Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
FOX
Fox didn’t sleep. He snuck back into the family manor like a thief, too afraid of going back through the wall to the barracks and having anyone remember his late night return, covered in blood.
But he’d also managed to avoid seeing his mother for the past four days, unable to look her in the eyes and see the grief there—grief that he’d created with his own bloodstained hands. He didn’t want to break that streak.
He’d killed his father. He’d killed her husband. There was no seeking forgiveness for that, even if she didn’t know the truth of it. He could still hear the echoes of her sobs after she’d found out he was dead.
So that morning after he murdered Rogo, he dressed in silence for his shift with bloodshot eyes.
He splashed some water on his face from the pump in the kitchen and snuck back out of the manor before the sun crested the horizon.
The one indulgence he allowed himself was walking north to the market, following the smell of freshly baked pastries and bread.
He picked out a particularly large bun with thick cracked sugar on top, savoring the sweet bread as he slowly made his way back toward the lab—as Harlow called it.
The sugar gave him the smallest boost of energy, enough that he only felt slightly nauseated when the rundown building came into view.
The sun was up, long shadows stretching over the road, but this part of the city was quiet. Fox wondered if he should turn around and go back home. He could pack a bag and be on a ship within two hours.
But he wouldn’t leave Sofia behind. Or Eha. He couldn’t. He’d made promises.
Promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He wasn’t a spy. Everything he ever did failed. Everything he touched withered.
It was his father’s voice, hissing in his ear, and he closed his eyes, tempted to let himself drown in it.
Useless. Hopeless. Helpless.
He breathed, swallowing down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. His mask slipped into place, as familiar as his own skin. He’d spent his life hiding behind a sneer, why not now? Because though he might have been useless, Sofia needed him to try.
Sofia needed him to try his best.
The cavern was in chaos. Dozens of soldiers raced about, and Harlow’s voice rose from the pit below, snapping instructions.
“What’s going on?” Fox kept his voice even. The nearest soldier turned, straightening when he saw who was talking.
“One of the damned prisoners escaped, and the cursed creature killed Rogo.”
“The Dragonborn killed Rogo?”
“No,” the man practically snorted, brushing off the idea. “The king-damned dragon got him. Rogo always acted too cavalier with the thing. He clearly got too close, and the thing nearly cut him in half with its jaws.”
“When did this happen?”
“Some time in the night, sir,” the man said. He opened his mouth, shifting on his feet, but not saying anything else.
“You can go,” Fox said, seeing his discomfort. “I need to talk to the chief commander.”
The man let out a relieved sigh, darting off to whatever task he’d been assigned. Fox bit the inside of his cheek.
He could do this.
Harlow looked almost grateful to see Fox as he rounded the last set of stairs to the bottom of the pit. He tasted acid in the back of his throat as he saw the blood smeared across the ground, but the body was gone.
Eha, on the other hand, was pressed firmly into the ground, her chains tightened so much she couldn’t move. An iron net had been dropped over her, like a blanket. Except Fox could see how the metal rubbed against her scales, raw and bleeding everywhere it touched.
“I am fine, Pale One,” she said. Her voice was soft, but her eyes burned with fire as she blinked at him. “Keep your head.”
“Sofia is going to come back for you. She’s going to free you.”
The weight of Fox’s guilt sat like iron on his shoulders. Eha had expected him to help. She’d said as much the night they’d met. Yet, all he’d done was get her into more trouble. They were both trapped now.
“Junior Major Ocon, you’re going to have to take a break from translating today. At least for the morning.”
“One of the men upstairs told me what happened, sir.”
Harlow’s eyebrows pinched together. He looked truly pained as his eyes swept over the bloody floor.
“High Specialist Rogo’s family’s been informed. They just found his sister yesterday and now they’ll be burying him, too.”
“It’s terrible, sir,” Fox said. The words were bitter on his tongue.
“How many of us must die in this war?” he said, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “The point of the dragons is to save us from dying. I hoped on being faster—on solving the problems before now.”
“You’re working as hard as you can,” Fox said, slipping into his role of comforter faster than he expected. This was the part of Harlow that so few saw—the part that made Fox think that perhaps there was hope for him. He was afraid for his people. He cared for them.
“Are you sending men to hunt down the Dragonborn who escaped?”
Harlow waved his hand. “The city guard will pick her up quickly enough. I need to change tactics. We need to sweep the city.”
Fox’s chest tightened.
“Sir?”
“Every Dragonborn home needs to be searched for books, drawings, and written materials. We can’t keep relying on what we happen to find during arrests.
There is an answer somewhere in this city.
I’ve already sent men out to make the announcement.
The lower city will remain on lockdown until we can search every house.
” He looked back at where Eha laid, straining against her binds.
“I will discover your secrets,” he continued. “You will bow to me. I will not let this city fall because of a witch and her magic.” Harlow turned to Fox, and there were tears in his eyes. “Your father died protecting this city. Too many of us have died. We’re so close to finding true peace.”
Fox’s chest ached for the idea. True peace. Though what did that even mean?
“Kings, Fox, you look exhausted,” Harlow said, his eyes suddenly focusing.
His hand came up to rest on Fox’s shoulder, the weight of it making Fox stumble.
“Go home. You’ve been working nonstop and once the sweeps bring in more materials, there will be plenty more to do.
Take the next few days to rest and prepare. ”
“Sir, I can—”
“No, no,” Harlow said, turning away from him, his mind already made up.
Fox looked at Eha, his stomach churning. He felt her pain and anger as his own and he wanted to go to her—soothe her.
“Go,” she said, her voice suddenly hard, and Fox realized he’d taken a step toward her. “I will be fine.”
Fox hated himself for listening—for turning away even as Harlow strode toward the weapon rack and the whip that just last night he’d scrubbed of blood and hung back up.
“Go,” Eha urged again, her thoughts practically pushing against him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hating how pathetic the words were.
“I know. But there will be an end to this.”
He swallowed and trudged with leaden feet up the stairs and away.
There would be an end. And he had no idea how to make sure it was the end he wanted.