Nightfall

by Shannon Messenger

  Linh endured the whole scene in silence, her silver-blue eyes focused on something in the distance. She only spoke once, and the question wasn’t one Sophie would’ve guessed—though she probably should have. Linh wanted to know if either of the Forkles had ever regretted hiding that they were twins. And Mr. Forkle had taken her hands and reminded her that his choice hadn’t really been a choice. But he also went on and on about how proud he was of Linh and Tam for standing up to their parents. And he told her that hopefully someday, all the powerful, brilliant multiple-birth children would force their world to set aside its ridiculous prejudices. With those words, Linh had gone to stand next to Tam, the two of them sharing a look that seemed to communicate something privately between them.

  And then there was Keefe, who simultaneously endured the entire range of emotions—fists curled with fury, eyes watery, skin pale from shock, hands shaking with a nervous, almost hopeful energy. But when it was his turn to speak, he chose to move to where Sophie sat curled up in one of the armchairs and crouched down to her eye level to ask how she was doing.

  “Keeping your promise, I see,” Mr. Forkle said, smiling sadly at Keefe. “Not that I ever doubted it.”

  During his final moments, the other Mr. Forkle had made Keefe promise that he wouldn’t let the tragedy break Sophie.

  “I’m fine,” Sophie assured Keefe. “This is all really weird. But . . . better than we thought it was, don’t you think?”

  Keefe sighed. “I think . . . I’m getting tired of finding out everyone’s been lying to us and hiding things.” He turned to Tiergan. “Any life-changing pieces of information you’ve been holding back?”

  Tiergan shuffled his feet. “No one ever reveals everything.”

  “I take it that’s a yes?” Fitz pressed.

  “How did this become about me?” Tiergan waved his arms toward Mr. Forkle. “If it helps, I can assure you that I don’t have a secret identical twin.”

  “Very few do,” Mr. Forkle said, staring out the windows again. “In fact, I might very well be the only one. Or, I should probably say I was the only one—though I suppose I technically still have a mostly secret twin, whether he walks the earth or rests underneath it.” He sighed. “I’m not sure I have the right words for the complexity of my new situation.”

  Tiergan moved closer, placing a steadying hand on Mr. Forkle’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  Mr. Forkle nodded, reaching up to rub his eyes before he turned back to the group. “Going back to Mr. Sencen’s complaint, the simple truth is, we all have things we hold back. Maybe we have no choice. Or maybe they’re small things that we feel aren’t anyone else’s business. Whatever the reasoning, secrets are simply a part of life.”

  “Isn’t it better without them, though?” Fitz asked. “Don’t you think it’s going to be easier to trust each other now that we know the truth?”

  He didn’t look at Sophie as he said it, but she couldn’t help wondering if he meant the questions for her.

  And while her secret was downright trivial compared to the day’s revelations . . . maybe he had a point. She was risking their Cognate training—something that would make them more powerful and give them a better chance against the Neverseen—because she was too embarrassed to admit to her silly crush.

  Sharing it would be humiliating. And it would probably end in rejection.

  But . . . then it would be over, and they could move forward.

  After we get my parents back, she transmitted to Fitz, I think we should work through some more trust exercises. And this time . . . no holding back.

  Fitz’s eyebrows shot up. You’re sure?

  No.

  She already wanted to wimp out.

  It’ll be good for us, she told him, trying to believe it.

  Fitz’s answering smile was so bright, it made all her insides flip—and then flip again when he said, Might be even better than you think.

  Keefe cleared his throat. “Everything okay? I’m picking up some strange mood swings.”

  “Yep,” Sophie said, turning away to hide her flushing cheeks.

  “I hope that’s true,” Mr. Forkle said. “Because the last thing I want is to distract any of you from our greater cause. We’re trudging through the depths of a long, tumultuous battle, and I sincerely hope that today’s revelation proves to all of you that the Neverseen haven’t achieved as large of a victory as was once believed. I stand here before you ready to work, ready to fight, ready to do whatever needs to be done to win this battle. The question is, are you still with me?”

