Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
FOX
F ox wasn’t sure why he reacted the way he did. Or at least he wasn’t ready to admit it. The moment the words were out of the scout’s mouth, he’d turned northwest, toward where he assumed the cenote would be. He kept his head down, eyes focused on the ground to avoid thinking of his destination or what he even planned to do.
It didn’t take long to find the path his father and the king’s men had made through the trees. There had been no stealth in their operation and there was a trampled path cutting through the forest.
The scout was following him, close on his heels.
“Sir, shouldn’t we go back into town? You’ve been missing for over a week and Chief Commander Harlow?—”
“When did you say my father left for the base?”
“It would have been hours ago, now,” he said, stumbling over a root as Fox picked his way carefully through the underbrush. “They left before I started my shift, but I’ve seen a few groups returning with prisoners. The raid was successful it seems.”
Prisoners. They’d already had the raid and found the rebels. Would they still be in the base then?
“But the general hasn’t returned?”
“Not that I’ve seen. They may have taken a different route.”
“What’s your name, Soldier?”
“Junior Scout Smithian, sir,” he said, giving his best impression of a salute even as he tripped again. Fox might have felt guilty for moving so fast, but he didn’t much care at this point.
“Go back to your post, Junior Scout Smithian. I need to speak with my father, but I will make sure they know you were the first one to spot my return.”
The boy’s cheeks tinged pink even as he tripped over his feet once more, giving an awkward bow.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Fox didn’t acknowledge the scout as he turned back to where he’d been walking. He wasn’t lying. He’d drop the boy’s name and give him some extra points in the military’s eyes, but he had more important things to worry about, like what he planned on doing when he got to the cenote.
And if he wanted to see his father’s face when he realized Fox was alive. He didn’t expect a joyful, tear-filled reunion, but he knew his father would make a show of it if there were others around.
What he truly wanted to do was find Sofia and take her far away instead of having to see his father. But that thought only sent him into another spiral because how was he going to explain to Sofia why he was so bent on saving her when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? It was his fault she was now in danger to begin with.
She probably wouldn’t even need his help. If anyone was going to find a way to outwit his father, it would be her.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts he was almost surprised when he heard the echoing voices through the trees. It was only another few minutes before the forest opened and he saw the opening of the cenote stretched out before him. It was smaller than he remembered. Nothing compared to the others he and Sofia had stumbled upon during their accidental adventure.
He could hear the voices clearer now, and he recognized one with a lurching certainty.
“They must be storing weapons elsewhere. This couldn’t be their entire stash.”
A mumbled response followed, too garbled to hear it properly.
Fox swallowed down his uncertainty, moving forward to where he saw the rope ladder stretching downward. It was anchored at the bottom, making the climb in and out easier for the soldiers. He was all too happy to be entering using this more comfortable method.
“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” Fox said, voice strong and unwavering despite the acid churning in his stomach.
Crouched over the opening as he was, he was just able to see where his father stood speaking to a pair of sergeants he didn’t recognize. Even from this far, he could see the stiffening of his father’s shoulders as the man recognized his voice. Both sergeants’ faces found his and their eyes flashed in recognition—if not of him—of the familiar white of his hair.
“Fox.” His father’s voice rang out hard and cold, perhaps a product of the echo, but then he was smiling and moving toward the ladder. Fox took it as his cue that he could climb down without being shot by an arrow for trespassing and quickly descended.
His father was waiting for him when he reached the bottom. And they embraced, cold hands resting against Fox’s back for only a second before he pulled away. His father met his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, as if trying his hardest to understand something. Fox kept his face neutral, not wanting to give his father anything. At least not yet. He needed a proper meal and a few nights’ sleep before he was ready to sort through the past two weeks with his father and his people. But he had more important things to worry about before then.
The cenote was quiet and calm. Whatever prisoners they’d taken upon their first raid already gone to Suvi. He heard the footfalls of other soldiers in the back tunnels, likely raiding supplies. It was only when his attention was drawn back by his father’s cough that he noticed a few bodies left facedown on the edge of the underground lake. Red blood seeped into the ground, tinging the nearby water pink and Fox looked away before he could recognize the shape of anyone in particular. Not that he cared.
But Sofia would care.
And she wasn’t here. Not yet. She wouldn’t have arrived at the cenote that much earlier than he did; she wouldn’t have been with the earlier group of prisoners. Perhaps he’d been right to trust her instincts. She may have gotten into the tunnels and immediately sensed something was wrong. She was already gone and he was wasting his anxiety on nothing.
“I have too many questions, but now isn’t the time to ask them.” His father’s words drew his attention back to the present. The taller of the sergeants, a thin and wiry male with a shock of black hair against pasty white skin gave Fox a small salute.
“I hear that you’re to thank for our operation here.”
“Theoretically—” his father cut in, words cold, as if he doubted the entire thing, “it was hypothesized that you left the markings. We also assumed you’d been killed soon after. There were traces of a fight and blood left in the forest.”
“That probably was my blood, but as I’m sure you’re so very grateful, Father,” Fox said, “the scuffle didn’t kill me. It just delayed me a bit.”
