CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
SOFIA
Sofia didn’t remember the flight. It should have taken hours, yet she blinked and they were already landing along the snowy slopes of the nesting grounds. The dragons circled anxiously, and she knew the moment Chalia’s parents noticed her absence, a roar sending snow skittering down the slope and birds in the distance shooting into the air.
“She was not supposed to get involved. She was not supposed to be fighting!”
Guilt and shame sliced through Sofia like a blade.
Jacinta pulled her from Jobin’s back, holding her weight as she stumbled, her mind too numb to understand what the other woman wanted from her.
“Sofia, hun,” she said, pressing a hand to her cheek and forcing her to look up at her. “This isn’t the end. We’re not giving up on this and we’re not giving up on them.” She looked at her, watching for some recognition. Sofia tried to nod—tried to say something—and though her jaw worked, nothing would come out. Her chest felt emptier than it ever had before, something missing within her. Jacinta was still talking. “I need you to know that. Okay? We’re going to kill those bastards and get our people and the dragons back.”
Sofia swallowed. “I know,” she said at last. The words were a hoarse whisper, scraping against her raw throat. She’d pushed her lungs harder than she should have and hadn’t noticed until now. Her chest was aching, and she coughed.
Jacinta seemed to take her answer as progress.
“Sof,” Javi said from behind them. “We didn’t leave everyone behind.”
She blinked, turning to look at her friend. Standing behind him, looking gray and worn, her father stood. Her breath caught in her chest, eyes burning. This close to him, she saw every wrinkle and white hair along his temple that hadn’t been there when she’d last stood face to face with him as a child. He was only an inch taller than her, his brown eyes meeting hers, wide with wonder.
She didn’t move as he stepped forward, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. He ran a finger across her brow, over her nose, counting her freckles and tracing her cheekbones.
“You’re truly her,” he said, his voice cracking. “Our Sofia. You—I thought maybe he’d lied.”
Her throat bobbed, and hot tears burned at the back of her eyes.
“You died. We got the papers. We mourned.” His own eyes gleamed with tears he didn’t wipe away.
“I’m sorry,” she bit out, the words cracking. Her face crumpled, and tears spilled across her cheeks. “I couldn’t go back home. I didn’t want to put you in danger.” A sob broke from her. “It didn’t even work. I still hurt you. I?—”
He didn’t let her finish, wrapping her in a hug and pulling her so tightly against him her breath caught in her chest. She didn’t care. She could suffocate here, feeling his heartbeat against her ear.
He was alive. He was alive, and he was here. For everything else they’d failed, she was smelling the salt of her father’s skin for the first time in almost ten sun cycles. She sobbed, not bothering to choke the tears back, and she felt her father shaking with his own sobs.
Only when her stomach hurt, her eyes burned, and any tears had been wrung from her, did she finally pull away. Her father’s face was pale, eyes bloodshot, but she didn’t care. She let her eyes trace over hisface once more, memorizing it. Memorizing every new wrinkle and white hair. Did she remember whether he’d had brown eyes? She didn’t know, but she looked at them now, noticing the barely green ring around the iris that matched her own.
He stared back at her. Perhaps memorizing the same details or simply soaking her in, she didn’t know.
“The wind is picking up. We should move into the caves,” Javi said, placing his hand softly on her back. “You need to warm up.”
Sofia knew her toes were numb and her face burned with the bitter air, but she couldn’t find the energy to care. Javi didn’t wait for permission, though, pushing her gently and leading her to turn around. Her head whipped around, but her father was there beside her a moment later, wrapping her hand in his.
His skin was icy, and it made her speed up her steps, finally recognizing the wisdom in Javi’s words. The slope was nearly empty, the others having entered the cave already or run off to plan for the next steps. For the first time ever, Sofia didn’t care. She didn’t want to plan. She wanted to talk to her father—or the stranger he’d become.
There would be time to plan after—time for thinking about how she’d burn down the army for what Harlow had taken from her.
The weight of the world pressed down on her, and she found herself reaching out to Chalia—an automatic reaction—looking for comfort or strength. Instead, there was an emptiness at the end of the tether. Nausea roiled through her, and she bent over, vomiting acid and bile into the snow. Her father’s hand was on her back, and Javi was whispering soothing words beside her.
She waved a hand, swallowing back another wave. “I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but fine,” Javi said.
“I can’t feel Chalia.”
Javi was silent for a moment. Two. She wondered if he’d simply let the silence stretch between them so neither would have to acknowledge what that might mean.
“She might be too far.”