  The seven friends shared a look.

  Even though their faces were still pale, Sophie saw zero doubt in their eyes.

  “We are,” they said together.

  Mr. Forkle nodded, then turned away, clearing the thickness from his throat. “You kids are going to make me cry.”

  And with the oh-so-familiar first words—words that had long been Mr. Forkle’s trademark—everyone else found themselves fighting back tears too.

  But somehow, they all seemed to decide that it wasn’t the time for crying.

  It was time to get back to work.

  “Well,” Mr. Forkle said, “we still have to endure a few more of these difficult conversations—as well as my brother’s planting. But before we do that, I’d like to show you the reason I had Tiergan bring you to Brumevale.”

  He snapped his fingers, and the glass windows slowly lowered, letting a rush of cold, fresh air surge through the stuffy room.

  At first, Sophie thought the wind was giving her goose bumps, but as her senses settled, she picked up the same haunting melody she’d heard earlier—only so much louder and clearer. The song was rich and soulful, and somehow felt both fiercely hopeful and achingly sad.

  “Moonlarks,” Mr. Forkle explained. “I don’t know if you realize how rare it is to find their nests in the wild, but this is the only one I’ve found, in all my years. And they return to it time and again, generation after generation. It took my brother and me years to understand why. The waves you hear in the distance are where they leave their eggs to fight the currents, knowing only the strongest will reach the shore to hatch and survive. I once thought the creatures cruel for abandoning their young that way, leaving them without any guidance or protection.”

  His eyes focused on Sophie, and she nodded. She’d actually wrestled with trusting the Black Swan at first, knowing they’d similarly left her to struggle among humans.

  “But the songs you’re hearing,” Mr. Forkle whispered, “are sung by both the mothers and fathers, calling the eggs toward the shore. And even when the babies hatch, their parents continue singing night and day, either for comfort or instruction—I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that while they leave the fledglings to fend for themselves, they’re also always there, just out of sight, urging them on. That’s why I agreed to name our plan Project Moonlark when Calla suggested it—not because you would be alone, Miss Foster. But because I intended to make sure you never truly would be. I would always be somewhere close by, guiding you however I could. And that goal holds, even now, when there’s only half of me left—and not just for you. Everyone in this room is under my care. So, before we leave, I want you to close your eyes and feel the power of that assurance.”

  Sophie should’ve felt silly, standing there with her friends, tearing up while listening to wind-whipped birdsong. But the strength and courage carried in the melody nestled deep into her heart. And the harder she concentrated, the more her mind filled with scattered images—scenes of tiny chicks covered in silver fluff skittering over white sand with their scrawny legs.

  She wasn’t sure if the images were part of her imagination, or if her uniquely enhanced telepathy had connected her with the adult moonlarks’ thoughts.

  But she transmitted back, It’s going to be okay.

  “Looks like we’re ready to head out,” Mr. Forkle said, snapping his fingers to raise the glass windows, shutting out the moonlarks’ songs and
settling the tower back into silence.

  “I don’t expect to return here for quite some time,” he explained, tracing his palm almost wistfully across the back of an armchair. “I think it’s best if you go back to Havenfield to wait for me. I still need to make myself known to your bodyguards, and I’m sure you’d rather skip that particular conversation. It’s likely to involve an impressive amount of threatening.”

  “Who here thinks Grizel will slap Forkle?” Keefe asked.

  “I’m glad your sense of humor is still intact, Mr. Sencen. But keep in mind that my patience has now been reduced by half.”

  “Do you want me to tell my parents about . . . all of this?” Sophie asked, feeling queasy even imagining it.

  “No. I want you to go to Everglen and tell Alden and Della to head to your house for an announcement. And then leap to Eternalia and tell Councillor Oralie the same. Your mother already knows to bring your father over,” he told Dex.

  “That’s right,” Dex said with a sigh. “My mom already knew. That’s why she looked so nervous when I left. Ugh, just when I thought she was done lying to me.”

