Everyone started speaking at once. Each person had something to say about the change in plan. Fox watched it all in silence, Micael’s words rolling around in his mind.
Thank you for saving my life.
Some emotion deep in his chest burned. He blinked—the wind was making his eyes water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IAN
Fire rains down from the clouds, and the sky roars here in the pass. If theBook of Kingsdidn’t confirm the death of the dragons, I might think the creatures still flew here. The air seems to buzz with an energy right before the fire comes down in streaks, cracking open the sky. But we have the kings of old on our side and your might at our back. We will not bow to nature, as capricious as it may be. My men remain fearless and devoted to your cause.
- Letter received by King Regold from High Major Corg prior to his disappearance, Sun Cycle 411
Aunt Cecilia left for the lower city before Ian had finished getting dressed. He was hungover, but at least he’d come home last night. His aunt had made him promise as much.
It had been over a week since she’d somehow joined the resistance despite his suggestion that she let him burn Leon’s letters and never speak of them again. In that time, she’d managed to obtain more food and medical supplies than Ian thought possible, and had taken to bringing them down to the safe house each morning under the pretense of donations to be distributed to the poor.
Ian, on the other hand, had helped “transfer” two Dragonborn from the prison on Harlow’s behalf and had watched them both get whippedand threatened in an ongoing escalation of the chief commander’s rage. He was glad Sofia had escaped, but Harlow had taken the failure personally and was lashing out at anyone left.
Ian splashed ice water across his face before he finished buttoning up his uniform, not bothering to eat before he left. He’d lost weight over the past few weeks, but he reminded himself that there were Dragonborn in the lower city doing much worse than him. Cecilia was doing her best to help with that—all while Ian cleaned the Dragonborn blood off his hands every evening.
His aunt had only been a part of the resistance for a week and had already done more good than he ever had. Perhaps he was cursed, destined to bring pain and death wherever he went. Every morning before his aunt left the house, he watched her get ready, memorizing her face in case it was the last time he saw her. He knew one day it would be. No one survived the resistance. At least no one he loved.
Ian stopped at the door that separated the dark staircase from the cavern beyond, taking a deep breath and letting his mask slip into place.
“Get over the self-pity, Martín,” he muttered as he pushed open the door. The brightness and cacophony hit him like a wall as he stepped through.
Soldiers milled about at the top level, chatting and shuffling papers, while in the pit below, a thin scream told him Harlow was with one of the Dragonborn. Ian nodded to the others as he passed, smiling at the few he liked well enough. None were truly good people, but there were a few Ian thought wouldn’t have beenbadhad they found themselves in different circumstances. After watching Fox change and his aunt throw herself into the resistance, he was beginning to wonder if there were more of them out there than he thought. Leon had felt like the exception to the rule when he’d chosen to join the resistance, and Ian had always wondered if he’d only done it for him.
But any hope he had for the kingdom withered and died as he came to the platform just above the pit. Blood painted the floor as Harlow brought his whip down on the Dragonborn man cowering in the center, his hands chained in front of him. Some of the blood was fresh, but it mixed with the stains that had sunk into the stone as a permanent scar.There would be no cleaning this place when all was done. The blood would forever stain its foundation.
“High Sergeant Martín,” Harlow said jovially when he glanced up. “Meet me at my desk. We need to talk.”
Ian nodded with a subdued “Yes, sir,” happy that Harlow never expected smiles in return. Ian was too busy keeping his gaze raised away from the crumpled man. He’d been the one to help arrest him—Samil—after he’d been caught with a sword tucked under his mattress. They’d sent his family to the farms.
Ian kept his head down, not looking at the others as he walked over to the small wooden enclosure that Harlow had ordered built on the second floor. Ian judged the Dereyans for their complicity, but who was he to say what was evil and who deserved punishment? Did Ian’s good intentions matter when the blood splattered his face and stained his skin, the same as it did with Harlow?
He stood outside the door until Harlow let them both in. There was no roof above the office, and the sounds of the cavern beyond echoed through the small space, but Harlow didn’t seem to notice. He sat at his desk and waved for Ian to take a seat.
The desk’s surface was filled with papers and books, neatly stacked, never scattered. He also had a small pile of large feathers stolen from the dragon. They’d tried using them to control her as some books had dictated, but their attempts had gotten them nowhere. The only breakthrough they’d had was her following a few basic instructions when the Dragonborn’s lives were threatened.
Next to the feathers was a large white bone—her finger—acting as a paperweight. It was about the size of a child’s arm. Harlow had had it cleaned after Sofia escaped, a prize from his failure.
“It was a rousing speech yesterday, sir,” Ian said, trying not to focus on Harlow petting the bone, fingers tracing it almost lovingly. The speech had been the same template Harlow had been using since the week after the bomb—the Dragonborn were trying to kill them all, and only the king’s men could save the soul of the city. Harlow’s eyes flickered with warmth at the words, though, ever the prideful creature.
“We’re getting so close. I can almost taste it,” he said, clenching thebone in his hand like a baton. “Thosethingswill not best us much longer.”
Ian nodded in agreement.
“I got a bird this morning. The army is holding in the foothills and has a path to the dragons,” Harlow said.
Ian waited, something left unspoken in his tone.
“Why are you loyal, Martín?”
“Sir?” he said, not faking his surprise at the question.
Harlow only raised his eyebrows and waited, the bone clicking on the desk with his patient taps.