“Perhaps I will. I spoke with Liliana in the healing wards,” she said, in a subject change that had Fox narrowing his eyes.
“About?”
“The night of the prison break.”
Fox’s blood ran cold. Most of the people who had been stupid enough to mention the dragon they’d seen the night of the breakout had been killed or arrested. But every rumor that flew through the city made him nauseated, waiting for the day the chief commander’s patience snapped. He wouldn’t let his mother get caught up in that.
“What did she say?” he tried to keep his voice casual.
“A lot of people were injured, and a few healers were killed or disappeared,” she said. “I’m going to help in the healers’ wards. I know you’ll be busy with the army and reconstruction. It’s the least I can do, and it will keep me busy.”
Fox’s shoulder slumped in relief. “That sounds wonderful. I don’t like you being in this giant house alone all day.”
“You’re trying to take care of me again,” she said, smirking. He didn’t bother to hide the flush of his cheeks as he smiled.
Maybe things would be okay. If his mother could survive this, he could too.
After dinner,his mother insisted on helping Lidi wash the dishes and even volunteered Fox to dry them. Though he found himself handing them off to Lidi when he realized he didn’t know where a single dish or pot was stored. Even standing in the kitchens, he thought about how distant the room felt, despite having spent most of his life just on the other side of the wall. He’d only ever turned up in the kitchens when he was in trouble or trying to hide.
Only once his mother forced tea down his throat and talked his ear off about the healing wards did she allow him to escape upstairs.
His room was cold, but he started a fire, thinking of Sofia the entire time. She would have been proud of the neat pile of logs he created, and how well they caught.
When the fire was crackling, he sat down in front of it, pulling out the book that had been tucked against his chest all night. It was a weight he was all too aware of.
He studied it carefully now, as if he might see Sofia’s fingerprints still pressed into its cover from when she’d handed it to him.
He thought of Lumi and his confession to them that he hadn’t found Sofia’s parents. How had they broken the news to Sofia? Had they comforted her? The shapeshifter had been much less happy to see him when Ian had shuffled him into the alleyway in the slums. They’d glared at him as if he’d personally offended them, which perhaps he had. Or perhaps it had been his king’s man cloak and the badge shining on his chest. Their hatred was only fair.
He started gathering the supplies before he’d even formed the plan into words. He needed to hide the text before someone caught him with it.
His fingers grazed across the shelves until he found the perfect book. It was one that Harlow had given him less than a blink ago when he’d promoted him to junior major. He’d never bound a book before, but he’d learned how to stitch in training. They’d practiced on leather and animal skins back then. It couldn’t be much different.
The hardest part was breaking the binding of the original pages without tearing them. He even added the first chapter of the commander’s book to the front of the new one, ensuring that if anyone openedthe cover, the first thing they would see would be descriptions of the various weapons used across Wueco.
For the first time in a long time, his mind was empty as he stitched, focused on keeping each pull of the needle even and tight. When the book was finally rebound, the new cover perfectly fitted across the forbidden pages. He looked down at the leather cover left behind, the small etching of a dragon across the spine.
Hating himself even as he did so, he drew a dagger across the cover until it was only strips. The leather pieces curled and shrank in the flames of his fireplace until they were slowly devoured. He tucked the newly bound book back into his pocket, comfortable with its weight.
It was the right choice, yet he felt as though he were burning a part of himself away. Was this what spying would be? Constantly hiding everything he cared about, burning the things he wanted to keep?
How many things did his brother burn? How many notes were passed among him and the resistance fighters? How many whispered words between Ian and him were lost? How much did Fox really know about his brother?
But then again, had his brother ever truly hidden himself from Fox? He had spoken his mind. He had spoken out against the king and Chief Commander Harlow many times. It was Fox who had refused to listen. It had been his own loyalty and ignorance that had made him blind to what his brother’s words had meant.
He’d always wanted to make his brother proud—to carry on his legacy. Had his goals truly changed, though?
A knock from downstairs shattered the silence. It was rapid and loud even from his room, cracking against the wood of the front door as though trying to break it down. Fox’s heart dropped, too many horrible possibilities running through his mind in an instant.
Mother was already downstairs by the time he made it to the hall, opening the door with a look of consternation.
High Specialist Tomlo was standing at the door, hand raised, readying to knock his mother in the face. A breath left Fox as he saw the man was alone. They wouldn’t send this weak-spined soldier alone to arrest him.
“Ocon,” he said, not bothering with titles and barely acknowledging his mother with a nod.
“High Specialist,” he said smiling, hoping the use of the man’s titles would bring back some modicum of decorum. “Can I ask why you’ve interrupted my night off?”
“Chief Commander Harlow has requested your presence. He wants you to pack a bag and come straight to the lab.”