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Fox didn’t let his thoughts wander further. He needed to leave. Now.

* * *

Fox allowedhimself a small moment of rationality, grabbing the cloak he’d been using that night and stealing a small cooking knife left out beside the fire. Even as he rushed up the stairs of the cenote, he kept his shoulders relaxed. He didn’t want to draw suspicion. He had seen the shapeshifters who had first kidnapped him run, and he’d have no chance if these ones tried to chase after him. So, with his heart fluttering in his throat and his thoughts screaming at him, he walked, one foot in front of the other until the sound of the cenote and its people had faded behind him.

Only then did he let himself run, allowing the adrenaline coursing through his body to take him farther. He only stopped once his lungs ached and his breaths came in short bursts. Even the reprieve granted by the tribe hadn’t been enough to make up for the days of near starvation and constant walking.

Before he had a chance to think through his actions, he’d collapsed on the ground, shoulder resting on the tree behind him and body cradled between two roots. He lifted his shirt briefly, just long enough to see one of his stitches had snapped. The cut was an angry red, but it wasn’t bleeding.

He let out a string of curses, his voice echoing in the trees surrounding him. He was in the forest once more, holding a single knife, and so very much alone. Not even Sofia was here now to act as a buffer between him and the wilds.

Breathing carefully through his nose, he stood and took stock of the situation. At least the sun was out, the dappled light dancing across the forest floor, pointing his way home. If he headed south from here, he’d hit the city eventually. He could make it home.

His feet didn’t move.

Sofia was north. She was in the exact opposite direction as home. And she was also alone and unknowingly surrounded by shapeshifters. Had Clarita planned this? Purposefully separating them as a means of making them vulnerable?

Home was south, but Fox turned north—toward Sofia.

He could find them—find her and warn her who thesepeopletruly were. And then he’d go home. His body ached with every step, but he used his pain to his advantage, focusing his mind when it wandered too far. He didn’t think about why he’d turned away from home. He didn’t think about why he felt compelled to warn Sofia. He simply walked, knowing that if the shapeshifters harmed Sofia before he got there, he would kill them all.

* * *

The sun sank ashe moved, tracing the hours as it crossed the sky. The Dragonborn had once believed the great dragon’s spurned lover was the sun, constantly chasing her through the sky, trying to get her back. For thousands of cycles they had danced like that, the sun never quite able to lasso the moons, even when he overlapped with them.

When his brother had died and he was left chasing after a dream of destroying the resistance and avenging Leon’s death, Fox thought he had begun to understand why someone might run after the impossible in the smallest hope it was only improbable.

Here he was, chasing after the resistance spy who had kidnapped him and threatened to kill him. And he was beginning to acknowledge, in a dark corner of his mind, that he didn’t just want her back so he could arrest her or use her to bring down the resistance.

What do you expect to happen when you find her? When you save her?

His father’s voice was a sneer in his mind.

You’re as useless as you’ve always been. A dreamer too stuck in the clouds to see your own feet. As useless as a dead dragon god or the sun chasing the moons.

Dusk came before he saw any sign of the others. The only sounds around him were the soft rustles and far off screeches of animals that he’d gotten so familiar with over the past few days. He picked his way more carefully once night fell. Both moons had already risen and were shining bright, but beneath the trees, their light didn’t always reach the forest floor. The night blooms and the glowing mushrooms gave enough away of the outline of the ground for him to make his way over roots and brush. He didn’t stop for the night until the moons were sinking low into the sky, and he was starting to stumble out of pure exhaustion. He had to be near the ruins by now, but it would be dangerous to search, when even the moons weren’t lighting the sky. He’d just as soon fall into the cenote as find it.

For all he knew, he’d passed its entrance miles ago, off by the smallest angle, he could have veered away from the path without even noticing. He fell against a tree, letting the last few days sink in as the cold seeped through his clothes. He was alone in the rainforest, with only a cloak and a half-dull cooking knife. In the last week, he’d been captured by the resistance, nearly eaten by shapeshifters and a fanged faery, almost drowned by a dragon, and accidentally made allies with another group of shapeshifters. And instead of running back to Suvi when he was given the chance, he was chasing after the woman who created all of his problems in the first place. Who probably would hand him over to the shapeshifters to gain her own freedom.

He was smart enough to bite off the scream that threatened to spill from his lips. The night was quiet, but the last few days had taught him that plenty lurked silently in the shadows. He closed his eyes, trying to forget where he was for a fraction of a second. Tonight, he wouldn’t move. Tonight, he’d rest and dream of hot baths and roasted pigs.

Tomorrow, he would decide what to do—save Sofia or turn back to Suvi like the good soldier he had always been.

CHAPTERTHIRTY

SOFIA

Sofia wasn’t sure what she was expecting as she brought Clarita and the others into the shrine. It was just as she’d left it except the small hearts she’d placed on the altars as offerings were gone. The dragon feather stood sentinel at the front of the room and Sofia could almost imagine it now in its place along the spine of the dragon she’d seen, nestled with its companions.

A hush fell over their group as they paused at the entrance. Clarita was the first to move, striding toward the feather and falling to her knees before it. A sob cracked through the room and Sofia almost backed away—uncomfortable with the show of emotion. But the woman was motioning for her to come and she obeyed, stepping past where Lumi and the others stood in silent reverence.

As she came to stand beside Clarita, the older woman rose and cupped Sofia’s face in her hands, kissing her on the forehead before wrapping her into a hug.

“Thank you,” she said, over and over. Sofia was rigid in the embrace, unsure of what to do. She heard a shuffling and looked to see Lumi hustling the others outside, leaving Sofia and Clarita alone.

“I didn’t…” Sofia said. “I’m glad someone will be here to take care of this place again,” Her voice choked as if Clarita’s own emotions had crawled into her, making her chest tight.

Clarita looked at Sofia, a softness that hadn’t been there before now warming her face. “You have no idea what you had, did you?” she asked, a hand running along the length of the feather, not quite touching it.