Page 102 of Dragon Gods

Then they were moving—toward the ladder that stretched up and out of the cenote. She watched as the other soldiers climbed out, confused as to why her hands were already tied when she had to make the climb, too. But her question was answered when she was thrown at another guard, like a sack of potatoes.

She nearly let out a snarl as she realized their intentions. She was going to be lifted up by a rope and pulley alongside the other loot. Exactly like a sack of potatoes.

The man yanked her hands up, twisting her shoulders with little care for her comfort and tying the rope to her bound hands. She was hoisted up in the air by her hands, her shoulders flaring hot with pain as they were pulled and twisted by the weight of her own body. She tasted blood as her teeth sank into her cheeks stopping the scream that wanted to crawl from her throat at the sensation. The rope twisted and tugged harder with every flinch of her body and she tensed every muscle in her body, trying to keep herself still.

She was panting, hands gone numb by the time her feet touched the ground above. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Before sensation had even come back to her fingers, she was being shoved in a new direction, brusque hands moving to tie her feet together, as if they weren’t about to walk the miles back to Suvi. The soldier tying the knot slapped her for pointing out as much, but at least he loosened the length between her feet, allowing for a decent stride.

It wasn’t until they were walking, her steps stumbling over the undergrowth as the rope tying her legs caught on every root and branch, that she saw Fox again. He was walking a few yards away, just behind the others in the group. She hated the sense of relief she felt in seeing her bag slung over his shoulder. She wanted to assume he was protecting the feather. She wanted to assume he was helping. But his eyes never even flickered to where she was stumbling, his face a cold mask of indifference.

Sofia dragged her eyes from him, focusing on the path ahead. Right now, whatever was going through Fox’s head didn’t matter. She needed a plan. It was clear from the sheer number of soldiers around her and the ropes binding her wrists and ankles that she wouldn’t get away if she tried to run now, which meant she needed a plan to escape the prison and get to her friends—whoever was left.

She nearly laughed at the irony. All this started because Sofia wanted Fox to sneak her in so she could save Dia and the others. Now she was getting her wish. Fox and his fellow king’s men were bringing her straight to prison, in chains.

SOFIA

AGE 17

It’s said that the day the last dragon died, the clouds that had covered the sun for two blinks finally dissipated. The streets ran with wine and spirits as the people of Suvi celebrated the victory at last against the beasts that had plagued them. Even the Dragonborn tribes resisting the king fell silent for an entire sun cycle, giving a taste of peace to the king’s people.

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

The chicken wiggled between Sofia’s hands, soft feathers slick beneath her palms. She clenched her hands harder and the chicken let out a squawk of indignation. The street was busy, customers and sellers flocking to the market to buy and sell goods that hadn’t been available for over a cycle. It was nearing the end of the dry season, the unusual rains in the wet season having allowed the crops and economy to flourish. At least for some.

There were still plenty of hungry eyes and sunken stomachs in the poor souls crouched on corners and in the darkest-skinned Dragonborn who struggled to find work. But the wealthy had been more generous in their charity.

None of that mattered to Sofia now. The busy street meant distracted vendors. She and Flor had staked out the stands earlier in the morning, looking for who kept their purses visible and who seemed most distracted by the occasional call of others around them. So when Sofia passed by the stall with the sliced fruits sprinkled with dried chilis, she gave a passionate cry and let go of the chicken.

Finding itself free at last, the fowl let out a loud squeal, feathers flying as it flapped its wings in a desperate attempt to escape.

“Help me!” Sofia yelled, “My father’s chicken! He’ll kill me.”

They’d learned over the past few blinks what got people to help the fastest. Apparently, the threat to a man’s property and his dismayed daughter’s fear of his fist did the trick for most. Sofia enjoyed this part of the trick. The melodrama and the small moment in time when she actually worked to draw the attention of those around her. For just a minute or two, she wasn’t a rat slinking in the shadows, invisible.

But then the charade came to an end. A man with a scar across his cheek caught the chicken in his large hands and handed it, squirming, over to Sofia.

“Thank you! May the king bless you!” With that last bit of flourish, she rushed away, stolen chicken clutched in her hands. The most important part was to be gone by the time anyone realized their purses were missing.

* * *

Flor was already backat their roof by the time Sofia returned. It was harder to hurry when the chicken wouldn’t stop squawking and squirming. She was all too happy when she could pass the chicken off to Flor before making the precarious, but well-learned climb up the side of the building and onto the roof.

They were in the drowned quarter and it was low tide, but the buildings were perpetually wet, moss and algae coating the stones. They kept a path of jagged stones as clean as they could to use on the way up, a secret all their own.

When Sofia made it to the top, she pulled herself up and rushed to see the pile of coins and trinkets Flor was sorting through on the flat cement roof.

“Gods!” Sofia’s hand skimmed over the pile, careful not to touch and ruin Flor’s system. There were at least a dozen gold coins, a small pile of coppers, and even a few bracelets and a ring.

“The rains have made people stupid,” Flor said, blunt as always.

The chicken let out a yelp from its cage, as if in empathy for the man, and Sofia made a rude gesture at it. She would be all too happy the day it stopped laying eggs and they could pluck it and roast it.

Its cage was crammed in the corner of the flat roof, a threadbare blanket tossed over it during the day to keep itsomewhatquiet. On this side of town, though, no one bothered with screams or yells from humans, let alone animals. The rest of the roof was an assortment of stolen and bought goods collected over the past few blinks. They both had bedrolls now and a blanket apiece. Though at night, they curled up together, too used to the sense of sleeping beside another person to feel comfortable separated. And if their hands wandered at night, they didn’t speak about it in the morning. They also had a few pots and pans for cooking, a teapot, and a stash of dishes. It was a risk to collect so much. It meant they had a lot to lose. But so far, they’d managed to keep their small world tucked in the crevice between taller buildings, with only two windowless walls facing their hideaway—the home they’d built together, on the edges of a society that didn’t want them.

Flor didn’t talk about her family much, but then again, neither did Sofia. What she did know is that while she wasn’t Dragonborn, both her parents had been sent to the farms on charges of treason when she was young. Branded the daughter of traitors, none of her relatives bothered to care for her, and she ended up on the same streets as Sofia.

“I also got something else while we were out,” Sofia said, fishing through her pockets for the scrap of paper she’d stuffed there. Flor eyed her suspiciously as she slid the paper across the ground over to her.

“What’s this?” She squinted at the markings.

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