  “Don’t blame her for her silence, Mr. Dizznee. Blame me. And for the record, your mother struggled with her knowledge of my shared life more than the others. She told me once that she finds herself looking at her triplets and imagining how miserable they would be if she’d forced them to lie and hide the way I’ve had to. And yes, they were fraternal—but even if they were identical, your parents never would’ve chosen the path my father took. Your parents are some of the boldest, bravest people I’ve ever met. And everything your mother has done—and continues to do—has been in the hopes of creating a better world for her children. Please don’t hold that against her.”

  Dex kicked his shoe, but didn’t argue.

  “Anyway,” Mr. Forkle said, “hopefully by the time everyone has gathered, I’ll be done with the goblins. But if I’m delayed, none of you are under any obligation to answer their questions. And in case you’re wondering, this group should be the last of those allowed to know the truth. The Black Swan have done an excellent job of covering the absence of my various identities while I’ve taken time to mourn. Everyone else has no idea there’s been any change.”

  “What about the Neverseen?” Sophie asked. “Gethen had to know he dealt a lethal blow with that sword.”

  “I’m sure he did. And should any of us have any contact with them—”

  “I love how you make that sound like an ‘if,’ ” Fitz interrupted.

  “Very well, Mr. Vacker. When any of us have any contact with them, I think it’s important we let them continue with their false assumption. They have no knowledge of my other identities—or at least, that’s what I’m assuming. You would know better than I would, Mr. Sencen.”

  “I didn’t tell them anything about you,” Keefe promised. “The story I stuck with was that I secretly suspected you were Councillor Alina—and please, please, please let me be there when Fintan finds out you’re still around. I want to see him pee his pants!”

  “I’m sure you do,” Mr. Forkle said as Tiergan retrieved his pathfinder and created a beam to take them to Everglen. “But the longer the Neverseen stay in the dark, the better. Let them bask in their perceived victory as long as we can.”

  Part of Sophie wanted to argue that it had been a victory, since the Neverseen still took someone from them. But as she watched Mr. Forkle prepare his own pathfinder, she realized they’d won as well.

  The Neverseen may think themselves brilliant schemers, full of plans no one would ever suspect.

  But when it came to game-changing secrets, the Black Swan would always be the best.

  Twenty

  MR. FORKLE ARRIVED at Havenfield with a handprint-shaped blotch on his left cheek, and Grizel seemed mighty pleased with herself when she strolled in behind him.

  Sandor, meanwhile, was a walking storm, and his thunderous focus went immediately to Sophie and lightened only when he was back at her side, muttering under his breath about the duality of elves.

  Woltzer and Lovise looked mostly puzzled—but that was probably because they hadn’t had many interactions with Mr. Forkle, or his various identities. Neither had Cadoc, and the three of them stood together while everyone else struggled to process.

  And struggle they did—though the adults were shockingly consistent with their reactions to the Great Forkle Reappearance, as Keefe had dubbed it. There was gasping. And shouting. And rushing to hug their children to make sure they were okay with the news—or, in Juline’s case, making sure that Dex was still speaking to her. All of which was followed by lots of questions. And while the conversation was mostly a rehash of things Mr. Forkle had already gone over with Sophie and her friends, two new questions did catch Sophie’s attention.

  Dex’s father, Kesler, somewhat morbidly wanted to know what happened to the other Forkle’s body after Oralie hid it.

  Apparently, the late Mr. Forkle had told Oralie how to contact the Black Swan, and Wraith had snuck into the ruins and brought the body back to one of the Black Swan’s hideouts, where Physic made sure it was given a proper burial.

  The other question came from Councillor Oralie, who stood on the far side of Havenfield’s enormous living room in her blush-toned gown. Her jeweled circlet was noticeably absent from her ringletted blond hair as she whispered, “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Mr. Forkle moved to her side and reached for her fragile, shaking hand. “There’s nothing to forgive, Oralie. I would’ve made the same choice my brother did in that moment. And you’re an Empath, so you know I’m telling the truth.”

  Empaths often served as living lie detectors, using their ability to read the shifts in emotions to gauge the honesty of the speaker.

