Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8)

by Shannon Messenger

  She was trying to decide if he was her biological father.

  And… he had to be—didn’t he?

  It even explained why he’d started being nicer once her abilities had been healed. Then Project Moonlark was back on track, and enough time had passed that he could relax a little without people suspecting him of anything.

  Who knew? Maybe he’d even felt a little bad for treating his biological daughter so coldly—though that sounded mostly like wishful thinking.

  “I… don’t know what to do with this information,” Sophie admitted, rubbing her left temple as she pictured Bronte’s face, trying to see herself in his sharp features.

  She ended up with a mental image of herself with piercing blue eyes and huge, pointy ears—and a laugh bubbled up even as tears welled and her hands curled into fists, legs itching to run, hide—

  “Easy there, Foster,” Keefe said, sending her more calming mental breezes.

  The soft rushes of color whisked across her consciousness, soothing any raw nerves.

  But for every wave of panic that Keefe’s winds were able to ease, there was another stronger surge ready in its wake.

  “I get it—this is huge,” he told her, pulling her out of her pillow nest and spinning her to face him better. “But try to remember that even if it is true—and we don’t know if it is—it’s also not bad.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Well…” He dragged his free hand down his face. “For one thing… Bronte’s not a murderer. Or part of the Neverseen—and I’m not saying that to compare your life to mine—”

  “I know,” Sophie assured him, squeezing his hand as tightly as she clung to the reminder.

  Some of Bronte’s behavior over the last few years had strayed pretty close to “villain territory.”

  But he wasn’t a villain.

  In fact, if he really had been part of Project Moonlark, that technically made him even more solidly one of the good guys.

  Plus, she’d already known that she was going to hate the people who’d donated their DNA to the Black Swan and then abandoned her—especially if they’d been lying to her ever since she’d gotten to the Lost Cities.

  But… maybe that was why this revelation stung like lemon juice in an open wound.

  She’d actually been starting to like Bronte as a person—starting to trust him as an ally. She’d even been glad that he was one of her points of contact on the Council.

  And now?

  “How am I supposed to work with him?” she whispered, trying to focus on the most important question—because this was so much bigger than her personal drama.

  She’d become a Regent to be able to tackle the problems with Tam, the dwarves, and the Neverseen—and if this got in the way…

  “Bronte can’t know that I know,” she realized.

  “Why?” Keefe wondered. “Isn’t that why we were doing this?”

  She pulled her hand free and scooted back as far as she could, trying to save Keefe from the nausea clawing up her throat. “It was, but… I didn’t really have a plan for what I’d do if we actually found either of my genetic parents—and I never thought we’d learn something like this. It’s like you said: If anyone finds out Bronte’s my biological father, it would turn our world upside down. He’d have to resign as a Councillor. And there’d have to be another election—right when the Neverseen are trying so hard to destroy the Council’s authority. And all of that will take up time we should be using to figure out how to protect Loamnore or how to get Tam away from your mom. That’s why Mr. Forkle wanted me to let this go—and why Bronte did too. If I don’t, it’s going to make an enormous mess of everything.”

  “Okaaaaaaay,” Keefe said, dragging out the word. “But if you never tell anyone…”

  He stopped before the part she was trying so hard not to think about. But they both knew what he wasn’t saying.

  If she never told anyone who her biological father was… she’d be unmatchable forever.

  “I know,” she whispered. “But… what can I do?”

  Keefe had no answer.

  And she hated the Black Swan so much in that moment—more than she’d ever hated them before. There was no way they didn’t know what would happen if they used a Councillor for Project Moonlark. And clearly they didn’t care. Giving her a chance at a normal, happy life didn’t matter, as long as she was able to inflict pain on people—an ability that didn’t even work very well.

  The Neverseen had special headpieces to block her, and her lack of control always took out more good guys than bad guys.

  A tiny, rational part of her knew that her inflicting was also the only reason Alden was awake and functioning—and Prentice, too. But her anger at the moment was so much stronger.

  “Hey,” Keefe said, reaching out like he was going to hug her—then stopping at the last second and patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Like I said yesterday, no one’s going to care about your matchmaking status—or no one who matters, anyway. And now you even have the Council promising to back you up if there’s any drama.”

  “Yeah, because Bronte wants to keep his job,” she grumbled. “And he’s clearly hoping I’ll make it easy on everyone and just stay single forever—like him. Ugh, that’s probably why he thinks it’s no big deal to expect that!”

  Same with Mr. Forkle, actually.

  She punched one of her pillows, but it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. She needed something more destructive, so she twisted and tugged and clawed at the silky fabric, hoping for a dramatic rip and a spray of feathers.

  But pillows were a whole lot tougher than she realized they could be.

  Keefe gave her another reassuring shoulder pat—but when she flung the pillow aside and buried her face in her hands, she heard him growl something that sounded like “screw it.” Then his arms wrapped around her and she sank into the hug, not realizing she was crying until she felt her tears soak into his tunic.

