Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
FOX
They were up and moving the moment the sun slipped behind the horizon, the shadows around them lengthening little by little and then all at once.
They walked as a group at first, the dragons slithering through the trees behind them.
Jobin broke away first, tucking himself into the shadows of the undergrowth when he found a good place.
If all went according to plan, Fox would bring the bones back to him, and they’d disappear into the night.
If things went—worse—he’d fly to meet them, stealth be damned.
They split the group then, Chalia, Sofia, Delio, and Micael heading to the north to approach the wolfshifters’ camp first. Javi, Jacinta, and Fox would continue toward the southern fence.
Fox didn’t bother with secrecy as he grabbed Sofia before she followed the others. He kissed her hard, hoping she could read the thoughts and emotions in the kiss. They broke away, foreheads still pressed together.
“Don’t you dare die, Ocon,” she murmured, lips brushing against his own.
“I’ll miss you, too, my captor.”
His heart was beating a vicious beat in his chest as they pulled away, and he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of tears in the corners of her eyes.
He turned away before he could question why he was letting her go anywhere without him.
He hated that she would face the wolfshifters without him.
She wouldn’t be confronting any of them if all went to plan, but he didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust them.
When he turned back to his group, Javi was looking at him. He expected anger or disgust, but instead the man gave him a nod, reaching out to squeeze his arm.
“You good?” Javi said.
“Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath to shake off the lingering self-doubt and fear. “Let’s go.”
They walked the last half mile in silence, their footsteps only a whisper in the night, easily mistaken for the wind or some creature of the night.
The sounds of the camp drifted out from the darkness long before the lights came into view, the soldiers loud in the early evening.
They were eating dinner and finishing up their duties for the day.
It would give Javi time to prepare for his role.
Jacinta would stay outside near their tree to stand watch and help Javi once he was out with Fox’s mother and Sofia’s father.
Fox wasn’t sure what condition either of them would be in, though Ian seemed to think his mother was doing well.
He hoped they’d be able to get to Jobin.
They found the tree and the small opening in the camp’s perimeter where the guard was no longer stationed.
Jacinta climbed up the tree, making it look easy.
Every evening Fox had needed to spy on the camp, he’d spent at least an hour climbing slowly up the branches, afraid to go faster for fear of falling or making too much noise.
Jacinta landed on the ground between him and Javi a few minutes later, barely winded.
“I didn’t see Vato, but I could see the prison tent and Harlow’s tent. The distance shouldn’t be an issue. Once Sofia starts the distraction and things get chaotic, it should be easy to slip into the camp and move. It will be about hoping your mother gets to the prisoners’ tent in time.”
“Ian will try his best,” Fox said grimly.
This was the part of the plan they couldn’t account for.
Harlow would theoretically be out and about, especially when the chaos broke out and the wolfshifters started acting up, but it was only a bet they were making.
If Harlow was still in his tent, there was no getting his mother out in time.
“If he’s still there, Chalia is prepared to rile up Eha herself. That might be enough to get him out and checking on the dragons.”
Fox nodded. “I’ll just be waiting on Ian. The plan is for him to meet me here, but I don’t know the timeline. It depends on how spread out the dragon bones are.”
Ignoring Jacinta’s judgment, Fox awkwardly made his way up the tree, climbing slowly and carefully until he perched onto a branch with a view of the camp. Jacinta followed, finding her own branch a bit lower. And then they waited.
Fox didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the screeching howl of dozens of wolfshifters breaking the night all at once. A moment later, Chalia was in his mind, telling him the distraction had started.
“I could tell,” he said to her, looking down at Jacinta and Javi, who both wore expressions somewhere between horror and anticipation.
He looked back at the camp, watching the soldiers’ reactions, some grabbing weapons and running, their training kicking in, while others stood paralyzed in a stupor before their comrades pushed them into action.
Even the guard he could see down the way along the perimeter stepped into the camp, looking around, his post nearly abandoned.
They waited, holding their breaths for another five minutes—enough time for Harlow to suit up and leave his tent, and enough time that most of the soldiers had moved toward the north of camp, leaving this side empty, but for a few stragglers and the supposed guards, who looked around, lost.
Fox tipped his head down and signaled to Javi.
The Dragonborn was pale, but he nodded and moved forward.
A moment later, he was slipping into the camp.
The gray tint of his skin and the fear in his eyes blended well with the remaining soldiers, and Fox watched as he slowly crept through tents and finally disappeared.
His eyes scanned the camp, looking for Ian now that it was emptier, and every movement that wasn’t him sent ice trickling down Fox’s spine. The entire time, the chorus of wolf howls and screams rent the night, creating a macabre song for their wait.
At last, Fox spotted someone slinking through the tents south through the camp with a determination that didn’t match the other soldiers milling about, waiting for orders.
