Three days later,Lumi had healed enough to fly back to the city. Sofia needed Ian and Fox to know where they were headed and why. It also gave enough time for Eloy, the foxshifter, to return with news from another local tribe that they’d provide supplies in exchange for hunting rights on their land.
Sofia watched Lumi fly off, a pit in her stomach. That night, she couldn’t sleep.
She wandered out into the main cenote, empty and cold, and sat on the edge of the lake. The stars were dim in the sky, the moons just beneath the horizon, threatening to outshine them at any moment. Sofia could just make out the stars reflected in the lake. It was never perfectly still, a current running somewhere underneath the surface where the water flowed in an underground river. But it was as still as it ever was. The air was quiet and bitter cold.
She purposefully kept her eyes averted from the spot just a few yards away where she and Fox had first curled beneath his cloak, bodies warm against each other. She hated that she missed something she’d never even had. Not really. What time they’d spent out here in the forest had been a fluke—a bubble they knew would burst at the slightest quiver. Yet still, she wished she were pressed against him now, smelling the forest on his skin and the warm beat of his heart against his chest.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him next to her. Then again, he’d so rarely sat in silence. The illusion only worked so long.
Sofia shook herself, reaching forward and plunging her hand into the icy lake, pushing away the thoughts of Fox.
A screech from above had her standing, eyes searching the dark sky. A shadow darted down, through the canopy and into the cenote until Lumi shifted, still a yard above the ground. They fell on their knees, panting for breath, and Sofia felt dread welling in her stomach. Chalia, who’d been sleeping lightly somewhere above, stirred and she felt the dragon’s mind touching her own, asking what was wrong.
“Lumi,” Sofia said, crouching down and trying to get the shapeshifter’s attention. “What’s going on? What happened?”
After another set of deep breaths, Lumi looked up, eyes brimming with tears that made Sofia’s breath catch.
“A bomb,” they said. “Near the wall. It destroyed at least three blocks. Two days ago already, but there were so many bodies. There were so many bodies left rotting.”
Their voice shook as they spoke, and Sofia struggled to understand.
“A bomb? Who? How?”
“So many people.” Lumi’s eyes had gone distant again, and Sofia shook them, trying to get them to focus.
“Who bombed?”
Lumi looked up. “You did.”
“What?”
“I only spoke to Ian briefly. The chief commander sent out a message. He said that the resistance had bombed the city, and they’d continue to bomb until you were brought out from the shadows.” Lumi glared at her, eyes narrowed. “He called you out by name.”
Sofia’s stomach dropped. The resistance hadn’t bombed the city—she knew that, and she knew Harlow did, too. This hadn’t been a call for her to surrender. It had been a threat—direct and bloody. Surrender, or he’d continue to bomb his own people.
More blood. So much blood.
Sofia screamed until her throat turned raw.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IAN
Do you hate me for being the one that got you caught up in all of this? Do you wish you’d never found out? That I’d never told you? I wouldn’t blame you for hating me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Your name is written on my very bones, but I fear I’ll be the death of you.
-Letter from Ian Martín to Leon Ocon, never sent
The sun had crested the horizon over an hour earlier, leaving the sky a lifeless blue. Ian was still sitting in the rubble of the inn, Isadora’s body cold in his arms. No one took notice of him in the turmoil. He wasn’t a king’s man in that moment, only one of so many grieving family members left frozen in the chaos.
He’d heard the criers, running through the city, announcing that the resistance had taken credit for the attack. He wanted to scream back—wanted to grab the nearest kid by the throat and squeeze until they juststopped.
This hadn’t been the resistance. Sofia hadn’t bombed the inn where she’d lived the last few sun cycles. No one in the resistance would do this. An attack like this, indiscriminate and in the heart of the slums was the chief commander’s doing. Harlow always harped against the soldiers who used the Wall’s Inn. He hated that they dared tomingle with the riffraff of the city. It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice to kill his own men if they allowed themselves to patronize such an establishment.
Ian knew he was right. He had to be.
He stumbled as he stood, Isadora still held tightly to his chest, her blood drying on his hands. She was gone. He wasn’t stupid. But he knew if he left her here, they would toss her into a mass grave or burn her on a giant pyre. He couldn’t lose her among the other nameless Dragonborn, buried or burned by a soldier who had never heard the sound of her laughter or seen the brightness of her eyes.