As Ian lined up the guilty for arrest, he reminded himself of the greater good and his place in the resistance. He had killed Dragonborn in the name of the king, and these wouldn’t be the last. He’d always done his part as best he could, but today he couldn’t convince himself it made him a good person.
Would he have been better off defecting from the beginning—throwing off the cloak of his false parentage? How was his hiding among the king’s men, lying about who he was, protecting anyone? How did it make him any better than any other Dragonborn who kissed the boot of the king, hoping he’d pat them on the head and call them worthy?
He could run. He could escape and never look back, but who would he be truly protecting? Only himself.
“Sir, do you want to take the written contraband to Chief Commander Harlow yourself?”
Ian had to actively stop himself from startling at the sound of his second-in-command’s voice. “Yes. Thank you, Vin.”
The older man gave a curt nod before handing over the small stack of journals and papers. Today’s haul looked to be two children’s books, a small red journal that contained only a few strange symbols, and some scraps of paper with various messages on them. It seemed the king’s work to eradicate the written language had only gone so far.
“Junior Sergeant Vin, you can take the Dragonborn to the prison. Please ask for a copy of the intake and drop it off at my desk before you return to the barracks. The rest of you are dismissed until tomorrow morning. We’ll meet back here at sunrise.”
Ian ignored the groans, knowing that admonishing them would do nothing. At some point tonight or tomorrow, he needed to write up a formal reprimand for Holt and Lago. No one would care thatthey killed a Dragonborn without trial, but disobeying a superior’s order was enough for a suspension.
He was the last to leave, the rest of his men having marched off the moment he’d dismissed them. The remaining Dragonborn picked up their belongings from the street. No one looked at him. There was no spit on his feet or curses under their breaths, and the silent obedience made Ian’s chest cold.
He wished he could say something—give them hope. But perhaps that wasn’t his place. Who was he to offer platitudes to the people whose lives he had just torn apart?
The walk was quiet, the only sound his feet on the stone streets and the wind between the buildings. Even the sky was empty, a single hawk circling above, hunting for something it likely wouldn’t find here. Every rodent that had once lived on these streets had been eaten as the king cut the rations, and curfew made it more and more impossible for the Dragonborn to hold jobs.
The sun disappeared behind the horizon before he made it out of the slums, but it only made it easier to for him to let the children’s book and a few notes slip from his pile into the small crevice behind the box in the alley as he passed by. He’d be back in a few days to destroy them, but it wasn’t safe right now to go through and try to decide what to do.
Once he’d dropped off the journal and the last few notes that looked innocuous enough at the prison, he didn’t return to the barracks, choosing instead to walk back into the slums. It was eerily quiet passing through the gates. They were guarded as always, but there wasn’t anyone on the streets on either side of the city. The houses were dark behind closed curtains, and he wondered how many of the houses were empty. How many families were under the rubble in the northern part of the city? How many had been arrested and were in prison under meaningless charges? How many were underground with the people he’d helped save, hiding fromhimandhis peoplesweeping the city?
He kept his head down and hurried, not wanting to face what the city looked like tonight because of him and the king he worked under.
When the glowing lights of the Wall’s Inn came into view, a weight lifted off his shoulders, and he breathed an audible sigh. It hadn’t beenhis idea to check the inn first thing in the sweeps, but he didn’t argue with it. He wasn’t the only soldier excited to see it open again. Right now it was the only place on this side of the inner wall to get an ale and a hot meal.
After the long walk through the cold, the heavy, hot air of the dining room fell over him like a cloak as he stepped inside. The fire was blazing in the large stone hearth, and the room was full to the brim with people drinking and laughing. Torches lined the walls beside faded and moth-eaten tapestries, and someone he vaguely recognized was playing a harp in the corner, adding to the cacophony.
There were no Dragonborn milling about the room that weren’t working. The only ones brave enough to come out at night were the soldiers. But it was a break from the war-torn city that lay just behind the tightly closed windows.
In here, Ian could almost forget what he’d been doing all day. He could forget the look of utter anguish on Fox’s face as he’d told him the truth.
“High Sergeant,” a soft voice said, just over his shoulder, and he turned to see Isadora stepping away from the group she’d been sitting with, a genuine smile on her face. “It’s been too long.”
Ian didn’t say that he’d been counting the days in his mind since he’d last let himself come this way. It was before he’d nearly fucked up the resistance’s plan by letting Fox get kidnapped instead of Lieutenant Luna’s son, like they’d planned.
“I’ve been busy, but I promise I didn’t forget you.” He hated how much truth was in those words.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, even as she pressed against him, warm body against his cold one.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, smirking, but she only slapped him softly.
“I don’t need to lie to you. So, what are you having? Frankie’s made a charro bean stew and fresh tortillas, or I can get you an ale? Wine?”
He pulled her closer into him, pressing his face into her shoulder before he spoke.
“Get me a bottle and let’s take this to your room.”
“I can definitely help with that.”
A few minutes later, she stepped out of the kitchens carrying a bottle of wine and a steaming bowl of stew. Ian smiled. His stomach turned, but perhaps it would be good to eat something.
The moment the door was closed behind them, Isadora moved over to her desk and wound the large music box there until the metallic notes began to play. Her shoulders dropped, and she turned, no longer smiling. Any remnants of her working facade had fallen away. Her brows were pinched, and she looked him up and down.
“You look exhausted. I can see your dark circles from here, and when’s the last time you ate? You look gray.”
