“I did—I was waiting to see if I’d need to call you,” he said, throat tight. “I should have known you’d have heard the commotion.”
“The men were being foolish,” he said.
“They were,” Ian agreed, careful to keep his tone neutral.
“The beasts resisted killing anyone.”
“They appeared content with humiliation,” Ian said slowly. “This time.”
“They might again.”
“No,” Ian said. “I don’t think they will be content with that next time.”
Harlow nodded, staring into the darkness where the wolfshifters had disappeared, retreating farther from the camp. “You’ll keep an eye on the tension, then?”
“Yes, sir,” Ian said, straightening his shoulders. Even drunk, the deference was built into his bones at the sound of an order.
Harlow strode away, leaving Ian staring at the wolfshifters’ camp. When he finally turned around to leave, he saw Harlow paused, watching him from the trees, expression unreadable.
Ian kept his head down as he retreated to the other side of camp, where his tent was waiting.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SOFIA
They couldn’t bury their dead at the nesting grounds. The soil was too frozen beneath the snow.
The day after the battle, a few dragons volunteered to fly the bodies down into a small valley between the mountains, where the frost hadn’t set in so deeply. The Deyeran bodies were given a pyre, and Fox gave a brief prayer before returning to Sofia’s side as they dug a shallow grave for their dead.
The dragons watched from a distance, looking perturbed by human customs. Before they’d flown down for the burial, the dragons had held their own funeral for their lost flock member. They’d taken Niola’s body to the top of the nesting mountain’s peak and laid her out for the vultures and scavengers to take what they needed from the body. Chalia explained that a sun cycle after her death, her bones would be taken and laid out in the death fields, which were miles away and closer to the eastern sea.
As Jacinta, Javi, and a few others dug, Micael and Sofia helped build a fire and collected snow for tea. Once they’d laid the bodies in the ground and buried them, they set a layer of stones in a pattern across the loose dirt. Sofia helped distribute the mugs of tea.
Chalia was the only dragon willing to get close to the fire. As tearstraced down Sofia’s cheeks, Chalia nudged her, cold breath against her back. She reached back, placing a hand on Chalia’s brow, her scales icy beneath her palm. On her other side, she reached out, and Fox took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.
Micael spoke the traditional parting words, sending their souls to the Depths where Quelia waited to greet them. Clarita added her own words for Victor, the shapeshifter who’d been killed. Sofia hoped Maya and Victor knew that the dragon gods themselves were watching over their funeral. They’d be with Quelia all the sooner.
They ate and drank their tea while the Dereyans’ pyre burned, and Sofia explained the customs of the Dragonborn to Fox and Chalia both. Chalia stated it was a waste of the meat to bury or burn the bodies, while Fox noted that eating a meal over the dead was something the Dereyans would be horrified by, and Sofia smiled.
“For a people obsessed with killing, they’re so terrified of death,” Sofia said.
“Perhaps that’s why we kill,” Fox said, “to prevent us from having to face death.”
“I hope Harlow sees his death coming, and he feels every ounce of fear of it.”
“I’m starting to think there will be a line of people waiting to kill him.” Fox’s fist clenched around the mug of tea he was holding, knuckles going white. “You’re going to have to vie for your spot.”
Sofia gave a sharp smile. “I’m always ready for a fight.”
A shadow passed over Fox’s eyes, the line at the corner of his lip deepening just the smallest bit. Sofia wondered at how far he’d come and how much he’d changed since she’d first met him as the loyal king’s man. He looked at home sitting among the resistance and shapeshifters, drinking his tea. He was smiling at something Jacinta had said, and he almost looked content—almost. She saw the way his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes and the way the furrow between his brow had deepened over the past weeks.
They were set off to the side, far enough from the fire for Chalia to lie behind them comfortably. It also meant they were far enough away that they could speak privately without being overheard.
“How are you doing?” Sofia asked.
Fox looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “Fine.” It was more question than statement.
“You’re not.”
