Sofia
SOFIA
AGE 17
It’s said that the day the last dragon died, the clouds that had covered the sun for two blinks finally dissipated. The streets ran with wine and spirits as the people of Suvi celebrated the victory at last against the beasts that had plagued them. Even the Dragonborn tribes resisting the king fell silent for an entire sun cycle, giving a taste of peace to the king’s people.
-The Legacy of the Kings: A History of Wueco’s Creation by Francis Knoll
T he chicken wiggled between ’s hands, soft feathers slick beneath her palms. She clenched her hands harder and the chicken let out a squawk of indignation. The street was busy, customers and sellers flocking to the market to buy and sell goods that hadn’t been available for over a cycle. It was nearing the end of the dry season, the unusual rains in the wet season having allowed the crops and economy to flourish. At least for some.
There were still plenty of hungry eyes and sunken stomachs in the poor souls crouched on corners and in the darkest-skinned Dragonborn who struggled to find work. But the wealthy had been more generous in their charity.
None of that mattered to now. The busy street meant distracted vendors. She and Flor had staked out the stands earlier in the morning, looking for who kept their purses visible and who seemed most distracted by the occasional call of others around them. So when passed by the stall with the sliced fruits sprinkled with dried chilis, she gave a passionate cry and let go of the chicken.
Finding itself free at last, the fowl let out a loud squeal, feathers flying as it flapped its wings in a desperate attempt to escape.
“Help me!” yelled, “My father’s chicken! He’ll kill me.”
They’d learned over the past few blinks what got people to help the fastest. Apparently, the threat to a man’s property and his dismayed daughter’s fear of his fist did the trick for most. enjoyed this part of the trick. The melodrama and the small moment in time when she actually worked to draw the attention of those around her. For just a minute or two, she wasn’t a rat slinking in the shadows, invisible.
But then the charade came to an end. A man with a scar across his cheek caught the chicken in his large hands and handed it, squirming, over to .
“Thank you! May the king bless you!” With that last bit of flourish, she rushed away, stolen chicken clutched in her hands. The most important part was to be gone by the time anyone realized their purses were missing.
* * *
Flor was already back at their roof by the time returned. It was harder to hurry when the chicken wouldn’t stop squawking and squirming. She was all too happy when she could pass the chicken off to Flor before making the precarious, but well-learned climb up the side of the building and onto the roof.
They were in the drowned quarter and it was low tide, but the buildings were perpetually wet, moss and algae coating the stones. They kept a path of jagged stones as clean as they could to use on the way up, a secret all their own.
When made it to the top, she pulled herself up and rushed to see the pile of coins and trinkets Flor was sorting through on the flat cement roof.
“Gods!” ’s hand skimmed over the pile, careful not to touch and ruin Flor’s system. There were at least a dozen gold coins, a small pile of coppers, and even a few bracelets and a ring.
“The rains have made people stupid,” Flor said, blunt as always.
The chicken let out a yelp from its cage, as if in empathy for the man, and made a rude gesture at it. She would be all too happy the day it stopped laying eggs and they could pluck it and roast it.
Its cage was crammed in the corner of the flat roof, a threadbare blanket tossed over it during the day to keep it somewhat quiet. On this side of town, though, no one bothered with screams or yells from humans, let alone animals. The rest of the roof was an assortment of stolen and bought goods collected over the past few blinks. They both had bedrolls now and a blanket apiece. Though at night, they curled up together, too used to the sense of sleeping beside another person to feel comfortable separated. And if their hands wandered at night, they didn’t speak about it in the morning. They also had a few pots and pans for cooking, a teapot, and a stash of dishes. It was a risk to collect so much. It meant they had a lot to lose. But so far, they’d managed to keep their small world tucked in the crevice between taller buildings, with only two windowless walls facing their hideaway—the home they’d built together, on the edges of a society that didn’t want them.
Flor didn’t talk about her family much, but then again, neither did . What she did know is that while she wasn’t Dragonborn, both her parents had been sent to the farms on charges of treason when she was young. Branded the daughter of traitors, none of her relatives bothered to care for her, and she ended up on the same streets as .
“I also got something else while we were out,” said, fishing through her pockets for the scrap of paper she’d stuffed there. Flor eyed her suspiciously as she slid the paper across the ground over to her.
“What’s this?” She squinted at the markings.
“The meeting place I promised. A representative will be there tonight when the moons set.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“This is the only chance we have. If we don’t show for the meeting tonight, we lose their trust and we won’t be given another chance.”
“Good,” Flor said, picking up the paper, throwing it in the small fire burning beside them. didn’t flinch.
“I already memorized it.”