  “All right, Foster,” he murmured into her hair. “I think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves here. So let’s back it up and try to focus on the facts for a second, okay?” He waited for her to nod against his shoulder before he said, “Okay, fact number one: We have absolutely no idea if Bronte is actually your biological father. I mean, yeah, it’s a solid theory. But it definitely could be wrong—just like you were wrong about Forkle, Kenric, and Jolie. So try to let go of all those nightmare scenarios I’m sure you’re imagining right now—at least until we have actual proof. Which brings me to fact number two: We need to prove whether or not this is true. And thankfully, it shouldn’t be hard to do. We just need to get you, me, and Bronte in a room. Then I’ll grab his hands while you ask if he’s your father—and boom. My mad Empath skills will get you your answer.”

  “But… then he’ll know I know,” Sophie reminded him. “And if he is my father—”

  “Then at least you guys will understand each other,” he supplied for her. “And let’s face it—it’s not like you’re going to be able to hide this. Every time you look at him, you’ll be a puddle of panic and rage. It’s better to get it out there, find out the truth, and then figure out where you go from there.”

  Sophie sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I am—how many times do I have to tell you I’m a genius before you start believing me?” He laughed, and Sophie could feel the soft vibration where her cheek was pressed against his chest. “Anyway, back to my brilliant facts—and moving on to number three! Once you confront Bronte—”

  “Hopefully in a super-dramatic way,” Ro cut in, making Sophie and Keefe both jump so hard that Sophie’s forehead crashed into Keefe’s chin.

  “Forgot you weren’t alone?” Ro asked, raising her eyebrows as Keefe pulled away from the hug.

  Sophie totally had.

  And Ro wasn’t the only eavesdropper she should’ve been thinking about.

  “Whatever you’ve heard,” she called to Sandor and Bo, and may
be Flori, if she was back from her patrols, “it’s—”

  “Not to be repeated,” Sandor finished for her, leaning his head through the doorway. “Yes, I know. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my respect for your privacy?”

  “No. But this is way bigger than anything I’ve asked you to keep secret before,” she felt the need to point out.

  “I’m well aware of its significance—and its implications. And that’s all the more reason to trust that the information is safe with me. You also have my word that it’s safe with anyone under my command.” The promise was made along with a grunt that sounded like maybe Sandor had kicked Bo to make sure he got the message. “And that’s true regardless of whether your suspicions turn out to be correct. I also agree with Mr. Sencen—and you know how much it pains me to say that. This is still only a theory—the kind of theory that absolutely must be proven before you decide what to do with the information. And for the record, I will be there when you confront Councillor Bronte—and I don’t recommend resorting to dramatics.”

  “Aw, come on, Gigantor!” Ro whined. “How many times does a girl get a chance to stomp into a room and demand to know if someone’s her daddy? Bonus points if she can squeak out a few tears—and then follow it up with a face slap!” She let out a wistful sigh. “Should we also take bets on what the verdict’s going to be?”

  “No bets!” Sandor ordered, stalking closer to Sophie and waiting for her to make eye contact. “I think it’s also important that you understand something very clearly, Miss Foster. If Bronte makes any threats during this confrontation—verbal or otherwise—I will subdue him. It won’t matter that he’s a Councillor and could cause diplomatic issues for me. My job is to protect you.”

  Sophie tried to swallow, but a lump had lodged in her throat. “Bronte wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Sandor interrupted. “We both know the things he’s already put you through. And if this theory is true, it’s a secret he’s gone to great lengths to protect. There’s no telling what he’ll do if he fears exposure. In fact, I almost wish you’d go to Mr. Forkle for confirmation instead. He can’t inflict pain or threaten you with Exile.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a way better liar,” Keefe argued. “And he won’t be nearly as caught off guard, since I’m sure he already assumes Foster’s looking into this. So his reaction would be much harder for me to gauge.”

  “Bronte knows I’m looking into this too,” Sophie reminded Keefe.

  “Yeah, but he won’t expect you to make progress this quickly. Plus, you’re supposed to check in with him all the time about your Regent stuff anyway, right? So if you call a meeting with him, it won’t seem nearly as suspicious as it would if you demanded another Forkle chat. The only trick will be coming up with a reason for why I’m there with you. Maybe we can say I want to make a case for joining Team Fancypants—”

  “Team Valiant,” Sophie corrected.

  He smirked. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna call it that. Just like I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have to get used to me calling you the Lovely Lady F.”

  She tried to smile, glad he was back to his old, teasing self. But she knew her eyes didn’t sell it.

  “Stick to the facts, Foster,” Keefe begged, taking her hand again and sending another soft breeze into her mind. “Remember, there’s still a good chance we’re wrong about all of this. Genetics are weird. Look at Dex. He’s a Technopath, and his mom’s a Froster, and his dad’s Talentless—and no, I don’t think that’s because his parents were a bad match. Marella’s parents were matchmaker-approved, and neither of them are Pyrokinetics like she is. So you and Bronte both being Inflictors might not mean what we think it means.”

  “Exactly,” Ro said. “For the record, I’m totally on Team Not-the-Daddy.”

  “You are?” Keefe asked.

  “Yup! I’ve seen the dude, remember? I mean, personally I think all of you elves are scrawny and weird-looking—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tell which ones of you are technically ‘prettier’ by your elf-y standards. And Councillor Pointy Ears? Meh. No way his daughter could be our little blond hottie right here.”

