Page 108

“What is this?” a cold voice asked.

Fox stopped his thrashing along the ground immediately and pulled himself up. His father was striding across the grass, face pulled into a scowl. He’d been meeting with the king, and it didn’t look like it had ended well. His long golden hair was tied back, but countless strays had escaped, giving him a disheveled appearance. It was a look that never boded well. Leon had gone quiet, too, standing at attention as his father stopped beside them.

“Leon?”

“Yes, Father,” he said, voice smaller than it was a moment earlier.

“Are you savages?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you traitors to the king?”

“No, sir.”

“Only savages and traitors believe in dragons and magic.”

“Yes, sir,” Leon and Fox said together.

“Men and soldiers fight against the Dragonborn rebels and true threats to the kingdom, not mythical monsters.” He paused, as if waiting for an argument, but Leon and Fox both stood, unmoving. “Go inside. The tutor left you extra work to complete, and I need to speak with your mother.”

With reluctance, Fox dropped the tree branch he’d been using onto the ground and followed his brother as he headed back up the small hill toward the manor. He looked back only once just as his father’s hand cracked across their mother’s face, the sound of the clap echoing across the field.

* * *

That night,the bruise was already starting to bloom across Mother’s cheek, a red darkening to mauve beneath the powder pressed against her skin. She gently took his hand as he automatically reached up to touch it, as if he could wipe it away.

“Do you want me to read you a story?” she asked as she sat on the edge of his bed, the plush mattress dipping beneath her weight.

“It’s okay,” he said, eyes lingering on the bruise with guilt.

“You always love a story,” she said. Her skin was cold as she pressed her hand against his cheek, cupping him and forcing him to meet her eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Hot tears burned his eyes. It was the most she’d ever acknowledged the marks that Father occasionally left on her.

Her fingers gently tipped his chin up, meeting his eyes once more. She wiped away his tears.

“Never let them see you cry, Little Fox,” she said.

He nodded, biting back the tears until his eyes were dry once more.

“How about I read the dragon and the hare, again?” She pulled the book from the small pile of stories tucked hidden beneath his bed.

“Can I listen, too?” Leon was leaning in the doorway, voice a whisper.

Their mother smiled and opened her arms in answer, waiting until Leon was sitting on the bed beside Fox to open the book. Her voice was soft, never rising above a whisper.

His father was somewhere in the manor, probably in his study or in his room, separate from her own rooms. One day, his father would find the small stash of books Mother had hidden. She had tucked them away last cycle when his father had decided Leon—and Fox by extension—was too old for faerytales and books. The stories would be burned and the punishment meted out. But for now, in the dark and quiet of the night as his mother did her best impression of the deep timbre of a dragon’s voice, Fox was happy with their little secret.

Someday, their little safe space would crumble, but not today. Not yet.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

SOFIA

Sofia 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.