Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SOFIA
S ofia hated herself for the thrum of fear that rushed through her veins at the scent of the prison. The familiarity of it sank into her skin even after a decade. She had a hood over her head, but she strained her ears, listening for the sound of anyone else. The prison was quiet except for the echoing of footfalls. When she was pushed into a small, cramped cell, her hood removed, there was no one else around except for the single guard. He didn’t even look at her as he locked the door and walked away, taking the only light with him.
Sofia wasn’t afraid of the dark. She’d spent the last five cycles living in the dark tunnels of the cenotes. Yet, as the lantern disappeared out of sight, Sofia’s chest caved in. She gasped, trying to suck in a breath, but the air had been sucked from the room and she was left scrabbling at her throat, trying to understand where it had gone. Her hands went numb and she slumped against the cold stone wall before she lost the ability to control her muscles.
A scream caught in her throat, unable to work its way out without air. She was going to die here, alone in the dark before General Ocon even had a chance to break her.
No no no no no.
Her mind chanted the word until she finally choked it out, the sound of her own voice startling her in the dark.
“No!”
Her hand pressed against her chest, feeling the rapid patter of her heart. She was having another panic attack. She wouldn’t let this kill her. Screwing her eyes tightly closed as if she might forget the darkness around her, she hissed out a breath through her nose, trying her best to slow it. Her hand stayed firm against her chest and her breaths became a mantra.
She was left shivering in the darkness, a film of cold sweat layered upon her body. Pins and needles raced across her skin, but she curled up all the same, pressing herself into a tight ball until she could focus more on the feel of her own skin instead of the rough stone. She breathed in the odor of her body, sweaty and dirty, and pushed away the stale scent of the prison.
Sleep came slowly and she sank into the quiet darkness of oblivion until the nightmares tangled around her. She felt the bite of the whip against her skin and heard her own screams, echoing from every direction. But there was only blackness around her. When the pain stopped and she managed to turn and see the man holding the whip, it wasn’t General Ocon’s face she saw, but Fox’s, her blood sprayed across his brow.
* * *
She woke with a start to the sound of metal on metal. Despite the heaviness in her limbs, she scrambled up before the guard could grab her. She was sick of being dragged about. Even still, by the time he’d snapped the rough cuffs onto her wrists, her shoulders were aching from his rough jerks that were anything but necessary.
She was led up a set of steps out of the basement of the prison onto a level with high windows. The light blinded her for a moment until her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight filtering in from outside, but then she was shoved once more into darkness.
When her eyes adjusted again, she was greeted with the sight of a small room devoid of any furniture. General Ocon stood against the wall, his eyes following her closely as the guard forced her to kneel in the middle of the room, moving her hands to the cuffs that sprouted from the ground in front of her. She tested the binds, wondering if the general would get close enough for her to claw his eyes out. She doubted it.
Her eyes darted around the rest of the room and she immediately regretted it. Not because of the wall of weapons hanging beside the general, but rather the man standing in the corner, blond hair tied up in a top knot, looking cleaner than she’d seen him in weeks.
Fox’s face was a pasty white, even for him, and he didn’t meet her eyes when she looked at him. Despite this, just the sight of him broke something in her and her stomach dropped, her heartbeat a staccato in her chest. He had truly betrayed her—forgotten everything they had spoken about and seen in the forest. Had he given up so easily? She clenched her fists, nails biting in her skin as hard as she could manage, and she wished she could draw her own blood to distract her thoughts.
She needed to leave here. Now. And if she couldn’t do it physically, she’d do it mentally. She found herself seeking out Fox once more and she hated herself for it. But looking at him, as he stared anywhere but at her or his father, she could still smell the night blooms and damp moss growing between the stones in the cenote. The wind whistled through the trees, rustling the leaves of the canopy above, and she could feel the rush of water in the underground rivers just beneath her feet.
And then General Ocon was directly in front of her, voice pushing through over the sound of the forest.
“It’s really you. I kept thinking I’d made a mistake.”
She snarled as he grabbed her left hand, examining the stub of her ring finger. He didn’t even flinch at the empty gesture, but dropped her hand a moment later with a sneer of disgust. As if it were her fault he’d touched her.
He leaned down, his face a few inches from hers.
“How did you survive? You should have died of your wounds. You were supposed to be buried with the rest of the filth.”
She smelled the sour odor of his breath.
When she didn’t speak, he asked again, spit flicking across her face with every word.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t look away from him and watched as his pupils constricted with anger.
