Page 86 of Dragon Gods

Fox resisted the urge to step away. “You saw the dragon, same as me.”

She shook her head. “Dragons don’t start fires. They don’t burn bodies.”

“An enemy tribe? The wolfshifters?”

Her eyes met his, and he realized that at some point over the past few days, she had stopped looking at him with utter hatred. The look had now returned, burning raw and bright in her eyes.

“It’s the king’s men who kill innocents and burn bodies.”

“We saw the dragon! Dereyans don’t even believe in dragons.” She wasn’t wrong. The king’s men had made a name for themselves raiding and burning. But it didn’t make sense. “Why now? After how many decades of them living out here, the army has never bothered them, so why now?”

Sofia looked at him, distrust in her eyes. “You…”

This time he did step back, raising his hands in supplication. “I couldn’t have—I didn’t?—”

Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath before she answered. “I know.”

She moved, slowly making her way toward the small river that ran through the cenote. “We should put out the fires. Give the others as much to bury as they can.”

They worked in silence, using some broken dishes among the rubble to bring the water from the lake and put the fires out. It took longer than he expected and with every splash of water, the flames shrank away, leaving the evidence of what they had been burning behind. He threw up once, too sick to his stomach to bother with shame.

Sofia made no comment. After that, he tied a scrap of fabric over his face to help with the smell; it didn’t do much. When they were finally done, the cenote was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and burned flesh.

They’d found bronze-tipped arrows amongst the bodies and a steel blade, stamped with the king’s seal. Fox didn’t want to admit out loud what the weapons meant, but they both knew. The king’s guardhadbeen here. His fellow soldiershaddone this. How any of that was related to the dragon they’d seen, he didn’t know. Perhaps it had come to defend the shapeshifters, but if so, it had failed. So much for all-powerful gods.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the army had been looking for him.

“We can’t bury them all ourselves,” he said, looking over the ruins of the camp, feeling the sickness in his stomach churning once more. “Those you left at the ruins,” he said, the realization hitting him, “they need to know. We should tell them.”

Sofia looked up from where she was slumped, a hollowness to her gaze. “I don’t think we should be around when they get back.”

“What do you mean? We need to…” His words faded off as he came to the same conclusion she likely already had.

They hadn’t trusted him; Sofia barely trusted him. What was to stop them from blaming him for what had happened? For blaming them both?

“We need to leave before they return.”

“It’s just me that needs to leave,” he said, trying to not sound as bitter as he felt.

She shook her head. “I’m the one that brought you here and vouched for you. I don’t know why your people attacked now, but even I admit it looks like we’re to blame.” Her voice cracked.

This is my fault. I’m to blame.He didn’t know how, but he knew.

Had they been looking for him? He doubted his father would bother to rally a search party, but the chief commander perhaps?

“I don’t know when the others plan to return.” She was looking around, eyes analyzing. “We should gather supplies and leave as soon as possible.”

Fox didn’t have the energy to argue, all too happy to get away from the sharp smell of death. But it felt wrong to rummage through the remnants of the dead for supplies to steal. Sofia’s face was set in a stony mask of determination, so he simply followed her lead.

“I’ll get some dried food from the kitchens and a second canteen for myself.” He wanted a chance to get away from the bodies. The soldiers who’d attacked had been kind enough to drag all the dead out of the back rooms. There were blood stains across the tiles he had to ignore, but it was better than out in the main cavern where Sofia was digging through rubble and bodies in equal order.

He grabbed a canteen and all the dry food he could carry. They theoretically only had a day or two back to civilization, but after constant near starvation, he wasn’t taking a chance again. He collected a small pile of smoked rabbit, mangoes, avocados, and even some stale tortillas, scooping them into an empty sack that smelled of corn and had the king’s stamp across the coarse weave.

When he had collected what he could, he found Sofia, sitting cross-legged in the rubble. He stepped around her, uncertain before he saw what she was staring at—a long and battered feather, pale blue, nearly white and gleaming beneath mud and ash. It was a feather from the dragon they’d seen, caught among the detritus of the battleground.

“The dragon was here.” Her voice was hoarse, with emotions or smoke he didn’t know. “They worshipped the old gods. They paid sacrifice to them. I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps it came to defend them from the king’s men.” Fox felt the lump in his throat on the last words.

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