Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
FOX
O ne of the figures stepped forward, the apparent leader of the group. His black hair was long and hung in braids. He wore a dress-like tunic in a style that Fox had never seen before, wide trousers visible underneath. It was a surprisingly clean shade of cream that contrasted with his dark skin.
When he spoke, it took a moment for Fox to realize he wasn’t speaking the king’s tongue. The words were more guttural and clipped, and he thought he vaguely recognized them from some of the poorest sides of the city.
Sofia stepped forward, hands raised. She responded in kind, her own words hesitant and awkward, but Fox saw the faces of the others soften. They understood her enough, apparently.
The group turned to him, speaking once more. Their words were just as indecipherable as before. Fox looked at Sofia with wide eyes, entreating her.
She spoke again, this time waving at him as she did so. He could understand enough from the body language that some of their group weren’t thrilled to see either of them here.
It was an uncomfortable feeling not being able to understand what was being said, but knowing it was about you. Dragon-tongue, while relatively common in the worst of the slums wasn’t something you heard wandering around the military or royal quarters. No one outside of the poorest Dragonborn spoke the dying language, too afraid of being seen as disloyal to the king.
“What are they saying?” he said, uneasy with how long he’d let the conversation go on without him.
“They’re asking about what we’re doing out here. I think.”
“Do you speak dragon-tongue?”
“I learned it from books and alley brawls, so I can’t say it’s perfect.”
He wanted to comment on the strange combination of her education, but before he could, a woman stepped forward from the back of the group. The moons’ light caught in her hair, and Fox saw the silver strands that marked her age better than her smooth skin.
“Your dragon-tongue is admirable,” she said in perfectly articulate king’s tongue. Fox felt unsettled as her piercing black eyes focused on him. “My name is Clarita. You say you’re lost. How did you come this far?”
Sofia answered first. “We were kidnapped by wolfshifters and weren’t able to escape immediately. We’ve been trying to make it back to m—our base the last few days.”
“You are with the resistance?” Clarita said, eyeing Fox carefully.
“Yes,” Sofia said.
“We do not align ourselves with the people of Suvi.”
“I know,” Sofia said, voice softening in a way she never had with him. This is what it sounded like when she cared what someone thought of her. “We’re just passing through trying to get back to our people. We’ve run into…obstacles.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed at this, eyes sweeping over them both and then the gleam of freshly fallen rain in the undergrowth.
“What did you see? The earthquake—was it just an earthquake?”
Sofia and Fox exchanged a look, neither of them knowing what the woman wanted to hear. The rules in Suvi were easy enough to remember: don’t talk of dragons or faeries. But out here?
Sofia made the decision for them. “We saw a dragon.”
She didn’t elaborate, waiting for their reactions.
“You are mistaken.”
Sofia’s face hardened into something more familiar to Fox. “No, we’re not. I gave a prayer last night, and this evening, a dragon came through the river down there. I know what I saw.”
Clarita seemingly repeated Sofia’s words in dragon-tongue and murmuring broke out among the others. A few spit out words sharp enough that Fox didn’t want Clarita’s translation. She gave it nonetheless.
“They are calling for me to kill you.”
“For what?” Fox said, tired of biting his tongue, but even as he stepped forward the pain in his side and the wave of nausea reminded him why they needed to end this conversation quickly. He saw Clarita’s face resolve into something akin to pity as she took in the branch protruding from his side and the blood dripping from it.
“Perhaps I won’t need to kill you myself. I can just leave you out here.”
Sofia had gone pale, seemingly uncomfortable at the thought of her own life being threatened.
“Please,” she said. “We aren’t on the same side, but we both worship the dragons. Let that mean something.” She turned to the rest of the group and spoke in dragon-tongue. Fox could only assume she’d repeated her plea.
“What would you have to offer us, other than trouble?” Clarita asked. Her voice warbled, as if through water, and Fox realized he’d lost more blood than he’d realized. His legs trembled and gave out, knees cracking hard against the earth as he fell.
Sofia’s voice felt distant.
“We’ll give you anything. Please?”
“How did you pray?” Clarita asked.
“What do you mean? We found a cenote and a shrine.” Sofia’s eyes lit up, as if realizing something. “I can take you—show you! There was a dragon feather. But only if you heal him.”
He didn’t know how they responded, his mind no longer following the flow of conversation. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled up roughly by his arms. He bit his tongue, swallowing back a scream. It came out as a guttural moan. Sofia was somewhere beside him. She was talking still, but he didn’t listen. He focused only on putting one foot in front of the other as the two men on either side of him moved.
The trek back to their camp wasn’t far, but it felt like the longest walk of Fox’s life. With every step he pushed back the nausea and pain that had him wanting to vomit one moment and keel over the next. Oblivion felt tempting, even as the glow of the fires came into view and the sound of civilization—or the closest thing to it out here—filtered through the trees. Perhaps it was this knowledge that they had reached their destination that finally did it. Blackness swept over him like a wave and he embraced it.