He watched, expecting him to come toward them, but he turned, veering off to the right and then north, into a copse of thick trees.
He waited, expecting him to come back out, but the minutes ticked by, his skin itching.
Javi hadn’t appeared either, though Fox had been keeping an eye on the prison tent.
He looked down and noticed Jacinta was just as impatient as he was, her feet shuffling and eyes scanning over the camp repeatedly as if she might draw out their people through sheer willpower.
Then Javi was there, sprinting across the camp toward them, a single person in tow behind him.
Fox didn’t bother to be quiet, the night plenty loud with the sound of a battle in the distance. He climbed down haphazardly, receiving a glare from Jacinta.
Javi was there by the time Fox made it to the ground.
“What happened—”
“Your mother wasn’t there. I tried going over to Harlow’s tent, but it was empty. I don’t know where she is.” His words raced out, and Fox could see the guilt written plain across his face.
He glanced at the man standing hunched behind Javi. He saw Sofia in the arch of the man’s brow and the green ring in his eyes. At least they’d gotten her father away.
Fox moved forward, grabbing Javi by the shoulders and forcing the man to look at him.
“Hey,” Fox said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”
He tasted iron on his tongue. It wasn’t okay, but there was nothing Javi could do about it.
“You got Sofia’s father. Get him to Jobin and then both of you find her and tell her what’s happening.”
Javi’s face was still pinched, his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek. “Maybe Ian has her, but I didn’t see him.”
Fox squeezed Javi’s shoulders before stepping away. “I’ve got it from here. I’m going to go find Ian.”
“It could be a trap,” Jacinta said, her hand gripping his arm.
“It could be,” Fox said. “But I trust Ian, and we have little choice. We need to get those bones.”
Jacinta let out a string of curses in dragon-tongue that Fox recognized only vaguely.
“Fine,” she said—as if she had any choice in the matter. “Don’t get yourself killed. I don’t want to face Sofia’s wrath.”
Fox nodded, checking his weapons. Before he could step around Javi, the man grabbed him, wrapping him in a hug that had Fox going rigid with surprise.
“Be careful. The moment shit hits the wall, you run.”
Fox only nodded, not sure his throat would work in that moment.
And then he ran, making his way straight across the camp.
He was wearing his uniform, torn and bloody as it was, and the few stragglers left behind on this side of the camp were more bewildered than curious.
The trees that had seemed so close before from his perch stretched away from him, his heart in his throat, beating with each step.
It could be a trap. It was probably a trap.
But he needed to know. He needed to see Ian. He owed it to his brother to trust him.
Even after he reached the trees, he didn’t slow down. He didn’t know where he was going, the shadows deeper here than he expected.
Stop. He grabbed a tree trunk, stopping himself from going farther. He took a deep breath and held it, ears straining for some sign of life. The yells echoed in the night from the north side of camp, but he could hear something else—quieter but closer—the snapping of branches underfoot.
“Ian,” Fox hissed in the night, all pretense of subterfuge gone.
No one answered, but he heard another snap, his head swiveling to the left. He started forward again, with some semblance of direction until he was breaking through into a clearing, the trees falling away suddenly.
A figure stood in the center of the clearing. He was in shadows, but he was tall and slim, dressed in black. He stood rigid, unmoving and unspeaking, and Fox felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The air was icy in his lungs, and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.
He should turn around and walk away. Sofia would kill him if he put himself in harm’s way, but the sick twist in his stomach wouldn’t let him stop. He didn’t have control over his feet, as if the shadows tugged him forward on a string.
The clouds that covered the moons seemed to shift for only a moment, sending a dull stream of moonlight into the clearing, and Fox’s heart stopped.
The figure in the center wasn’t standing, but tied to a post, head slumped.
Dark liquid stained the man’s shirt, dripping into the soil below.
Fox ran the last few steps, gently tilting the figure’s face to catch the light.
It wasn’t Ian. It was a young soldier with soft golden curls. Fox didn’t recognize him from his time with the march. Now that he was closer, it was clear the young man was dead, his skin cold to the touch.
“He needed to be punished for leaving his post,” Harlow’s hard voice broke through the clearing, directly behind him, and Fox turned, stomach roiling.
Torches flickered to life, one by one, circling him and the clearing as soldiers stepped from the trees, two dozen arrows pointed directly at him. For just a moment, he felt honored that Harlow saw him as such a threat.
Harlow strode forward, dragging Ian at his side. The man was gagged and bound, blood dripping down his forehead. But he blinked, emerald eyes bright in the night. He was alive, and Fox could feel his rage from where he stood, simmering beneath the ropes. His own chest tightened with dread.
“I’ve brought you a welcome party,” Harlow said with a smile.