  “Unless she gets that from her mom,” Keefe reminded Ro, and part of Sophie’s brain wanted to wonder if that meant Keefe was agreeing with Ro’s “blond hottie” assessment—but that was definitely not something she needed to be thinking about at the moment.

  Or ever.

  “I know you’re trying to make me feel better,” she said, pausing for a much-needed eyelash tug. “But we all know what’s going to happen here. Bronte’s going to confirm that he’s my father. And then he’s going to beg me not to tell anyone and—”

  “And then you’ll have to decide what you’re going to do,” Keefe jumped in. “That was the third fact I was getting to, before we were so rudely interrupted by my nosy bodyguard. You do have a choice here, Foster. I know you think outing Bronte will cause some epic, world-destroying scandal. And I’m not saying it won’t cause some temporary chaos while he steps down and there’s the election and stuff. But… Bronte’s not exactly winning the prize for Most Beloved Councillor, you know? I’m pretty sure most people aren’t going to be sad to see him go. And it’s not like we’ve never had a Councillor step aside because they wanted to get married or have kids or whatever.”

  “Uh, that’s a little different than someone stepping aside because they secretly donated their DNA to an illegal experiment and then lied to everyone about it for years and years,” Sophie argued. “Think of how outspoken Bronte’s always been about the Black Swan—how many times he’s gone after them and tried to convince everyone that the Black Swan was the enemy. He even…”

  “ ‘He even’ what?” Keefe asked when she fell very silent. “And what’s with the fresh blast of panic?”

  He tried to send her more mental breezes, but Sophie yanked her hand back, needing a clear head to think through this new revelation.

  This was the kind of thing she had to be really, really sure of.

  “So. Remember what you said earlier about suspense killing you?” Keefe asked after a couple of minutes. “I think I might be getting there.”

  “Same,” Sandor and Ro agreed.

  “Sorry, it’s just… do you realize what this means?” Sophie whispered, afraid to give the words too much volume.

  “Not yet, but we might, if you try actually explaining it,” Sandor suggested.

  Sophie nodded, swallowing several times to pull together enough voice to tell them. “The Council was the one who ordered the memory break on Prentice when they were looking for me. And Bronte pretty much led that charge, didn’t he?”

  “I think so,” Keefe agreed slowly. “I know he was definitely a big part of it.”

  Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, needing that extra bit of support. “Right. So… if he was also secretly part of Project Moonlark… he basically forced Prentice to sacrifice himself for no reason. Or maybe he did it for show, to cover up his own involvement? Either way, that’s…”

  There were no words for that level of ugliness.

  And she might be biologically related to someone capable of it.

  “Definitely not gonna argue with the disgust you’re feeling there,” Keefe told her, his face scrunched like he’d licked something sour. “If Bronte is your biological father, he has some serious explaining to do—but remember: That has nothing to do with you. I can give you the ‘our families don’t decide who we are’ speech again if you need me to. Also… in a weird way, this might be good news. I mean, not for Prentice or Wylie—or Alden, given how much that memory break messed him up too. But… it’d mean you wouldn’t have to feel bad about outing your connection to Bronte—because someone that heartless? They shouldn’t be a Councillor. In fact, he probably shouldn’t be anything except a prisoner in Exile. And I know you’re worried that any scandal will help the Neverseen discredit the Council—but not if we’re cleaning house. Not if we’re saying, ‘Ugh, this
guy is creepy. Let’s change him out for someone we can actually trust.’ ”

  “I guess,” Sophie said—though she was pretty sure it would never be that clear and easy. Especially since Bronte’s “creepy” decision raised a lot of questions about the Black Swan as an organization—questions she’d definitely want answered herself.

  And it would surely destroy whatever favor she’d recently gained.

  But… if anyone was a pro at being unpopular, it was her.

  And she’d still be able to focus on the dwarves and Tam and the Neverseen—even if they stripped away her Regent title. Biana, Dex, Wylie, and Stina could be in charge of anything that needed to be handled more officially, and she’d work with Linh and Marella and Fitz on everything else.

  And speaking of Fitz…

  She knew it was a gross, selfish thought to have after any of the things they’d been discussing. But…

  If Bronte really was her biological father, she actually did have a good reason to expose him.

  And if she exposed him, she’d be halfway to the solution to her matchmaking conundrum.

  “There’s the hope I’ve been waiting for,” Keefe said, grinning as he fanned the air—though his smile looked… tired. “See? It’s not all doom and gloom.”

  “It’s a mess,” Sophie insisted.

  “It might be a mess,” he corrected. “Don’t forget fact one and fact two.”

  Sophie nodded, not sure if it made her a terrible person to suddenly be hoping that Bronte was her father. Life would be drama and chaos for a while, but… then it would be settled. One hurdle down.

  “How soon do you think you can get me in a room with Bronte?” Keefe asked.

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow and see what he says,” she decided. “I’m sure he’ll let me schedule something—it just might be a few days or weeks from now. And I don’t think I’ll be able to push him without it seeming weird.”

  “Well… name the date and time, and I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you,” Sophie told him, choking up a little.