Before his father could respond, the other sergeant spoke, a high sergeant he noticed from the two bronze stars on his breast. “Either way, thanks to your quick thinking, we’ve taken nearly a dozen resistance spies into custody. General Ocon is sure the leader is among them, though they have refused to speak.”
“ Yet ,” his father said, a spark of joy in his eyes that made Fox’s stomach twist. Such happiness was never a good thing when it came from his father.
He looked back over his shoulder at the darkened tunnels and wondered if he could convince his father to allow him to look around. If he could find Sofia before the others.
A cry from the shadows had Fox paling and the three men he stood with followed his own stare as a guard came stumbling out from the darkness.
He was cursing, a trickle of blood seeping from beneath the torn arm of his tunic. He held Sofia pressed firmly against his body, the iron grip of his forearm along her waist. She was hissing and fighting, but he looked to weigh two times Fox’s own weight at the same height, and despite the anger at the bite she’d clearly gotten in, keeping her subdued didn’t appear to be a struggle.
When he made it to where the four of them stood, he dropped her unceremoniously at their feet.
“Found this creature sneaking around in the back tunnels. She must have been hiding during the initial raid.”
“She looks feral,” the high sergeant said with a laugh behind the words.
Fox was too busy trying to keep his breathing even as he took in the sight of her. She didn’t look any different from when he’d last seen her, albeit a bit muddier. But her face was a bright scarlet and her eyes shone with a rage and hatred he hadn’t seen since their first few days together. She wasn’t even looking at him—she was looking directly at his father.
His father sneered down at the woman, as if she might jump up at any moment and bite him, as well. Perhaps he was afraid of rabies. And then Fox saw the shift in his father’s face, his eyes widening in something akin to fear.
When his father moved forward, grabbing Sofia by the arm and throwing her facedown into the dirt, Fox almost stopped him. He clenched his fists by his sides and counted his exhales, wiping his face blank of any emotion. He’d had practice. He knew how to do this. How to not feel. It would be worse for both of them to react.
But even the sergeants and the specialist blanched as his father grabbed her tunic and tore it, nearly ripping it from her body to reveal her back. And Fox saw what she’d been hiding from him.
There wasn’t an inch of smooth skin to be seen. Ridges snaked across her back, painting her skin. Some scars were thin silver stripes, while others were raised and ugly puckers, dark red and purple.
It was a lashing that she would have been lucky to survive—that anyone would be lucky to survive—and his father was looking at it like a prized painting.
Acid crawled up Fox’s throat, choking him. He swallowed it down along with the sick twist of disgust and anger tightening his chest. He pulled his gaze away, knowing she wouldn’t want him to see this. The specialist that had brought her over stood, his own face blank, and Fox saw the small bag he held over his shoulder. Sofia’s bag.
The one with the dragon feather tucked inside.
“You,” his father’s voice drew his attention and he reluctantly looked back to where Sofia now kneeled, glaring up at his father. Her tunic was ripped at the shoulder, but it was covering her once more. Her cheeks were a bright red, but Fox could tell from the heat in her eyes it wasn’t from embarrassment or shame.
And then the look was turned on him and the blood drained from his face. She snarled and spit, a glob of it falling just short of him.
He met her glare with a sneer.
“This is your fault,” she said. There was no playacting in the words, and he didn’t blame her. This was his fault. No matter their truce or his intentions when they split that morning, he was the reason her friends lay dead behind them and why she was kneeling at his father’s feet now. He saw the hint of red along her collar where the other man had grabbed her. It would bruise by tonight.
He flinched as his father’s eyes flashed to him, ineffectual rage roaring through his blood.
“She knows you.” The look his father was giving him sent a chill up his spine.
“Meet the delay I faced,” he said, waving dismissively. “The bitch captured me. She and her resistance trash.”
“You let dragon-filth capture you?”
The words were a sneer.
“I was outnumbered, and you can see how well it worked out for her.” He shrugged again. He wanted to stop talking about her. He wanted to be home and have this all behind him.
“At least you did us the favor of marking the passage into the cenote. You made your capture useful.”
It was the closest his father had ever gotten to complimenting him, but Fox felt nothing.
“Since you’re back,” his father continued, “you should head into the city to report to the chief commander. He will want an explanation for your delay. I’m sure he’ll be happy to congratulate you on finding the resistance’s base at last. The kingdom owes you.”
“Of course, General,” he said, trying to ignore Sofia’s eyes burning into him. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to see whatever emotion would be there. He stared instead at the bag clutched in the meaty fists of the man who’d captured her. If his father found the feather, Fox knew it would disappear before he could understand what it all meant.
“And tell your mother you’ve returned. I can’t go another night with her thinking you’re dead. The woman hasn’t stopped wailing.”
His father turned to the specialist. “You can return with Junior Sergeant Ocon and your platoon to bring this creature to the prison. Keep her separated from the others. I wish to interrogate her myself before the chief commander sees her.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, his father turned away, unconcerned once more about his returned son, but not before he threw one last sneer at Sofia.