  Oralie’s shadowed blue eyes shimmered with tears. “But if I’d—”

  “One thing I’ve had to learn,” Mr. Forkle interrupted, “and I suspect you know this better than most—is that it’s far too easy to analyze a tragedy after the fact and feel like you should’ve been able to prevent it.”

  “Yes,” Oralie whispered. “It is.”

  Sophie had a feeling Oralie was also thinking about the day Councillor Kenric was taken from them. She’d long suspected that Kenric and Oralie had been in love, but never acted on it.

  “For the record, the only person truly responsible for my brother’s death is the person who stabbed him,” Mr. Forkle added. “And for all the other ‘what-ifs’ that led him to that moment . . . there’s nothing we can do about them. The past is the only finite thing in this uncertain world, and in a way, that’s somewhat comforting.”

  “How?” Tam wanted to know.

  “Because it gives us a fixed point to learn from. For better or worse, this loss—and any others we’ve suffered—makes us stronger, smarter, more determined than ever to fight back with everything we have. But in order for that to happen, we have to let go of our regrets.” His voice hitched and he turned away, smearing tears with the back of his hand. “Part of me will always lament that I didn’t listen to Miss Foster and focus harder on interrogating Gethen. But . . . I’m choosing to channel those feelings into our cause. I hope you’ll do the same, Oralie. We could use a Councillor on our side, now more than ever.”

  “I’m already on your side,” Oralie whispered, reaching up to trace the part of her forehead where her circlet usually rested. “And if any of you are worrying about my presence here”—her focus lingered on Kesler and Juline the longest—“you have my word that none of what I’ve seen or heard today will ever be repeated. You should also know that the balance in the Council is shifting. Those who mistrust your order are finding their voices overruled. I suspect Councillor Emery will be contacting your Collective soon about truly joining forces. We’re just trying to get things settled with the other world leaders first. The attack in Lumenaria has created a diplomatic nightmare.”

  “I can imagine,” Mr. Forkle said quietly. “And we’re ready to help with w
hatever the Council requires. In the meantime, know that we’ll be working behind the scenes to the fullest extent of our abilities. In fact, it seems Miss Foster has some rather interesting plans taking shape.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “Did you read my mind?”

  She covered her ears when he nodded. The gesture wouldn’t block him, but somehow it made her feel better.

  “I don’t remember giving you permission,” she noted.

  “Would you have, if I’d asked?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t make sneaking in okay!”

  “No, I suppose not. For what it’s worth, I was mainly trying to see if I could still slip past your blocking, or if your point of trust had been altered by everything that’s happened. And once I was through, I caught a glimpse of what was on your mind, and—it’s no excuse—but curiosity got the better of me. So I have to ask . . . are you really intending to go to Ravagog?”

  The word was a match hurled into a box of fireworks.

  “I guess I should’ve clarified,” Mr. Forkle shouted over the din. “Their current plan is uncharacteristically reasonable.”

  That quieted everyone enough for Sophie to explain her charming conversation with Lady Gisela, and how she was planning to bring Keefe, Biana, and Tam with her to ask Lady Cadence for help arranging a meeting with King Dimitar. And while she was at it, she told them Fitz would be looking into the fires and searching Candleshade for whatever they now knew was hidden there, while Dex would keep working on Fintan’s cache, and Linh would check on Wylie. The only part she left out was any mention of her sister.

  “I feel the need to emphasize exactly how dangerous the information in those caches could be,” Oralie said when she’d finished. “And if you do manage to access it, I hope you’ll notify me.”

  Sophie nodded. “Dex thinks we need passwords to get past the caches’ security. Is that true?”

  Oralie frowned. “All I’ve ever been told is that there is a way to recover the secrets. But the specifics of how have never been explained. Accessing a cache is supposed to require a unanimous vote, so I’ve always assumed we’d be given instructions then. I could try asking another Councillor, but the person most likely to know would be Bronte, and I’m not sure if you want him to suspect what you’re up to.”