“They’re trouble. We don’t know if this boy you’ve been talking to is even a part of the real resistance. For all you know, this is a trap set up by the king.”
“He knows dragon-tongue and the old prayers!”
“And where did you learn those?” she asked pointedly.
“We’ll be careful. They didn’t say we had to come unarmed, and we can stake the area out beforehand. We know the roofs of this town better than anyone.”
“I am not putting our lives in danger for a chance to join some cult! Did you hear about the bombings over the last few blinks? They’ve killed hundreds.”
“Of soldiers!”
“And civilians.”
“I’m going, with or without you. I’m sick of watching the city fall to ruin while the king and his son hide behind their gilded walls.”
“And I’m not going to let you go on a suicide mission,” Flor snapped.
“Perfect!” ’s smile was wide. “It’s settled. We’ll leave when the first moon hits the horizon.”
* * *
might have been overconfident when she suggested they stake out the meeting place first. As soon as they were a block away, she spotted a shadow on the roof watching them, his tall, lithe silhouette unmistakable. She averted her gaze quickly, but not before Flor noticed. Her face twisted into a scowl and practically felt her muscles go rigid beside her.
“I am going to kill you if they don’t,” she muttered.
“I trust him.”
It had been almost the blinks since the first time had made contact with the boy—Pelo—and started the process of convincing him to set a meeting between them and the resistance. The rebels had done more for the Dragonborn over the past few cycles than the king ever had. They’d been sneaking food into the city and passing out supplies to those who needed it most, even when the rains were rare and the Dereyans had turned a blind eye to the impact of the drought. Still, she understood Flor’s hesitation. Trust wasn’t something built easily on the street. It had taken blinks for Flor and to trust each other enough to sleep in front of the other, but had had time to study Pelo with his open face, crooked smile, and always messy hair. She knew how to read people, and she did trust him. At least enough for this.
When they made it to the alleyway, Pelo jumped down, the shadows obscuring everything but his eyes.
“This is Flor?”
In the same moment nodded, Flor let out a harsh, “No.”
“Well, if you aren’t Flor,” a voice from behind them said, “we’ll just need to slice your throat and throw your body over the wall. I don’t meet with unexpected strangers.”
“Jag,” Pelo said. The word was a rebuke, but given the look on the much older man’s face as he stepped forward, Pelo had no authority to do so. The younger boy looked down, admonished by the silent glare.
“This is Flor,” said, firmly. “She’s a little paranoid. I think you can relate.”
The man looked them up and down.
They hadn’t come overly armed, but they both had daggers tucked beneath the waistband of their pants, which thanks to their recent influx of stolen coin, were freshly sharpened and cleaned.
With the reflexes of a snake, the man moved, catching ’s wrist and pulling it forward to stare at the scar set into her skin—the crooked and red “T”.
“What did you do to earn this?” His voice was gravelly and she felt it in her chest as he spoke.
“I read. I also have some scars on my back that I earned for biting the general.” She raised her chin and swallowed back any quaver in her voice. Flor’s breath hitched beside her. She’d never admitted that part to the other girl in their very brief exchange of horror stories.
“And why do you want to join us?” the man asked, face impassive.
“I’m sick of just surviving and breaking the law. It’s the king and his government that need breaking, and the way I see it, you’re the only ones trying.”
Pelo and Jag exchanged a look and a few hand signals that couldn’t read. The older man’s face hadn’t changed and she found herself at a loss for what he was thinking, to her great discomfort. But she wasn’t going to back down. The chief commander had done his damnedest to beat her into submission, and if her time on the streets had taught her one thing, it was that he’d failed. She would never submit to the king’s rule. If she had any say in it, she was never going to feel as helpless as she had when she heard the axe whistle down over Mina’s neck. She’d keep fighting until the last Dereyan fell to their knees before her, begging for mercy.
At last, after minutes of silent exchanges, Pelo turned from Jag and held out his hand.
“I’ll be your point of contact until you’ve earned our trust.”
“And why should we trust you, Pelo?” Flor asked, arms crossed across her chest in a clear sign that she wasn’t going to take his hand yet.
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a bit sticking up, visible even in the shadow of night. “Er, firstly, in the spirit of trust, I guess I should say my name is Javi. Pelo is a code name.”
“And your real name?” Flor said, turning on the older man.
“Is none of your business, yet,” he said.
“You’ve got to earn our trust, just the same,” Flor said. Her words were harsh and her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders had relaxed incrementally. read the statement for what it was—a concession.
“We’re excited to help the cause,” said, with a genuine smile.
Javi returned the gesture, showing off a set of dimples.
“Welcome to the resistance.”