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“That he doesn’t need to know,” Flor muttered before snapping her mouth shut again.

“We’ve spoken—” Sofia started.

“Don’t—”

Sofia glared at Flor before continuing. “We’ve spoken with one of our spies. We got a message out to whatever allies we have left, and Vato thinks they can get us out of the cells, but you’re right. We’re in no condition to fight our way out even with a handful of allies. We need a distraction.”

“Who’s Vato?”

Sofia bit her lips and Flor scowled. “I can’t tell you.”

Fox nodded, taking no offense at the distrust. “What kind of distraction?”

“You want to prove we can trust you?”

“Yes,” he said, in half-prayer.

“I was thinking maybe a dragon.”

Fox stared at her blankly, unable to do more than open and close his mouth.

“I saw you steal my bag back in the cenote. Do you still have it?”

“Yes—I needed to hide the feather?—”

“Exactly.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, before his brain could even process what she was asking.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not Dragonborn!”

Sofia closed the distance between them, the bars the only thing separating them as she wrapped a hand around his own as it clung to the cold metal.

“Remember what I said back in the rainforest? There is no difference between us. We all come from this land. They’ll listen if you pray.”

“I don’t know how to pray! I saw the prayer once—in dragon-tongue.”

“Fox, please. I can teach you. Just let?—”

A sound from the door had Fox reeling, wrenching his hand from Sofia’s as his father stormed through the doors. Two soldiers dragged a body behind him, blood painting his father’s face and clothes. Fox guessed his interrogation hadn’t gone well from the scowl on his face.

“Fox,” he snapped, not bothering to watch his soldiers throw the woman they’d been dragging back into her cell. “What are you doing here?”

“The chief commander had some follow-up questions for this one after his interrogation, sir.”

It was a dangerous strategy to drop the chief commander’s name; his father always hated the relationship between Fox and him—confused as to why the chief commander cared about Fox. Sometimes Fox wondered the same thing. The tick in his father’s jaw told him he was holding back his true thoughts on the matter. He eventually nodded, turning to where Flor sat.

“We’ll take this one next,” he said.

Sofia practically lunged at the bars, but she could do nothing as the soldiers opened the cell next to hers and yanked Flor out, hissing and scratching. Fox walked away before his face gave him away, but not before he sent a silent prayer to the first king—or to the dragons or whoever was listening that Flor gave his father hell.

CHAPTERFORTY-TWO

FOX

He felt half a thief as he snuck back into the house through the back door, not wanting to face Mother. At least he knew his father would be busy with the interrogations—the torture sessions—for the rest of the day.