Chapter 66
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
FOX
Fox smelled the sea. He licked his cracked lips, tasting salt. He expected to open his eyes to the cliffs of Suvi or the sandy coast of Falais. Instead, there was only darkness.
Not the darkness of night, but the inky blackness of nothing.
He blinked, his brain struggling to understand the emptiness before him.
His chest tightened. It was darker than it had been under the rubble, trapped with his brother.
He took a deep breath, reminding himself he wasn’t trapped.
There was no rubble. There were no stones pressing down on him—no pressure or heaviness.
He remembered Sofia’s eyes as she screamed, and the bright light and the burning that followed.
He wasn’t trapped. There was no rubble.
He was dead.
He sat up, his hands against the ground—or the blackness that acted as such. Every ache he’d been feeling in his body for the past few days was gone. In their absence, he realized how much pain he’d been in. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. But he was alone, and the silence made his head throb.
Death was too quiet. Too lonely.
The smallest speck of light emerged on the horizon, a single star in a black sky. And just like that, the darkness felt lighter, the silence peaceful instead of aching.
The light grew to a pale pink, slowly at first, and then bursting.
Fox’s hand came up to shade his eyes automatically, the blinding light filling his vision as his eyes adjusted.
A dragon, larger than he’d thought possible, stood in front of him.
Their scales glowed and sparkled like a rainbow, their true color unknowable and ever-changing.
Their wings were folded back, and their tail twisted around, arching into the sky above them.
Fox blinked.
“My son,” she spoke—not through his mind—but out loud and in the king’s tongue.
“Quelia,” he said, knowing her name even as his mind screamed it was impossible.
She smiled. He didn’t know how he knew the expression was a smile, but it was, and Fox felt his muscles relax. He stood, uncomfortable sitting in her presence, and he swore he saw her eyes flash with amusement.
Her tongue flicked out as if tasting the air.
He knew he was dead, but his throat still went tight looking up into Quelia’s eyes.
He thought of his mother and Sofia. He didn’t grieve for himself, but he ached for what they might be feeling. He didn’t want them to be left alone. They didn’t deserve that.
“They are crying for you,” Quelia said, her voice like music.
“I…” Fox choked on the words, “I wasn’t supposed to leave them. I promised them.”
“We do not always get to make those choices.”
“We?” Fox said, his eyebrow raising. Quelia laughed, chimes in the darkness.
“You are my children. I live through you.”
Fox blinked, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t quite understand.
“I feel your pain,” she continued. “Your kind feel so much. Hurt so much.”
“Can you tell them I’m okay? Take away their grief?”
“I would never dare take someone’s pain any more than I would take their joy.” She sighed. “And I cannot talk to my children anymore. Not truly.”
“You could? Before?”
Quelia blinked down at him, and he swore he saw sorrow in her eyes. “I used to talk to many of my children. They used to listen. Now I only have one I can speak with.”
“What happened? What changed?” For the briefest moment Fox smiled, thinking of the rage his father would feel at him questioning a god. The rage his father would feel knowing the dragon mother was real.
Or perhaps Fox was just dreaming in his death.
“They killed my children. They are always killing. Every death drained me, little by little.”
“The dragons—the massacre.”
Quelia’s feathers rippled. “Not just my dragon children. The humans, too. The shifters. The faeries. Death is inevitable. I knew that when I made life. But this murdering—this constant war…”
She shuddered, eyes closing in pain.
“So many have died before their time.” Her eyes opened, their pale silver depths brimming with tears. “Like you.”
“I—I don’t belong here. I’m not one of your children. I’m one of those who keep killing your children.” He didn’t think one should be able to feel pain in the afterlife, but he did. His heart broke and his chest tightened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what my people did to your children.”
She leaned down, blowing warm breath into his face.
“You are my children. My children kill each other. Kill themselves.”
“Why—why am I here?” Fox asked, and Quelia blinked. “Not in the afterlife. I—I know I’m dead. But why am I here with you?”
“They are crying for you,” she said, as if that answered his question. “They are praying for you.”
Fox closed his eyes, trying to push back his grief.
“You prayed to me, too. I could not do much, but I heard you.”
Fox opened his eyes. “Thank you. Isn’t there anything you can do? To make their grief hurt less? They’ve both been through so much.”
“You think it is only your mother and your heart that grieve? Eha is crying, and Chalia is yelling at me. Jobin is scared, and Aurelia asks that I look after you. Javi is praying you start breathing again.”
Fox blinked, and this time he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of that.”
“Why not? You gave up everything for them. You have proven that their world could be different. That there is hope in something changing. In people changing.”
“So, what now?”
“I cannot let you stay here.”
He nodded. He imagined there was somewhere else—where the others would be. Leon. Ian.
“I cannot heal you. Not truly. Eha will have to do that if she has the power left in her. But I can bring you back just for a moment. Long enough that she might have a chance.”
“What?” Fox’s mouth went dry, his heart racing, as if understanding Quelia’s words before even his mind had. “Why—why me? I don’t deserve that.”
“Why not you?” Quelia said.
“There have been better—my brother—Ian—”
“There will always be better. It is not perfection this world needs, but striving. Your soul yearns so much, even in death. I think we will need that. Something is changing. I can feel it.”
Fox swallowed.
“It will hurt,” she continued. “Your body is damaged beyond what any human body can endure. Eha may be able to heal you, but you will feel it. Perhaps for the rest of your life.”
Fox nodded, barely comprehending the words.
“I’ll do anything,” he said, his tears falling freely now. “What do you need from me?”
Quelia nudged her nose against his chest. “Just to keep fighting.”
She moved back, and Fox felt his stomach plummet.
“Before you send me back,” he said, swallowing, “can I speak to him? Can I see Leon?”
Quelia tilted her head, eyes sad. “I’m sorry, my child. We are in the waiting place. If I send you there—where he is—you cannot come back. I do not have the power to pull you back from there.”
He nodded. A part of him had known it would be the answer.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” He smiled. “But does that matter?”
Pain tore through his body, and he screamed.