Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
IAN
Last night the wind smelled of sea salt so heavily I might have assumed we had gotten lost and ended up at the ocean.
Instead, we woke in the middle of the night to a roaring wind so strong, half the tents had to be torn down and reassembled against the stone cliffs of the mountain.
Jol, Anthony and I sat huddled in our tent for most of the night, unable to sleep for the howling.
If the dragons had come, we wouldn’t have heard them.
By the time the storm stopped, the sun was already high in the sky, and the tent was half buried in fresh snow.
They’re still counting the dead, but at least two dozen died in the night.
I can still smell the sea, but I am starting to wonder if we’ll ever make it back there again.
Ian had spent two days with the list running through his mind.
The prison tent.
Harlow’s tent.
Luna’s tent.
Tomas’ tent.
Dubois’ tent.
The dragon pen.
If he missed just one. If he forgot a step, he could ruin everything before it began. If he got caught. If he missed a bone. If his theory on how they worked was wrong…
He hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of food over the past few days.
Not that anyone noticed. Their rations were down to the bare minimum of tasteless beans and some stringy rabbit, and most of the soldiers spent their time picking at their food rather than actually eating.
Luna and Harlow had been locked in meetings for the past three days, clearly trying to come up with the next plan on approaching the dragons’ nest, but none of the soldiers had been brought into the discussions.
Morale was low as it felt as if they were sitting around in the forest, slowly starving in the cold.
Ian was less affected by the mood of camp, taking mealtimes to walk the path he’d need to take, not quite going all the way to the dragons’ pen, but marking each tent in his mind until he could do it with his eyes closed.
First, the prison tent and then Harlow’s.
He’d have to wait for the distraction to begin and hope Harlow left to see what was happening.
Then he’d retrieve Eha’s bone from the chest and get Fox’s mother to the prison tent to wait for Javi.
Luna’s bone was the closest from there. But if even just one of them didn’t take the bait that Sofia was laying down, he was going to have to confront them.
His finger ran across the blade of his dagger, which he had sharpened just that morning.
He was ready to do what he needed to do.
A log in the fire popped, and he startled, his heart flying into his throat.
Nesto gave him a sideways glance but said nothing.
Ian swallowed, trying to calm his heart.
The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the sky was just starting to blacken into night.
If everything went well, this would be his last time in front of this fire.
This would be his last mission for the resistance.
After over a decade of working as a spy, after countless nights washing the Dragonborn blood from his hands, praying that it wouldn’t stain his soul, after living every day of his life with his mask firmly in place, he was going to be done. One good thing and he’d be out.
And it only took him losing both the people he loved most.
He’d be leaving his aunt, too. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the city after this. But Cecilia would survive. He knew she was more of a fighter than he was.
All he wanted was to be done. He’d thought Leon’s death had broken him, but losing Isadora had decimated his already ashen heart.
There would be no more fighting after this.
He’d heard about how welcoming the people of Terdun were.
Or perhaps he’d go farther—across the great ocean to the lands they didn’t even trade with—where no one even knew of Suvi or Wueco.
“Are you done with your beans?” Nesto asked, eyeing Ian’s bowl. It was still full—or at least as full as the rations allowed.
Ian pushed the bowl with the toe of his boot, and Nesto picked it up, swallowing the beans down in two bites.
“King’s balls,” Ian said. “Try chewing next time.”
“If you don’t chew, you don’t have to focus on the flavor,” Nesto said with a grimace.
Ian forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too empty.
“How much longer do you think they’ll keep us out here?” he asked, his voice low.
Ian shrugged. “As long as it takes to get control of the rest of the dragons.”
Nesto’s face remained neutral, but Ian saw the way he seemed to tense. “I know they aren’t actual gods, but it doesn’t seem right, does it? Forcing them under control.”
Ian looked over at him, studying the way he set his shoulders and the way his foot tapped against the ground.
At least someone else in this camp had a moral compass.
Perhaps one day it would matter. No one else was paying attention to them, but they were still dangerous words to say.
Harlow had been locked in his tent all day, but Ian almost expected the man to pop up behind them, screaming treason.
“It’s a war,” Ian said after a beat. “What is right or not doesn’t matter.”
