SOFIA
“Stop moving!” Flor snapped, as Sofia flinched for the fifth time in as many minutes.
She was lying on her stomach on the cold ground of the cenote. Flor was on her knees beside her, bent in concentration as she prodded at Sofia’s back. Sofia tried to focus on the lake stretching out in front of her, the water sparkling in the sunlight coming through the opening in the ceiling above.
“I’m trying,” she said, gritting her teeth to stop from saying more. Flor would only remind her thattalking was moving. She rolled her eyes, hoping the other woman at least felt her ire even if she didn’t see it. Her back was on fire, sparks of pain shooting up her spine with every tug of Flor’s needle.
The ground rumbled around them, and Flor let out another string of curses. Her red hair was falling out of its braid, the wild strays making her look even more frazzled.
“I swear to the gods if you don’t tell that dragon to calm down, I’m going to accidentally tear you open.”
“That’s one of the gods you’re swearing to,” Sofia said.
“I don’t know if I believe that yet. She seems more troublemaker than god.”
“I think it’s more she’s a teenager…god.”
“And I thought humans were annoying teenagers,” Javi said from somewhere above Sofia.
“Don’t you dare interrupt me,” Flor said.
“Were you always this grumpy?” Javi asked, coming around Sofia so she could see him. He sat near her head, reaching out to grab her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d been digging her fingers into the hard soil until he carefully forced her to loosen her hold. “I was coming to help.”
“Then stop her moving,” Flor said. “And you, tell your teenager to shush while I’m working.”
Sofia smiled, but did as she asked. She’d missed her friends over the past few weeks. The night she’d snuck out of the resistance base, chasing after an escaped Fox, she’d had no idea she wouldn’t see her friends again for weeks. But now they were here, safe—at least for now.
Flor’s fingers pinched at a sore spot on her back, and she hissed out a breath.
Chalia gave a snort of annoyance in the back of her mind.
“I’m fine, I promise,” Sofia said.
“You’re in pain.”
“I’ve felt worse. And Flor is helping.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,”Chalia said, her voice contrite.
“You have done plenty.”
The dragon had tried to heal Sofia’s back when they’d first arrived at the cenote. She’d said it was a magic that many of the older dragons possessed. But her attempts had only left Sofia’s back cold and Chalia frustrated with herself.
“I’m going to be okay,”Sofia said.
“I’m still sticking close by just in case,”Chalia said, but Sofia could feel her settling back down. She was curled up on the forest floor above, sunbathing for the seventh day in a row. The dragon had said nothing about where she and the other dragons were, but Sofia was starting to think wherever it was, they didn’t get much sun because Chalia seemed enthralled by the heat of it on her scales.
There was another tug and searing hot pain through Sofia’s back as Flor knotted another stitch. She should be grateful that they had anymedical supplies when they escaped. Most of the wounds had been closing and healing well over the last week, but there were a few that had been more stubborn. Flor was doing Sofia the favor of stitching these last few closed. But it burned as bad as the whipping had.
Javi’s fingers tightened around hers. And Flor’s soft hands ran along the unmarred flesh of her hip, soothing her between the stitches.
She needed to get better. They’d left behind so many people in the city when they’d escaped, and they did not know what had happened to them. How many people had died the night they’d broken out of the prison?
Sofia needed to heal so that she could hop on Chalia and fly back to Suvi and spear Chief Commander Harlow through the chest with a sword.
She hadn’t expressed this wish to anyone else. They were all tired and healing. They’d been barely scraping by on the few supplies they had and what was left in the cenote they were hiding in—which wasn’t much of anything. Sofia hadn’t expected to find much. She’d brought Clarita and the few others from the shapeshifter tribe here, and they’d seemingly gathered any useful supplies before going back to their own cenote. There were some candles left in the lanterns and broken dishes, but that had been it.
The dragon feather had been gone, but Sofia had expected nothing less. Not that she needed a feather to speak to the gods when she had one curled on the forest floor above her and poking around in her mind.