’t going to make it out of the resistance. But at least he’d done it. At least he’d saved one person.
Above him, a dragon roared.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
SOFIA
Sofia didn’t expect the faeries to come so soon or in such a wave. They’d scattered the rabbit hearts the moment they made it to the north of camp. Fox’s brief run-in with the ciervado had inspired Sofia—it was easy to draw the faeries to you in the forest. They’d hoped at least one of the bloody hearts would be sniffed out by a ciervado after a few hours. Instead, three ciervados and a sangra came ambling out of the woods twenty minutes later. The sangra, hair black and lank across its pale face, scurried across the ground like a warped creature somewhere between human and spider, while ciervados, skull faces shining white in the night, took slow, menacing steps forward.
The moment they were within a few hundred yards of the north perimeter, the wolfshifters turned restless. Sofia and Delio were perched in trees, downwind from the camp, but the wolfshifters didn’t even notice them as the faeries prowled into view. With a crack and a howl, they were in their wolf forms, bounding toward the creatures. The sangra ran, a few wolves darting after it, but the ciervados only roared—a scream that froze the blood in Sofia’s veins and made her breath burn in her chest. There was something truly otherworldly about the creatures. The wolfshifters seemed equally terrified, attacking them with fervor.
The human soldiers came only a few minutes later, the forest already alive with screams as the creatures clashed. Some blood monkeys had joined the fray, drawn by the gore. And just as Sofia hoped they would, the humans didn’t bother with questions, one shooting off an arrow and hitting a wolf in the flank. It did nothing against the wolfshifter, but the creature snarled, bounding toward the humans, too crazed with bloodlust to care about allies or promises.
The humans attacked as more wolfshifters turned.
A thick fog blew across the battlefield, adding to the tumult. Sofia could hear the self-satisfaction in Chalia’s thoughts as the fog worked. Some humans recognized the other faeries as the true enemies and shifted their focus, but the confusion had done its job as more and more soldiers came running, shooting indiscriminately.
Sofia slipped from the tree as the fog covered the ground around her and dashed east, back to where Chalia and Micael waited, Delio left behind in the trees to watch the chaos.