She kicked out, her foot catching against his knee with a crack, and he yelled out, pitching back. He snarled words Sofia couldn’t hear overthe roaring in her ears. His face was red, and she saw the truth of his embarrassment and rage on it. He was angry that she was holding her own against him, even weaponless. It would make him reckless. She could win against reckless anger.
“I thought the Dereyans trained better than this,” she spat, standing to face him.
He slammed his fist into Chalia’s side, and she saw the dragon stretch, neck twisting back so that her open jaws faced Sofia.
Sofia went to her knees, grabbing on to the feathers along her spine to keep herself steady. Chalia’s teeth glimmered and water swirled deep within her throat.
Sofia didn’t stand, eyes staring up at the dragon she had considered her friend—her sister—a part of her. Her eyes were clouded as they found hers. Sofia refused to turn away. She met the dragon’s gaze and for an instant she thought she saw something of recognition in those cloudy depths, but then her jaw widened, and the ice shards shot forward.
Sofia closed her eyes, instinctively raising her arms to block the ice. She waited for the pain. The ice daggers were sharp, and she had nothing but her own skin to protect her. She felt the ice pass by, a single dagger cutting into her shoulder as it spun off behind her.
Her eyes opened in confusion as the soldier screamed again, and Chalia launched another sharp spear of ice toward Sofia. This time it flew over her left shoulder, missing her by the breadth of a blade’s edge.
Chalia let out a roar of frustration as the man screamed impotently, trying to regain control, and Sofia had only one thought in her mind.
Somewhere behind the clouds in her eyes, Chalia recognized Sofia. And she refused to kill her.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
FOX
Fox fought like an animal caught in a trap. His swings were sloppy, his footwork would have gotten him slapped by his old trainer, and he was more focused on defending himself than attacking. His body ached with every move, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to keep going—to keep moving. He could just make out Harlow on Eha, the dragon scrambling across the ground, throwing attacks. Clouds of snow and ice misted the air. He got a single glimpse of Sofia’s curls as she ducked behind a tent, just enough to know Harlow was going after her.
Fox needed to get to her before he did.
A soldier stepped in front of him, one Fox vaguely recognized. He raised his sword, catching the soldier’s before it could cut him across the chest. He felt the hit rattling up his arms, but he stepped forward, pushing. The moment the other man staggered back, Fox brought his blade down to the side, slicing across the man’s leg. He fell with a scream, and Fox was moving forward again, not even bothering to finish him. His mother brought her dagger down across the soldier’s throat before he could recover.
Fox smiled. He could get used to this side of her. She moved with the same confidence he’d seen when chopping vegetables in the kitchens,making beans. When she’d been around his father, she’d only ever moved with a demure grace. That timidity was now gone, replaced with a rage that he understood had been growing within her for perhaps many sun cycles.
Another man jumped out in front of him, and Fox attacked without waiting, but the man was ready. He blocked Fox’s strike easily, parrying almost immediately even as he stepped forward into Fox’s space. The man was large—not just taller but wider than Fox, and he felt the man’s strength in his blows. His teeth ground together as he dug his feet into the soil. The man advanced again, and this time Fox held his ground, blocking the man’s blow as his knee came up between the man’s legs. It wasn’t the perfect hit, but he hadn’t been expecting it. Groin strikes weren’t exactly approved of in most battle situations, but Fox was done fighting fairly. It had all been a facade, anyway.
As the man fell, Fox brought the hilt of his sword down on his temple. He dropped like a stone onto the muddy ground. Fox glanced back at his mother, reassuring himself that she was okay. He didn’t know when he stopped fearing for his own safety, but right now, here, he was only worried about hers—and Sofia’s.
He might have not been the best spy or the strongest fighter. But he wasn’t useless or helpless. He was determined. He would finish what Leon had started—what Ian had died for.
“You,” the word pulled him up short, the voice too familiar. Fox turned to see Nesto, stepping out in front of him, a sword held in both hands like a staff. He glared at Fox with such vitriol that he almost doubted he was talking to him—almost.
“Nesto,” he said, shifting his weight slowly, trying to look casual even as he adjusted his grip. “Move out of the way.”
“Oh,” Nesto said, “by all means, let me step aside so you can murder more of our brothers-in-arms.”
“I don’t have any fight with you.”
“I have one with you,” he said. “Itrustedyou when you told me you wanted better for this country. But look at you—covered in the blood of your brothers.”
“I care more about this country than you can imagine. I care foreveryonein this country. That includes the Dragonborn and the shapeshifters and everyone in between.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Nesto said, his voice cracking. “You don’t think they’ll just betray you the moment your back is turned? They’ve never wanted peace.”
Fox could feel the pain in his voice—the certainty in everything he said.
“Who did you lose? To the resistance.”
“My sister,” he said, a flicker of grief crossing his face for only a moment. “She died three sun cycles ago in a bombing. Was that in the name of peace? Were they defending themselves from her? Her and her child?”
“I lost my brother to the resistance, too.” Fox’s throat was dry, and he felt his mother behind him, listening. “I won’t defend the bombings, but unity won’t be found through Harlow’s war either. He will not bring us peace.”
Nesto’s hands loosened along the hilt of his sword, and his shoulders slumped just a fraction.