Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SOFIA
S ofia listened for the sound of Fox running after her for longer than she should have. It was clear after the first fifteen minutes that he wasn’t following, but she kept an ear out nonetheless, heart jumping at every rustle of leaves behind her.
It was another hour before she relaxed enough to focus on what was ahead. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to find the base empty, abandoned after Fox’s disappearance, or if she hoped Micael would be standing in the kitchens waiting for her. Both options left her stomach twisting, the taste of acid in the back of her throat.
She’d made a mistake in letting Fox go. She should have betrayed him. But the thought of walking him to his death no longer felt like something she could do. This morning, she’d woken before him, the feel of his warm body wrapped against hers left her begging for the sun to stop rising and the night to resume. She was probably just missing Javi and Flor, but she’d felt something akin to safety. She had to remind herself who Fox was. Not just a stranger she met in the forest, but the son of the man responsible for so many deaths. The man responsible for the scars striped across her back.
No temporary truce in the shadows of night could rewrite their history.
Sofia thought again of the drawn and pained look Fox had had when he’d seen the devastation of the shapeshifters’ camp. It hadn’t been the victorious eyes of the enemy, but the heartbroken sadness of someone who understood loss.
She was tempted to reach into her pack and touch the warm barbs of the dragon feather tucked there. But she didn’t want to risk losing the only item that proved the last few days had been real. That she had been right. The dragons were still alive.
And they were working with the king.
She needed to convince the others of what she’d seen and what she knew. This wasn’t just about freeing the Dragonborn from their oppressors. This was about the ancient gods and their entire history.
After a couple hours alone in the trees, she’d twisted her thoughts so tightly in her mind she thought she was going to throw up at any second. She decided to go through one of the back tunnels to avoid making too much of a show with her appearance. Or perhaps she was afraid Micael would order her shot on sight for abandonment and betrayal of the cause. As if he might know she’d let Fox walk away.
The entrance she chose was hidden beneath a small pile of boulders. It was a narrow opening, barely big enough for her hips. But the moment she squeezed through, she fell into the tunnel below. The tunnel was partially flooded, icy water splashing against her legs as she landed and seeping quickly into the fabric of her pants.
The path slanted down first, the water rising higher as she passed through the underground river. It was pitch black in the tunnel and she dragged one hand across the cold wet stone wall as she walked, keeping her grounded in the darkness. At last, the water began to recede again, moving from her hips to her thighs to her ankles until the ground beneath her feet finally rose above the water line. The chill of the tunnels left her prickled with goosebumps, but she ignored them, happy to smell the familiarity of wet mud and stone. She was home.
She stayed on the edge of the water for a moment, eyes closed against the blackness and breathed deeply as if she could memorize the scent and hold it for later. Even if she convinced them of what she and Fox had discovered about the dragons, she had no doubt that this would be her last time in the cenote.
She’d go back to the city. She’d go back to scrounging and stealing and waiting for the day she’d get caught and executed.
It wasn’t until she was stepping into the main hall a few minutes later that she realized how quiet it was. The tunnel dropped her off in the back of the cenote only a few dozen yards before the twisting tunnel that she’d followed Fox through just last week. But even back here, the tunnels allowed the echoes from the other parts of the cenote to travel and bring life to the place. The sleeping rooms usually held a few people even during the day.
Her stomach sank when she passed the first few open doors and saw nothing. There was no one walking the halls or tucked away in the rooms. They had abandoned the base and left her—probably presuming her dead. She already was mapping out the other bases in her mind, but then again, if they thought she had been captured, they might have moved to a new cenote. One she didn’t know about. There were hundreds spread across this end of the peninsula that her people could hide in and even she’d never find them without spending cycles searching the rainforest.
Just as she was preparing herself to turn around and go back to the city to resume her life prior to meeting Flor, she came across a lit torch. She saw the hint of light first and then the shadows on the walls dancing.
They wouldn’t have left the torches lit if they had abandoned the base. And then she saw the splintered wood along the edge of the hall and the chaos of footprints across the dirt floor became clear in the light.
Sofia felt a stone drop in her stomach and every muscle in her body went tight. Any thoughts of Micael and his punishments for her impulsivity left her mind. She was quiet and careful as she set down her pack and pulled out a dagger. She tucked it into her belt before slipping her arrows and bow back over her shoulder along with her bag.
And then she crept like a thief through the tunnels she had considered home. She heard the voices before she could understand the words, but the bright lilt of their voices was clear. It was the king’s tongue as spoken only by the men and women raised in the tight circle of the city that surrounded the castle.
There were king’s guards in the cenote.
Her hand tightened on the dagger at her side, and she was tempted to run out screaming, praying to get a few stabs in before she was killed. Her eyes burned with anger, and she bit back the rush of emotions that flooded her. Where were her friends? Were they gone, dead, or captured?
And had Fox known? Had he somehow sent them here before her?
She let out a slow breath, pressing herself against the cool stone wall behind her. The voices were still distant, probably a few more turns through the cenote. She judged that they were coming from somewhere between the dorms and the kitchens. Closing her eyes, she let the warm hilt beneath her hand center her. She could attack, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good. She needed to retreat. She needed information and she needed time.
So against every bone and muscle in her body, she stepped back, toward where she’d come from. She’d leave the same way she’d come and then head into the city to find out what the resistance’s network had to say of what was happening. She had been gone too long. How much had she missed? When had the cenote even been emptied?
“Breathe,” she said, the softest whisper of a mantra chanting through her mind with every step away from the voices and her home.
And then before she could register the sound of footsteps louder than her own, a large callused hand wrapped around her arm and then around her shoulder, pulling her back into the body of a man.