He didn’t fight as they dragged him outside. He blinked, eyes burning under the sun. It had snowed overnight, a fresh dusting of white across the camp, though the soldiers’ footsteps had already marred most of the beauty. The air was sharp with cold.
There was a crowd of soldiers already circling. They parted for their small parade, jeering as he passed. Spit splattered across his face, and someone threw a small rock. It struck him sharply on the temple. He straightened his shoulders, slipping his mask into place. He kept his eyes focused ahead where Harlow stood in the center of the circle, a whipin his hands.
One man, perhaps Nico, kicked him hard in the back of the knees, slamming him down onto the ground in front of Harlow. They tethered the rope around his wrists to a ring that had been driven into the ground. Fox examined it, wondering how long it had taken for them to get it into the frozen soil. He tried not to look at the whip that rested in his periphery.
The circled soldiers were quiet now, waiting. He breathed slowly in through his nose and out between his teeth. He’d endured pain before. If there was one thing his father had trained him well for, it was separating himself from physical pain. But it had been sun cycles since he’d been whipped, and the last time had only been five strikes for a stupid mistake during training. He didn’t think this would be so easy.
“Fox Ocon,” Harlow said, voice echoing out over the crowd. Fox kept his eyes forward, not quite focusing on any one soldier in front of him. But he heard the intake of breath at how Harlow addressed him. His rank had been stripped. “You’ve been charged with treason, including aiding the resistance, espionage, and conspiracy to commit crimes against the crown. As well as the murder of a general and patricide.” A gasp went through the crowd, and Fox kept his eyes pinned to the ground, not wanting to see the reactions there. His father had been respected—not loved—but honored among the king’s men. “You will be brought back to the city to face your execution, but you’ll face punishment today for your abandonment of duty as a king’s man. Do you refute the claims?”
It was a stupid question. Fox had seen men argue, and he’d seen men concede their punishment. It changed nothing. There was no refuting the chief commander’s ruling within the army. He didn’t speak, giving Harlow nothing. He’d take his punishment, but he wouldn’t be a spectacle for this man. Not anymore.
“I will take that as a no.” Harlow turned to the rest of the crowd, his arms outstretched, as if seeking connection with them. “See your brother, bent low before you. This is what happens when we allow the Dragonborn to speak. They lie to us and then they manipulate us. They get into our minds and make us confused. It is how they control the dragons, bending them to their will. And it is why we must seize thepower of these creatures, before the Dragonborn use them to destroy us. It is only by keeping control that we can protect ourselves from this power.”
Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, and Harlow allowed them, basked in them. There was no whistle to remind the men of their duty to listen in silence. He let their fear spread through them like a fire.
“We must take the power for ourselves before it’s used against us. We cannot let the Dragonborn massacre us while we cower in fear of their gods. There are no gods beyond the kings, only darkness that must be mastered before it overtakes us and destroys everything we’ve built. They will bring us low with their lies if we let them.”
Perhaps anything weak enough to be brought down by words wasn’t ordained by gods.
Harlow motioned to someone out of Fox’s eyeline, and a moment later his shirt was being ripped from him. It was a temporary relief to have the wet cloth removed. A moment later he registered the whistle of the whip before it cracked across his skin, setting his nerves on fire. His groan caught in the gag shoved down his throat.
Harlow seemed to notice the muffled sound and snapped to the other soldier.
A moment later the gag was being torn from him, and Fox snarled. “I thought you feared my?—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, two strikes coming in quick succession. His jaw snapped, and he pulled back his tongue just in time to not bite it off.
Harlow smiled, and Fox locked his jaw, choking on his groans. He wouldn’t give Harlow the satisfaction.
He looked out over the crowd, his glare defiant.
And then he saw her, just beyond the gathered soldiers, a flash of curls and bright eyes. His mother stood in the back, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide with horror. And when she met his eyes, it was anger he saw, piercing and sharp. She turned before the next strike fell, and he felt his body crumple under the pain, a scream finally bursting from his throat.
He felt the satisfaction rolling from Harlow as he paused, just long enough to let the scream echo. And then he struck again.
Fox didn’t bite back his screams. His mother’s eyes burned into his brain as he let tears gather in his eyes.
When he was panting on the ground, blood turning icy across his back, and his screams muffled in the dirt, Harlow stopped. He stepped back, examining his work, and Fox was reminded of his father. He blinked up at the man, wondering if itwashis father. Perhaps he hadn’t killed him after all. The man had always felt larger than life, and immortality would have suited him.
He blinked again, and it was Harlow once more, looking down at him with utter disgust and disappointment. He shook his head and turned away.
“Bring the dragon out!”
Fox could only watch as they dragged Chalia forward, her claws fighting against the ground weakly. But she was chained, her wings tied back with iron netting. He could already see angry red scars along her scales where the iron bit into her.
“Stay strong, Pale Scales,”she said, even as Harlow moved toward her, his whip replaced with an axe. He brought the axe down on her foot with little fanfare, blue blood spraying across the snow as her toe fell away. She roared, birds shooting into the sky all around them. Some soldiers flinched while others watched in awe as Harlow tore scale and sinew from Chalia’s bone and talon.
“Jordi, step forward,” he said, turning and presenting the bloody bone. “Congratulations on your work for the crown. You’ve proved your worth and loyalty. You will be rewarded as such. Take this dragon as proof of the power of the king’s men and make your first command.”
Fox watched in numb horror as the light and pain drained from Chalia’s eyes.
“Stay strong, Chalia,”he sent, but he could already feel her mind slipping as Jordi approached her, smirking.
“Bow to me,” he said, gripping the bone hard in his hands. Chalia’s elbows dropped to the ground, her neck stretching low. Jordi raised the bone above his head, and a cheer rose among the soldiers.
“Mark it!” some yelled out from the crowd, and someone passed a dagger to the man. Grinning like a child, he cut into Chalia’s neck, carving a “J” there before stepping back to admire his work. The entire time she didn’t make a sound, her eyes clouded.
Fox tried to reach out to her again. There was nothing but a faint buzzing. He slumped against the ground, any fight drained from him. He’d been so worried about dying, but he was beginning to understand there were things much worse than death.
