“Please, Nesto,” Fox said, seeing the fracturing in his resolve.
“Kill them, you coward!” screamed a soldier from behind Nesto, and Fox recognized Nico running at them.
Whatever hesitance that had been building in Nesto vanished in an instant. He bellowed, throwing himself forward, the rage back in his gaze as his blade slammed into Fox’s.
Fox grunted at the force, surprised at the strength of Nesto’s strike. Nico flashed by, his mother meeting him with the sword of a fallen soldier. He watched for only a second, long enough to feel dread pooling in his stomach. She wasn’t nearly as proficient with the sword as she was with the dagger. But then Nesto was screaming again and Fox whirled, meeting his assault.
They fought—Nesto striking to kill and Fox doing his best to defend himself. He knew he was holding back. But the young soldier was still wearing his glasses, slightly crooked on his nose, and Fox saw the tremor in his hands as he slashed, as if his body were rebelling against what he was doing.
“Nesto,” Fox said again, desperate to end this without the young man dead at his feet.
“Stop trying to distract me,” he said, feet slipping in the mud even as he said it. He may have gone through the same initial training as Fox, but it was clear Nesto hadn’t practiced his fighting skills to any degree since. His anger only made him sloppy. The sword lashed toward Fox again and this time he dodged the blow, letting Nesto stumble off balance from his own momentum. He kicked out, his foot making contact with Nesto’s leg, and the soldier fell, crashing into the mud, sword clattering to the side.
He turned his face up, looking at Fox with a sickening mixture of rage and terror. Fox’s blade was poised, hovering just above the young man’s neck. He saw the pulse thundering beneath his skin. His face had gone gray and his eyes were focused on the sharp edge of the sword.
And Fox couldn’t bring the blade down.
“Fuck!” he yelled, twisting his wrist and bringing the hilt of his sword down hard against the boy’s temple. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to disorient him. Nesto fell back, and Fox kicked his sword away, just to be safe.
“Stay down,” he snapped.
He turned around, looking for his mother, acid on his tongue. But she was no longer in sight. He twisted, eyes sweeping the field, and he felt his knees nearly give out when he saw her, back to back with Javi as he swung his sword in wide arcs, cutting down anyone who approached them.
He forced himself to look away—forced himself to trust Javi.
It didn’t take long to findher.
Sofia was standing on top of Chalia’s back, her hair tumbling out of its braid, haloing her face in the setting sun. He almost smiled. But then he saw the soldier standing in front of her, screaming directions as Chalia spit water and ice at her.
Jordi’s face was red with anger, and Fox saw the intent in his eyes as he flung himself forward.
Sofia disappeared from sight, sliding from Chalia’s back.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
SOFIA
The soldier lunged at her, screaming in rage, and Sofia jumped back, letting herself slide down Chalia’s scales and to the ground. She landed, the impact rattling her bones. The soldier didn’t follow, but Sofia wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. She was watching Chalia’s eyes as they followed her. The dragon’s jaw hung open wide as she continued to spit attacks, each just shy of hitting her. The soldier’s screams on her back grew more frantic with every miss.
Chalia was defying him, but Sofia wasn’t sure how long it would last.
There were soldiers around them fighting, though they had started to pull back, leaving the dragons to finish the dirty work. Sofia’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Fox moving across the field in her direction, his entire focus on her. She couldn’t draw her gaze away, her eyes sweeping over his body of their own free will, taking an accounting of every one of his wounds. She saw the way he moved, stiff and with a slight limp. His hair was streaked with blood, bruises bloomed across his face, and his clothes were nearly torn from his body. But he looked more beautiful in that moment than she could fathom. He was free from the cage. And he was coming to her.
The soldier on Chalia’s back laughed, and Sofia’s attention wasdrawn once more to him. He grinned at her with something like triumph in his eyes. It took only a second to recognize why he looked so gleeful as Chalia twisted her head, no longer aiming at Sofia, but toward Fox.
Sofia acted before she could form a coherent thought. Time slowed and her mind replayed the thunk of the axe as Mina was murdered. She saw her mother’s body fall as blood sprayed. She saw Ian struggling with his last breath.
She couldn’t do it again, even as she saw Fox’s eyes widen in realization.
He’d asked her not to sacrifice herself. She was fighting for their future together.
She would make it. She had to make it.
A spear of ice shot from Chalia’s throat, sparkling in the red sunset.
She threw her body between the spear and Fox, her eyes meeting Chalia’s even as the impact of the spear sent her stumbling back. The pain didn’t register until she was on her back in the mud and snow, looking at the broken shard embedded in her stomach.
The ground shook beneath them. Chalia roared. A few soldiers fell to their knees, and the dragon writhed in pain. The soldier on her back clung to his reins with white knuckles, barely holding on.
