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“I doubt you’re defenseless even without your illegal weapons.” He gave her a small shove and she nearly tripped again, letting out a string of curses.

“Be careful which gods you send to curse me or I’ll have you on heresy laws, as well.” She glared over her shoulder, but he only smiled.

“My gods wouldn’t leave any of you left to charge me.”

Her grin reminded him of the feral cat that lived in the alley behind his father’s home as if she might bite him if he got too close.

He kept them moving forward, never letting her get too far ahead. There was very little likelihood of her being able to run away while tied up, but he still didn’t trust her. Her people worshipped the rainforest and he wouldn’t be surprised if she thought being trapped alone out here was somehow better than being in Suvi. He sometimes wondered why they didn’t just throw all the Dragonborn over the city’s walls to live in the rainforest like they all so dearly wanted.

Although, that was one of the main issues with the rebel faction. Some of them did live out here, somewhere among the trees. Despite cycles of trying to smoke them out and crush their ridiculous movement, the military still hadn’t managed to do more than keep them running and hiding. They’d raided the occasional safe house within the city and arrested plenty of instigators over the cycles, but nothing had quelled the unrest the resistance stirred. Nothing had stopped the bloodshed and terror they spread through the city.

At least not yet.

He found his eyes going back to the faded, but still evident scar along her wrist—the twisted “T” branded there probably cycles ago. She’d been found guilty of treason once before, at a young enough age to escape execution or the farms or perhaps her crimes hadn’t been easy enough to prove back then. But now he had her on half a dozen charges, illegally hunting just a few miles from where Ian had found evidence of a resistance base. This could be the shift in the war they needed, an insider with a very good reason to turn on her comrades if she valued her own life. And he was going to be the one to deliver her to Chief Commander Harlow.

CHAPTERTHREE

SOFIA

Sofia despised the ropes rubbing against the skin of her tied wrists. She was breathing through her nose, trying to quell the anxiety that churned in her stomach. She had felt his thumb, callused and warm, brush against her inner wrist, tracing her brand before he’d tied her up. The thought of him seeing it made her teeth clench until her jaw ached.

Fox Ocon. Of course it was him. Of all the people Vato could send their way, it had to behisson. She wondered if he knew just how many scars his father had left on her—nothing compared to the silly little brand.

He was taller than she remembered—not that she had seen him since they were both children and only then at a distance. She didn’t consider herself a short person, particularly for a woman, but he still towered over her more than a few inches. The scrawny mess she remembered had been replaced with muscles that showed the cycles of training he’d likely had as a part of the king’s army. And the ease at which he held his weapons along with her own made it clear the muscles weren’t just for show. His hair had grown out, neatly tied back into a bun, still the bright, nearly white-blond she remembered, unique even among the Dereyans.

She hated that she found him imposing. She wanted to see him on his knees, bleeding and begging for her to spare him. As she pictured it, his face shifted, nose narrowing into a sharper peak and eyes going from silver to an icy blue. She blinked away the vision as her throat went dry. As much as she hated being captured by Ocon, she needed to remember that he wasn’t his father and she’d make sure they never made it back to Suvi.

She let her toe catch on another root, wincing only slightly as her knees came down onto the hard dirt of the forest floor. Ocon stood above her, looking smug. He hadn’t caught her and his eyes were dancing with enjoyment as she struggled to right herself. She had to bite back a smile of her own. He was only playing into her own game by allowing her to slow them down.

The feel of the rough ropes against her wrists and the bite of stones in her knees didn’t quite permit her a true moment of contentment or humor. There was a niggling in the back of her mind reminding her how far off course she’d wandered in her little adventure and hunt. They’d already been walking for longer than they should have, him pushing her along beside him toward the city and a sure death sentence.

If they didn’t catch up to her and Ocon in time, it would be her own fault. But the chance to kill that boar may have been worth it. The droughts had been at their worst this past rainy season, leaving much of the city hungry and tired. The rations had hit the Dragonborn the hardest, of course, and the resistance could only do so much to spread food under the nose of the king. If she and the others didn’t hunt, then people would die. Either from starvation or from stealing and being sentenced to a long and arduous death on the farms.

Of course, at this rate, the boar and small pile of animals she’d amassed over the course of the morning would be stolen by a passing jaguar before anyone found them. The thought made her empty stomach turn.

She wobbled for the umpteenth time on a loose root, slowing their gait and letting out a dramaticoofas she caught herself. Ocon didn’t bother with gentleness as he pushed her forward, nearly sending her tumbling.

“Do you enjoy pushing women around?” she bit out, partly to make noise and partly because she was rankled by the manhandling. “Or just dragon-filth?”

“You call yourself that?” he said, almost sounding offended by her use of the slur. It wasn’t like Dereyans didn’t throw it around under their breaths constantly, but then again they always loved pretending virtue when pressed. She snorted, looking back to ensure he saw the look of derision on her face. “I have nothing against Dragonborn.” He said the words as if he thought she should be impressed.

“These ropes say otherwise,” she said, wondering if her eyes could get stuck if she rolled them too hard.

“You’re under arrest because of your treason not your blood.”

“Yet it’s my very blood that makes anything I do treasonous. Do your people get arrested for holding weapons? For feeding themselves?” She hated that true fury was rising in her voice. He didn’t deserve her energy.

“You can thank your ancestors for the thousands they massacred. They are the reason you lost your rights. And what do your people do? Continue to murder innocents.”

“Is that what they teach you in those towering buildings in the inner city? That we’re the murderers?”

“The blood I’ve felt on my hands after your attacks has taught me plenty.”

The words were muttered, but still clear and Sofia had to bite her tongue to not respond. She hated the self-righteousness in his tone and the set of his shoulders. He was so sure of his own beliefs. Any blood on the hands of the resistance had been a necessary evil in their fight for freedom, not that anyone ever listened or cared.

“And you think the Dereyans haven’t shed innocent blood?”

“You’ve broken how many laws? Don’t try to argue with me about innocence.”