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“I don’t want trouble,” he said. “Leave me be and the king’s men won’t bother you. I didn’t end up out here willingly.”

“Sorry, pretty boy,” the man on the right said, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head in thought, “but you’re just too good a trophy to leave behind.” His smile was all teeth, glinting too sharp to be natural.

Fox didn’t think this time, lunging forward fists first toward the closer of the men—the one that had just called him pretty boy. He might not have a weapon, but he knew how to throw a punch. His father had ensured that early on.

Then again, the moment his fist connected with the side of the man, he was beginning to question if he was even fighting humans. A groan of pain slipped from his lips as he brought his fist back into his own chest. The man’s side was carved of stone.

“Who the hell are you people?” he asked, not quite expecting an answer.

“Oh, I think it’ll be more fun for you to find out,” the other said, stepping forward with a grin. His arm moved faster than should have been possible for a man his size.

A fist crashed down across Fox’s face and the shadows went black.

FOX

AGE 14

The first recorded attack from the dragons was in the 296thsun cycle of the kings. Without provocation, a sea dragon caused an enormous swell that towered over the king’s fleet, sinking seven boats before it was killed by Major Jun Nicolas. While this was the first attack to be placed on record by the king’s scribes, the incident led to a wave of reports from around Wueco of dragons being found responsible for human deaths.

-The Legacy of the Kings: A History of Wueco’s Creation by Francis Knoll

“Get your ass up and keep going!” Arik’s voice was a loud bark above where Fox lay in the mud, knees sharp with pain and ankle throbbing to the beat of his heart. He didn’t move immediately, trying to swallow back the nausea in his stomach, and before he managed, Arik sent a swift kick to his side. Not hard enough to break anything, but enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

Miserable at the idea of another kick, he forced himself up from the ground, ignoring the mud squelching through his fingers and the sharp stab that radiated thorough his ankle the moment he put his weight on it.

“Go, Boy! You have two more laps before you’re done.”

He didn’t look back at Arik as he moved, more a wobbly limp than a run. He bounced on his left foot, taking the weight of his body hard on his right instead. The jarring motion did nothing to soothe the ache in his knees, but it was easier to ignore than what was becoming abundantly clear was a sprained or broken ankle. He could only breathe out sharply through his nose, focusing on each painful step toward the goal. He would get stronger. He would be better. He would be the soldier his brother had wanted to be.

It was a slow and arduous process, with the trainer continuing to yell and berate him for being too slow despite running through the pain. But at last, he crossed the line and let himself fall back onto the ground, rolling to look up at the sky. He was only somewhat annoyed to see Arik leaning over him a moment later. His wrinkled face was twisted in a scowl, his yellow teeth visible between cracked lips. Fox wondered if his face was naturally such a vibrant shade of red or if the man was so perpetually irate his skin had assumed the hue permanently.

“That was pathetic, even for you. You father will hear about this, so be prepared to do better tomorrow.”

Fox clenched his jaw, biting back any response that would only bring down Arik or his father’s wrath harder.

But he also needed to say something. “My ankle is sprained.”

“You twisted it because you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Get used to pain if you plan on making it in the king’s army.”

With that, the trainer turned on his heels and stalked away, clearly annoyed with how much energy he’d already expended on Fox’s behalf that morning. The sun was higher in the sky than normal and he knew he’d gone over in his training, likely in part because of the fall. He’d been working with Arik for blinks now and he didn’t feel like he was getting any better. His arms were still scrawny and weak compared to what his brother’s had been, and his sword fighting skills were beyond pathetic, as Arik was always happy to point out.

When his brother was his age, he’d already been fighting in the betting circles, winning the majority of his melees and making their father proud. His father had barely taken the time to stop by Fox’s training to see how he was doing.

He kept his head down, not wanting to see the look of the servants as he passed by them. It was usually a combination of disgust and pity, both of which made his stomach twist in rage and shame. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of heels clicking on the stone floor behind him that his head whipped up and his eyes darted around in search of the person he knew was there.

Mother was coming down the hall, a few doors away, long strides catching up to him quickly.

“My Little Fox,” she said, kneeling down before him. Her face was full of concern and her eyes searched his face and body, registering all of his wounds. “What happened?”

He bit his lip, pushing back the burning behind his eyes. “Nothing, Mother.”

“Your ankle is swollen and your face looks like you got into a fight with a pile of rocks. If this was Arik’s version of training, I’m going to have a talk with him.”

Her fingers smoothed back a strand of the pale hair that brushed against his forehead and he saw the mud on the tips of her fingers when they pulled away.

“Mother—” he started, but a second sound of footsteps stopped the words cold in his mouth. Over his mother’s shoulder, he could see his father approaching down the hallway, the cane more an accessory in his hands today than an aid. He’d never let his knee pain stop him from fighting and working hard, as he often reminded Fox. Right now, his eyes were burning with something akin to pride.

Fox stood up straighter, pushing his mother away with a pinched frown.