* * *
An indiscriminate time later, Fox opened his eyes to warm light dancing across his vision. He was lying on his back, a few feet from a large bonfire; the bedroll beneath him was the softest thing he’d felt in days. If it weren’t for Sofia’s face hovering over his own, he might have thought he’d died and was with the kings. Then again, the look of worry in her eyes suggested he was dreaming. The pain from his side had receded, but what’s more, the dull ache that had been radiating through his body for the last few days was gone, as well. He was hungry and his eyes burned from exhaustion and the river water, but he felt better than he had in days.
“You’re awake,” Sofia said, voice soft as if not to startle him.
He nodded stiffly, not quite able to find his voice. She immediately moved, bringing a cup to his lips. He assumed it was water, but the liquid smelled of flowers and was subtly sweet on his lips. He finished the first cup and she left to get more.
Whether it was the drink or simply time, his head was beginning to clear when she returned, and he took the cup from her as he looked around. The cenote they were camped out in wasn’t nearly as big as the one they’d found the night before, but it was wide, with plenty of dried land stretched between the sparkling lake and the river that rushed along the southern side. Multiple fires were burning and people milled about the main area. So many more people than Fox had expected.
Clarita was in front of another fire, speaking to a few others, but he saw her take notice of his stare and she stood to come over.
“Lia is sleeping,” Clarita said, not sitting down, “but she wishes for you to rest for the next two days at least. The wound was clean and you were lucky with how the branch went through, but we have mended your stomach and back.”
He lifted his tunic and noticed the set of small, neat stitches along his abdomen. A smear of yellow-green paste covered the wound, any trace of blood cleaned away. Even the ragged edges of the skin along the wound weren’t inflamed. It looked like a three-day old wound more than a freshly made one, but he didn’t question it. The witchcraft of the Dragonborn was long-banned in Suvi, but their healing skills were well-known still. He’d arrested a few for practicing the old ways before—a fact that sat heavily on his chest as he guiltily looked at the healer’s work. That magic had likely saved him.
“We reheated stew from yesterday’s supper, if you’d like some. Your friend already ate, so she can attest it isn’t poisoned.”
He agreed and the woman walked away, leaving him and Sofia alone again. He noted that they had the bonfire to themselves, no one else seemingly brave enough to sit near them.
“Did they give me opium milk for the pain?” He didn’t have any moral objections to the drug, but he didn’t like to think of his senses being addled while in enemy territory. Then again, his head didn’t feel stuffed with cotton like it had the times he’d taken it.
“No,” she said, a hand resting on his shoulder. He wondered if she was even aware that her thumb was rubbing against the skin of his neck as she spoke. “They gave you a tincture. The healer, Lia, said it should take away the pain without making you woozy.”
“A tincture?” he said, voice wary.
“Mushrooms and herbs, nothing dangerous. I asked.”
He nodded. He had more questions, but Clarita had returned, a bowl of something steaming in her hands.
Sofia helped him sit up and a minute later, he was scooping the warm spiced meat into his mouth, trying his best to eat slowly even as the rich smell made his mouth water. It tasted better than even the food he’d had at the castle when he’d visited. The meat was soft despite being the same type of game they’d been chewing on the last few days and the sauce tasted strongly of cumin, salt, and lime.
He felt no shame as he finished the stew, scraping the spoon across the bowl to finish every last remnant. The sound of the wood scratching against the clay made him smile. He thought about how many times his father had berated him for scraping his plates at dinner when he was growing up. He said it was best to leave a bit of food behind. Only those in poverty finished their dishes.
Around him, the few others eating were doing the same, scraping the last bits of the spiced sauce out of the bowl and licking their spoons clean. But they didn’t look starving or poor. They simply looked content.
He glanced back at Sofia. She was staring into the fire, the shadows dancing across her face. Her skin had regained its color, no longer gray from the icy water that had brought them here. And her lips were a soft pink. Even as he watched, she sucked in her bottom lip, chewing at it gently with her teeth.
He realized he was staring at her mouth and quickly looked away, face going hot. Her hair was still wet from the water, but it was beginning to dry, frizz and curls haloing around her head, glowing a rich honey against the firelight.
His father had introduced him to many beautiful women over the past few cycles, most from families across the sea. The women had varied in hair color and stature, but their skin was always pale, their voices always soft, and their fathers always rich and powerful. One had owned a vineyard in Falais, another the shipping yards in Terdun. If his father couldn’t depend on him bringing glory to the family through his fighting, Fox would bring him influence through his marriage. It was only with Mother’s help he’d managed to delay any betrothals.
Sofia was nothing like those women. Her hair was tangled with curls that desperately needed a comb and her freckled skin had seen too much sun to be considered proper. But the way her mossy eyes lit up when she was excited and the tilt of her lips when she laughed—loud and unabashed—made her look something more than just beautiful.