“We’re the good guys, though? Aren’t we?” Nesto said, scraping the spoon across the empty bowl. “We’re supposed to do what’s right.”
“Are we the good guys?” Ian asked, the words slipping out before he could bite them back. Nesto looked at him, blinking slowly, chewing on his lip.
“I suppose the Dragonborn think they’re the good guys, too,” he said at last.
“Exactly,” Ian said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Everyone thinks they’re the good guys when they’re killing.”
“Maybe that’s how Fox convinced himself to betray his people.”
Ian looked at Nesto. The rest of the soldiers had beards growing haphazardly from their time away from mirrors and razors, but this kid barely had peach fuzz across his chin.
He was younger than even Ian and Leon had been when they’d entered the king’s men.
The age of enlistment over the past decade had just gotten younger and younger as the king had expanded the guards’ reach and presence in the city.
Nesto shouldn’t be out here. He should have been at home with his family still, worrying about how to flirt and what the latest city gossip was.
“If something happens tonight,” he said, his voice so low he wondered if Nesto would even hear, “you should stay in your tent.”
Nesto’s face went pale, his wide eyes staring at Ian’s for a beat—two—before he finally gave a slow nod.
Ian stood before the boy could ask any questions. He didn’t bother with a goodbye as he walked away from the fire, the heat of it draining from his body almost instantly. He needed to change.
Ian didn’t have his own tent, but it didn’t matter.
The three soldiers he slept with didn’t come back.
He assumed they were still out by the cook fires, singing and drinking.
He sat on his bed, breathing through his nose as if it might calm his nerves, waiting for the seconds to tick by.
There wasn’t a specific time the mission would begin—just after the moonsrise.
Sofia wasn’t sure how long the distraction would take.
The moment he saw the light from the first moon shining through the tent flap, he was up.
He couldn’t sit still anymore. But he didn’t need Sofia’s distraction for the first step.
He pulled on his cloak and walked with his head down, not wanting to talk to anyone.
But there were only a couple of soldiers amongst the sleeping tents, their own minds focused on their destinations.
Ian didn’t slow until he was outside the prison tent, the two guards outside standing at attention.
Step one was to get Sofia’s father out of the cage and make sure he was prepared to escape.
“Junior Major Martín,” the left one said—Junior Specialist Hill. Ian swallowed his guilt.
“I need to talk to the prisoner.”
They exchanged a look, but Hill only shrugged and stepped aside. Ian nodded as he passed them, sending a prayer to the dragon gods, begging for forgiveness.
Sofia’s father was inside, sitting against the bars of his cage—too small for him to stand properly. He only looked up briefly when Ian entered, seemingly uninterested, but he saw the way his body stiffened and his breaths quickened.
Ian could feel the guards behind him, facing into the tent now. His dagger sat heavy against his thigh, just beneath his cloak. It would be easy. It would be quick. He still hesitated.
Perhaps he could distract them. Tell them to leave.
“Junior Major Martín?” Hill asked behind him.
A howl broke through the night outside, and all of them turned, staring through the open flap and into the night. Still, neither Hill nor his companion moved from their station, and Ian’s stomach plummeted. His choice was made.
Before either of them could return their attention to him, Ian whipped out his dagger, slicing across Hill’s neck first and then the other guard.
They dropped, Hill never having a chance to turn his gaze of betrayal back on Ian.
Acid burned up his throat, but he didn’t look down, only turning and throwing the metal picks into the cage.
“Unlock yourself and get into a uniform. Sofia’s friend is coming to get you.”
Sofia’s father blinked up at him, not moving for a minute.
“For Sofia,” Ian said, running out of the tent before her father could say anything. He pulled the flaps closed behind him and moved toward Harlow’s tent.
It took a few minutes to get there, but by the time he rounded the corner, he let out a breath. Harlow’s guards were gone, meaning Harlow had taken the bait.
Ian didn’t bother with stealth—there were plenty of people running around. He darted across the small clearing and into Harlow’s tent, closing the flap behind him the second he crossed the threshold.
He looked around, the taste of dread on his tongue. The space was completely empty—Fox’s mother was gone.
“Fuck.”