Page 22 of Dragon Gods

“I can see about getting you a job with me on the docks. It’s not easy work, but it’s good pay. I can speak on your behalf.”

Sofia wished she could feel hope in the idea, but Javi’s boss was just as likely to fire him for associating with a marked traitor as to hire her. Still, she wasn’t the small child who first ended up on the streets without a family or home. She could do better this time. She would survive no matter what.

“You’re not alone this time,” Flor said, as if reading her thoughts. “Just don’t talk about dragons.”

Sofia could only nod. She knew if she opened her mouth, she’d crack and she’d cry more and they didn’t need to see her break down again. They needed her to smile and tell them she’d be okay. They’d be okay.

So that’s what she did. And whether or not they believed her didn’t matter as they sat together in the dim room, holding to each other until it became clear they’d fall asleep this way if they let themselves. So they rolled out their bedrolls, blew out the lantern, and curled up together. Flor and Sofia had slept like this when they’d been on the streets together, pressed against each other for warmth and protection. It had become habit by the time Javi joined them, simply slipping into the warmth without question. Even as they aged and came to the age that others might frown and think it inappropriate, they often slept like this. But it was never anything beyond the simple protection of having their family as close as possible and ready to chase away the ghosts of the night.

Yet, as the rhythms of their breathing lulled Sofia into sleep and the darkness swept over her, she dreamed of the dragons and death, and a loneliness so deep she felt she might drown in it.

CHAPTERTEN

FOX

The room reeked even after he’d cleaned up the mess, the wet pile of rags sitting in the corner, letting the smell fester. They hadn’t come back for the rags or to retie his hands. His body ached from the fight and he could feel the subtle sting on his neck where her blade had broken skin, but he had more important things to think about.

He worked carefully in the dark, fingers aching as he twisted and pried. But his mind was elsewhere, haunted by the look in Sofia’s eyes. He’d never seen someone so wild with anger and hate, andtowardhim, as if he’d personally murdered her loved ones. It made his own stomach turn with acid and heat. How dare she hate him whentheywere the ones responsible for the death ofhisloved ones?Hisfamily.

And if his gut could be trusted, there was more death coming and soon. The resistance was planning something. She’d asked about the prison and about the chief commander. For all the bombings they’d managed, the resistance had never gotten near the military quarter and Fox wasn’t going to let that happen now.

He let out a curse as a spike of pain went through his finger, the edge of the metal bucket cutting into skin. He sucked on his thumb for a second, letting the salty taste of his own blood coat his tongue before he went back to work.

Sofia may have been mad, but her antics only aided in his escape. The man had thrown some rags at him to clean up the mess, but he hadn’t bothered to look at the bucket. He hadn’t noticed where the side had bent in, snapping the wire handle and leaving the thin bit of wire free to maneuver. It was difficult to bend, the metal cold and hard, but he was making progress, slowly straightening it into a small pick.

At least the pain in his fingers allowed him to direct his focus away from the aches across the rest of his body and thoughts of what the resistance was planning on the other side of the door.

* * *

His fingers weretingling and numb by the time he’d shaped the wire into a pick straight enough to fit into the keyhole. The worst part of the whole experience was that the moment he slipped the metal into the door, the small trace of light from the other side disappeared, leaving him fumbling in the dark trying to feel the inside mechanics. He’d never picked a lock before—it was something they discussed in basic training, but Fox had skipped the advanced courses when he’d been promoted early. He almost laughed at the idea that he might remain trapped here in enemy territory because he was so determined to rise up in the ranks as fast as possible. He didn’t see the point of sitting in classrooms talking about defending their city when he could be out thereactuallydoing it.

Every few minutes he had to take a break to wipe away the blood from his fingers and the wire to stop it from slipping in his grip. It was slow and frustrating work, but if there was one thing Fox was good at, it was sitting with frustration. He was used to feeling useless and helpless. He’d spent the last few cycles trying to run as far from that child version of himself as he could, but that persistent little boy would always be there.

And then it happened. He heard the click of something within the contraption, and the handle moved beneath his hand. For a moment, the air left his lungs and he held himself there, too afraid to move or make a sound. Even the flame on the other side of the door seemed to hold its position, waiting.

When he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he cracked the door wider, slowly as to not let the hinges give him away. But he needn’t have worried. Only silence greeted him. The hallway beyond was empty.

Reluctant to lose the light from the single lantern hanging on the wall, he nonetheless stepped out of his cell and extinguished the flame. It would be easier to sneak around, but he hated the feel of the shadows settling onto his shoulders again. The air was colder than when he’d first arrived and the hallway remained still as he stood, muscles tense. It seemed that night had fallen. He just needed to make it out of here before anyone saw him.

He walked with a shuffling gait, the toes of his boots moving carefully across the ground with every step, not skimming hard enough to make a sound, but enough to avoid tripping over any imperfections. The tips of his fingers ran along the wall to his right, keeping him centered in the hall. Every turn he took required him to stop and listen for movement before rushing forward and blowing out the next lantern. Perhaps it was stupid to make a trail of darkness for someone to follow, but he felt safer wrapped in shadows. It was also the only reason he knew he wasn’t walking in circles as he took each turn, waiting to see something familiar.

Yet, he nearly stumbled into the main cavern before he realized he’d made it to the entrance. The echoing whispers nearby were the only thing to warn him where he was before he could take the next turn. He stopped, heart thundering in his chest loud enough he feared he might be heard. But the clip of the voices didn’t waver and no one screamed out to grab him. He peeked around the corner, staying low to the ground, only to see a small gathering of people speaking quietly around a fire. They were at the entrance of the cenote, the night sky with its star just visible through the trees and vines above.

It was only once he was crouched there, looking up at the ground so far above that Fox asked himself what he had been thinking. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his mind, berating his stupidity. Of course the entrance would be guarded. He wasn’t climbing out this way without being spotted.

The voices drifted over to him on the wind, and he shivered from more than the cold.

“She might be acting rashly at times, but she may have a point. If they keep executing the prisoners?—”

“I know the risk, better than anyone, but I’m trying to protect as many as I can. If we go running into the city declaring war, too many of us will die.”

“If we sneak in?—”

“That soldier in there is just as likely to get us caught as help us sneak in.”

“That’s what knives are for.”

“Torture won’t earn loyalty.”

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