Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
SOFIA
S ofia despised the ropes rubbing against the skin of her tied wrists. She was breathing through her nose, trying to quell the anxiety that churned in her stomach. She had felt his thumb, callused and warm, brush against her inner wrist, tracing her brand before he’d tied her up. The thought of him seeing it made her teeth clench until her jaw ached.
Fox Ocon. Of course it was him. Of all the people Vato could send their way, it had to be his son. She wondered if he knew just how many scars his father had left on her—nothing compared to the silly little brand.
He was taller than she remembered—not that she had seen him since they were both children and only then at a distance. She didn’t consider herself a short person, particularly for a woman, but he still towered over her more than a few inches. The scrawny mess she remembered had been replaced with muscles that showed the cycles of training he’d likely had as a part of the king’s army. And the ease at which he held his weapons along with her own made it clear the muscles weren’t just for show. His hair had grown out, neatly tied back into a bun, still the bright, nearly white-blond she remembered, unique even among the Dereyans.
She hated that she found him imposing. She wanted to see him on his knees, bleeding and begging for her to spare him. As she pictured it, his face shifted, nose narrowing into a sharper peak and eyes going from silver to an icy blue. She blinked away the vision as her throat went dry. As much as she hated being captured by Ocon, she needed to remember that he wasn’t his father and she’d make sure they never made it back to Suvi.
She let her toe catch on another root, wincing only slightly as her knees came down onto the hard dirt of the forest floor. Ocon stood above her, looking smug. He hadn’t caught her and his eyes were dancing with enjoyment as she struggled to right herself. She had to bite back a smile of her own. He was only playing into her own game by allowing her to slow them down.
The feel of the rough ropes against her wrists and the bite of stones in her knees didn’t quite permit her a true moment of contentment or humor. There was a niggling in the back of her mind reminding her how far off course she’d wandered in her little adventure and hunt. They’d already been walking for longer than they should have, him pushing her along beside him toward the city and a sure death sentence.
If they didn’t catch up to her and Ocon in time, it would be her own fault. But the chance to kill that boar may have been worth it. The droughts had been at their worst this past rainy season, leaving much of the city hungry and tired. The rations had hit the Dragonborn the hardest, of course, and the resistance could only do so much to spread food under the nose of the king. If she and the others didn’t hunt, then people would die. Either from starvation or from stealing and being sentenced to a long and arduous death on the farms.
Of course, at this rate, the boar and small pile of animals she’d amassed over the course of the morning would be stolen by a passing jaguar before anyone found them. The thought made her empty stomach turn.
She wobbled for the umpteenth time on a loose root, slowing their gait and letting out a dramatic oof as she caught herself. Ocon didn’t bother with gentleness as he pushed her forward, nearly sending her tumbling.
“Do you enjoy pushing women around?” she bit out, partly to make noise and partly because she was rankled by the manhandling. “Or just dragon-filth?”
“You call yourself that?” he said, almost sounding offended by her use of the slur. It wasn’t like Dereyans didn’t throw it around under their breaths constantly, but then again they always loved pretending virtue when pressed. She snorted, looking back to ensure he saw the look of derision on her face. “I have nothing against Dragonborn.” He said the words as if he thought she should be impressed.
“These ropes say otherwise,” she said, wondering if her eyes could get stuck if she rolled them too hard.
“You’re under arrest because of your treason not your blood.”
“Yet it’s my very blood that makes anything I do treasonous. Do your people get arrested for holding weapons? For feeding themselves?” She hated that true fury was rising in her voice. He didn’t deserve her energy.
“You can thank your ancestors for the thousands they massacred. They are the reason you lost your rights. And what do your people do? Continue to murder innocents.”
“Is that what they teach you in those towering buildings in the inner city? That we’re the murderers?”
“The blood I’ve felt on my hands after your attacks has taught me plenty.”
The words were muttered, but still clear and Sofia had to bite her tongue to not respond. She hated the self-righteousness in his tone and the set of his shoulders. He was so sure of his own beliefs. Any blood on the hands of the resistance had been a necessary evil in their fight for freedom, not that anyone ever listened or cared.
“And you think the Dereyans haven’t shed innocent blood?”
“You’ve broken how many laws? Don’t try to argue with me about innocence.”
She spit on the ground in front of him as she slowed her steps and came to a stop.
“I don’t claim to be innocent; I know you saw my brand. I don’t fight for my own sake, though. I fight for every single Dragonborn who’s died for the crime of being hungry or scared or simply wanting to hold on to their history.”
She saw his silver eyes go wide and his face stretched into a smile that looked almost maniacal.
“You’ve all but admitted to resistance ties and actions against the king. Such a sharp tongue for someone with such dull wits.”
He stepped toward her. They were only a few inches apart now, and she could feel the heat of his body. She had to bend her neck back to look him in the eyes, regarding the triumph that danced there. Her tongue darted out, practically tasting his satisfaction as she wet her lips, and his eyes flickered down to trace the movement.
“With that brand and you admitting to resistance ties, I can have you executed on the next new moons. But,” he paused, eyes tracing across her face. Her smile faltered at the hunger she saw there. Not for her, but for something more . “If you give me information on the resistance base, just a location or a few names, I’ll make sure you get sent to the farms.”
She sneered, refusing to back away from him. “So you offer me a clean, fast death or a slow one enslaved to your king?”
“I’ll make your death as comfortable as you please if you give me the resistance base’s location.”
She smiled.
She heard the quiet twang of a bowstring somewhere to the left of them, and she watched the look of triumph melt from his face.
He flushed so pretty when he was scared.
“Better yet,” she said, “I’ll take you there personally.”
She leaned closer until her lips barely brushed against his ear, sending a shiver through him that made her feel all the more powerful. “You should have let me go.”