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“How do you know it was female?”

She went silent and he glanced up, watching as her lips pressed together and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but she suddenly shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.”

Fox opened his mouth to retort when a voice startled him.

“Talk to us about the dragon, please,” a small boy said, sitting down beside Fox with wide eyes. His king’s tongue was thick and clunky, but still surprising. Someone Fox assumed to be his parent stood behind him with more than a little trepidation. He smiled at the boy, and the parent’s shoulders relaxed incrementally.

He looked around and saw Clarita standing a few feet away, her own conversation paused as if she had heard the boy’s question. She whispered something to her companion before moving toward Fox and Sofia.

“I can translate, if you want to tell them,” she said, sitting down beside Sofia.

Fox wasn’t even sure where to start, but Sofia solved that for him, diving into the story of finding the ruined cenote and the dragon murals. He chimed in occasionally to embellish her words, happy to see her smile every time he did. The others listened, enraptured as Clarita translated, her own tone and motions adding to the magic.

It felt like telling a faerytale from the books he’d had as a child. Except the evil monster was drawing out only awe and wonder from those around him. Perhaps because they hadn’t seen the flood waters or nearly been drowned in the black tunnel. They didn’t see how dangerous the dragon was. Sofia had prayed to it and it had almost killed her. Yet even she didn’t look scared or subdued. Her eyes hadn’t dimmed since they’d left the canyon, as if something inside her had awoken.

He didn’t know what to think or what to feel. What did one do when their entire life had just been upended? He was surrounded by enemies, yet he was safe and warm for the first time in days. The monsters of his childhood were real, but no one else was scared of them. And the rainforest was more alive than he’d ever imagined, and it had tried to kill him multiple times over the past few days.

He laid back down next to the fire, not moving from where he was, listening to Sofia’s voice and Clarita’s translation. The dragon-tongue lulled him and he fell asleep enveloped by Sofia’s and Clarita’s voices and the warmth of the fire. He would have to worry about monsters and magic tomorrow.

FOX

AGE 12

On the third day of his curse, the prince was too hungry to hide any longer. He flew into the village to look for food. But every stand he stopped at was as unfriendly as the servants, yelling and threatening him until he left. When the village girl with eyes like the sky saw him and took pity on him, he couldn’t see the kindness in her expression. He flew away even as she offered him bread and hid in the trees, hungry and alone once more.

-The Raven Prince by Emilio Laurn

Fox had been up since sunrise, huddled in his room, hiding from the cold as well as his parents. The shift in the season sent icy gusts down the halls despite the perpetually burning fires in every room, as if the walls couldn’t fight the cold. His stomach was beginning to growl and he knew he’d have to venture down to the kitchens, if only to ask for food to be sent to his room. And still, he sat, not doing much of anything except watching the flames in his hearth dance with the winds whistling down from the chimney.

This had become his new normal since his brother had left for basic training three blinks prior. His father had at least given up on pretending to train him, but the constant picking at every single thing Fox did continued. He was slumping; his writing was too feminine; he was looking thin; he was putting on too much weight—as if any of that mattered when Fox was probably going to end up locked in a back room crunching numbers where his father could pretend he didn’t exist. At least his father had been busy with the military recently. He and his mother still had dinner most days, but his father rarely joined them, locked away in his office.

Despite promises made, Leon hadn’t written to him at all and Fox was left wondering what his life was like in the barracks with the other junior trainees. His brother wouldn’t be allowed leave until the end of the cold season, two blinks from now. Two more blinks of Fox avoiding his father’s attention and hoping his brother was safe wherever he was training. At least the resistance had been quiet these past few blinks and the only outbreak of violence had been in the drowned quarter when some fishermen were caught stealing the king’s stores. It had ended in three buildings burning down—a feat that Fox had thought impossible in that constantly sodden corner of the city—but only a small regiment had been sent out to quell the rage and none of the king’s men had been injured.

He also knew the peace couldn’t last forever. He knew his brother would always win against the dragon-filth rebels in a fair fight. Fox had grown up watching him train and fight, and he knew his brother outmatched half the king’s scouts and specialists as it was. But the Dragonborn rarely fought fair.

When the ache of his stomach turned to nausea, he finally moved, wrapping himself in his cloak before he left. He went toward the back of the house, hoping to avoid the main staircase where his mother tended to pace, looking worried about one thing or another. It also meant he avoided passing by his father’s office. If he was home, he’d likely be locked in there.

“Fox.”

The sound of his name on his father’s lips made his blood run cold. He schooled his features before he turned, giving his father a blank, slightly disinterested look.

“Yes, Father,” he said, voice cool.

“I was going to give your mother the good news first, but since you’re here...”

Fox waited, face unmoving despite wanting to snap that perhaps his father shouldn’t act so surprised to find him directly outside his own rooms.

“Leon has been promoted to high trainee three blinks early. He’ll be visiting at the next dark moons.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched and he could have sworn his father’s eyes flickered to the movement with satisfaction.

“Did the chief commander write to tell you? I’m amazed he has time to communicate such small accomplishments.”

His father’s smile went feral.

“Chief Commander Harlow did send a congratulatory message, but it was Leon who wrote me himself.”

His stomach dropped and he knew his father had read the disappointment and hurt in his face, no matter how hard he tried to keep his expression neutral.