“Did one of my men save you? Sneak you out? Someone healed you—more than that. Was it a witch?”
The thought was laughable. Witchcraft had died out with the dragons generations before. Even the most skilled healers who knew the old medicines couldn’t truly practice magic.
The general didn’t seem to like the laugh that bubbled from her throat. He stepped away, blond hair brushing against his shoulders with every step. He’d have been a handsome man were it not for the perpetual twisted sneer. The thought made her shudder. It made her think of his son.
Her eyes flickered to Fox’s corner involuntarily, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was focused on his father. She followed his gaze and saw the general picking out a whip from the wall.
As he approached her again, she didn’t look away, knowing the surprise would hurt more. But she still couldn’t keep the low hiss of pain from escaping her lips as the whip lashed across her back. Once. Twice.
The hits radiated through her body, the air choking in her lungs for just a moment. But once she caught her breath, she smiled, looking up at him.
“Planning to add to your previous work?”
“I plan on finishing what I started. But I have some questions first.”
This time he used his fist, cracking it across her face. She tasted blood mixing with the bile in her mouth.
“Who leads the resistance. Are they who saved you?”
“Not. Telling. You,” she spit out, along with the blood.
He delivered a sharp kick to her side.
“Why did you kidnap Fox? What information were you hoping to get?”
She didn’t bother answering this time and the next hit came faster. The chains pulled at her wrists, chafing the skin as her body jerked against her control. She focused on the sensation, blocking out the pain radiating through her side and back. She felt her tunic being torn away, the bite of the whip against her skin. Her back was wet with blood and she wondered if the new scars would simply blend in with the old.
She closed her eyes and let the scent of her own blood take her back to her time in the ruins, praying at the dragons’ altar.
She prayed now. Perhaps the dragons no longer protected her people. Perhaps they worked for the king now, but she wouldn’t give up on her faith.
“Father—”
Fox’s voice broke her from her thoughts, and she hated him for it. She was happy lost there.
Their voices were slurred or perhaps that was her own head, but she could just hear bits and pieces.
“—not working—not answering.”
“—know—do it yourself?—”
She looked up, vision blurred to see Fox gripping his father’s wrist hard, stopping him from bringing the whip down again. Even as she watched, his father’s fist crashed against the side of Fox’s face, sending him to the floor.
“Leave.”
“Father—“
“Everyone, leave,” he said, motioning to his son. “Take him with you. I wish to question the prisoner alone.”
She might have heard some argument, but between one blink and the next the room was empty. Almost empty. The general towered over her, leaning on a cane.
It was polished to a shine, unnecessarily she thought, given its purpose.
“You’re back,” he said, noticing her focus. “Good.” He stepped forward and lifted her chin with the tip of the cane. The wood was cold against her skin and she glared up at the man that had haunted her nightmares for so many cycles.
“You were out in the rainforest. What did you see?”
The question was vague and seemingly harmless, but there was a glint of something in the general’s eyes that told her he didn’t care about the cenotes they found or even the wolfshifters.
“I saw trees and animals. What else would there be?”
The words were slurred, but she kept her eyes sharp, watching the tic of frustration along his jaw.
“I know it was you, somehow,” he hissed. “You brought that thing back. How did you do it?”
He was talking about the dragon.
“Did my son see?” Something like fear tinged his words.
“The trees?” she said, spitting out more blood. “He’s blind and stupid, but I don’t imagine he missed them.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he hissed, face only few inches from her own and she wondered if she could bite him before he jerked back.
“Say it, then,” she said through gritted teeth. “Ask what you really want to ask.”
He didn’t though, instead bringing the cane down across her already shredded back.
“We massacred an entire tribe of people looking for it. Did you know that?”
Sofia didn’t know what face she made—too lost in the pain—but she heard the general’s laugh.
“You did know them, didn’t you? Did we murder your friends? Even your little resistance base was found because we were out there, looking for your dragon . Now tell me how you called it.”
Her lips were nearly numb, but she formed the words slowly and deliberately, making sure he heard them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He brought the cane down again and she let out an involuntary groan. The pain overtook her body and she thought she might choke on it.
Something cracked inside of her. She only realized she’d crumpled to the ground when she felt the cold press of stone against her cheek and she closed her eyes, letting it soak through her skin like a balm.
She embraced the blackness and waited for her mind to give up and drift away. The pain would stop eventually. It always did.