He thought back to the moment after they pulled themselves out of the canyon and the way her eyes had darted down to his own lips, a heat in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. He’d wanted to kiss her. He’d thought she might have wanted the same thing. But then the numbness from the icy river had dissipated and the sharp burning pain in his side had broken through his thoughts. Thinking about it now, about what could have happened, made his body heat and his chest ache with something unacknowledged.
“So, what did you agree to for all of this?” he said, trying to remember back to the conversation before he’d collapsed.
“I’m taking them back to the cenote to see the altars. They are giving me a day to ensure you’re okay before I leave.”
Despite being alone at the fire, it seemed that almost every pair of eyes bore into them as they sat there. There were a handful of fires burning, nearly a dozen Dragonborn sitting around each, ranging from older folks to children. And he doubted this was all of them. It was still the middle of the night, and the only people up were those woken by the chaos the earthquake and their subsequent arrival had created.
The crown knew there were likely some rebels and runaways hiding out in the rainforest, but this didn’t look like a makeshift camp for refugees. This was a thriving community of families.
“And we’re trusting them not to kill us?” he asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“We shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have agreed to anything.”
“In case it escaped your notice, you were about to bleed out.”
Fox bit back any further retort. He knew she was right. She had made the decision to keep him alive—for whatever reason. But he still hated it.
“They’re excited about the dragon sighting,” she continued. “They appear more interested in the dragon than us. It’s a good sign.”
“Perhaps,” he said, wanting to trust her, if only because of how tired he was.
“It’s why they were out there tonight. Their ancestors always spoke of the quakes that heralded the dragons.”
Fox thought perhaps he should be thankful they’d come searching and found them. But distrust sat heavy in his gut.
“How do you think Clarita knows the king’s tongue?” he asked, looking back to where she was speaking, leaning close to her confidantes.
Sofia didn’t answer for a while. “You should ask her. I don’t know.”
The answer was vague and he knew her tone well enough to know she wasn’t saying everything on her mind. But he let it pass. Now that there was food in his stomach and he was warmer than he’d been in days, his body was screaming its exhaustion at him.
“Do you still think the dragons are myths or long dead?” Sofia’s voice was soft and not nearly as biting as it could have been. She was poking him, even mocking him, but not out of malice.
“The history books always claimed they were real. I can’t be blamed for assuming a creature that hasn’t been seen by the people of Suvi in over three hundred cycles is extinct. They should be extinct.”
“You still believe that?”
“You saw what that dragon did back there—what it almost did. Those were your people it might have killed. It almost killed us. Is that something you truly want to worship?”
“It didn’t know there were people at the end of the river, and it stopped when I asked.”
“Is that what happened?” he asked, shaking his head, trying to understand how her brain worked. “All I saw was a woman insisting on almost killing herself before I was able to drag her up and out.”
“She listened to me.”
“Who?”
“The dragon,” she said simply.
“How do you know it was female?”
She went silent and he glanced up, watching as her lips pressed together and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but she suddenly shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.”
Fox opened his mouth to retort when a voice startled him.
“Talk to us about the dragon, please,” a small boy said, sitting down beside Fox with wide eyes. His king’s tongue was thick and clunky, but still surprising. Someone Fox assumed to be his parent stood behind him with more than a little trepidation. He smiled at the boy, and the parent’s shoulders relaxed incrementally.
He looked around and saw Clarita standing a few feet away, her own conversation paused as if she had heard the boy’s question. She whispered something to her companion before moving toward Fox and Sofia.
“I can translate, if you want to tell them,” she said, sitting down beside Sofia.
Fox wasn’t even sure where to start, but Sofia solved that for him, diving into the story of finding the ruined cenote and the dragon murals. He chimed in occasionally to embellish her words, happy to see her smile every time he did. The others listened, enraptured as Clarita translated, her own tone and motions adding to the magic.
It felt like telling a faerytale from the books he’d had as a child. Except the evil monster was drawing out only awe and wonder from those around him. Perhaps because they hadn’t seen the flood waters or nearly been drowned in the black tunnel. They didn’t see how dangerous the dragon was. Sofia had prayed to it and it had almost killed her. Yet even she didn’t look scared or subdued. Her eyes hadn’t dimmed since they’d left the canyon, as if something inside her had awoken.
He didn’t know what to think or what to feel. What did one do when their entire life had just been upended? He was surrounded by enemies, yet he was safe and warm for the first time in days. The monsters of his childhood were real, but no one else was scared of them. And the rainforest was more alive than he’d ever imagined, and it had tried to kill him multiple times over the past few days.
He laid back down next to the fire, not moving from where he was, listening to Sofia’s voice and Clarita’s translation. The dragon-tongue lulled him and he fell asleep enveloped by Sofia’s and Clarita’s voices and the warmth of the fire. He would have to worry about monsters and magic tomorrow.