Please save him. Quelia, please. I can’t—he can’t.
Her curls blew back from her face, and she looked up to see the dragons descending on them. Chalia landed behind her, face reaching out to rest beside where Javi was holding her. And then Eha was there, her own blue eyes gleaming with tears.
She stretched her neck forward, and Sofia watched, breath held. But the dragon only rested her head on Fox’s body, letting her tears fall in waves as she closed her eyes.
The world went silent.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
FOX
Fox smelled the sea. He licked his cracked lips, tasting salt. He expected to open his eyes to the cliffs of Suvi or the sandy coast of Falais. Instead, there was only darkness.
Not the darkness of night, but the inky blackness of nothing. He blinked, his brain struggling to understand the emptiness before him. His chest tightened. It was darker than it had been under the rubble, trapped with his brother. He took a deep breath, reminding himself he wasn’t trapped. There was no rubble. There were no stones pressing down on him—no pressure or heaviness.
He remembered Sofia’s eyes as she screamed, and the bright light and the burning that followed.
He wasn’t trapped. There was no rubble.
He was dead.
He sat up, his hands against the ground—or the blackness that acted as such. Every ache he’d been feeling in his body for the past few days was gone. In their absence, he realized how much pain he’d been in. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. But he was alone, and the silence made his head throb.
Death was too quiet. Too lonely.
The smallest speck of light emerged on the horizon, a single star in a blacksky. And just like that, the darkness felt lighter, the silence peaceful instead of aching.
The light grew to a pale pink, slowly at first, and then bursting. Fox’s hand came up to shade his eyes automatically, the blinding light filling his vision as his eyes adjusted. A dragon, larger than he’d thought possible, stood in front of him. Their scales glowed and sparkled like a rainbow, their true color unknowable and ever-changing. Their wings were folded back, and their tail twisted around, arching into the sky above them.
Fox blinked.
“My son,” she spoke—not through his mind—but out loud and in the king’s tongue.
“Quelia,” he said, knowing her name even as his mind screamed it was impossible.
She smiled. He didn’t know how he knew the expression was a smile, but it was, and Fox felt his muscles relax. He stood, uncomfortable sitting in her presence, and he swore he saw her eyes flash with amusement.
Her tongue flicked out as if tasting the air.
He knew he was dead, but his throat still went tight looking up into Quelia’s eyes.
He thought of his mother and Sofia. He didn’t grieve for himself, but he ached for what they might be feeling. He didn’t want them to be left alone. They didn’t deserve that.
“They are crying for you,” Quelia said, her voice like music.
“I…” Fox choked on the words, “I wasn’t supposed to leave them. I promised them.”
“We do not always get to make those choices.”
“We?” Fox said, his eyebrow raising. Quelia laughed, chimes in the darkness.
“You are my children. I live through you.”
Fox blinked, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t quite understand.
“I feel your pain,” she continued. “Your kind feel so much. Hurt so much.”
“Can you tell them I’m okay? Take away their grief?”
