He tried to shrug it off, but it wasn’t very convincing.
“Is there anything I can do?” Sophie offered.
He reached for her hand. “You’re here.”
That . . . was an amazing answer. And Sophie was very glad she was wearing gloves, so he couldn’t feel the way her palms were sweating as they drew closer to Everglen’s shimmering mansion. It was more of a castle than a home, with its crystal turrets and gables—a perfect, pretty place that screamed privilege with every glittering wall.
Sophie had spent several nights there over the years—had even been invited to live there when Grady and Edaline were struggling with her adoption. But she hadn’t realized how little of Everglen she’d actually seen until Fitz led her under a vine-draped arch on the right side of the house and into a small courtyard she’d never noticed before. Smooth marble stepping stones brought them to a single gleaming door made of braided silver, with the Vacker crest emblazoned across the handle.
Fitz eased the door open silently—like they were sneaking in—as he motioned for Sophie to follow him into a room that was way bigger than what she’d been expecting. The space could easily fit hundreds of people and still have room to spare—though they’d have nowhere to sit. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture anywhere.
But the sparseness did nothing to dull the overall opulence. The walls were a combination of crystal and mahogany panels, broken up with teal curtains made from thick velvet. And the floor was made of gold stamped with an elaborate swirling pattern. Massive chandeliers dangled from the cathedral-height ceiling, casting flecks of rainbow over everything.
“What is this place?” Sophie whispered, tiptoeing over to a giant portrait of the five Vackers hanging above a fireplace big enough for her to stand in.
“The reception hall,” Fitz said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.
She couldn’t help giggling. “Your house has a reception hall. Of course it does.”
He grinned. “It’s not that weird. Lots of houses have them.”
“Mine doesn’t.”
“It used to. What do you think your bedroom used to be?”
Sophie’s jaw fell open.
She’d never thought about it before—her bedroom was just sort of there when she moved in. But it made sense, given how huge her room was. There was also the fact that Jolie had used a different bedroom down on the second floor—which was beautiful, but also wasn’t nearly as huge or fancy as Sophie’s room was. And Dex had told her one time that Grady and Edaline used to be known for throwing huge parties but stopped after they lost Jolie.
Fitz laughed. “I just blew your mind, didn’t I?”
“A little,” she admitted, turning to study the room again. “Do you guys use this place very often?”
She wasn’t sure how she’d feel if the Vackers had been hosting tons of parties without inviting her.
Fitz shook his head. “We used it a few years ago. And I’m sure my mom’s planning on using it again in a couple of years.”
“What happens in a couple of years?” Sophie asked.
His cheeks flushed redder than she’d ever seen, and his eyes dropped to his shuffling feet.
Which was how Sophie guessed his answer, even before he said, “Winnowing Galas.”
THIRTY-FIVE
FITZ MEANT HIS WINNOWING GALAS—BUT he didn’t say that.
Still . . .
Not saying it didn’t make it any less true.
He’d already registered for the match.
He’d already turned in his match packet.
And even though he’d talked about waiting longer than usual to pick up his first list, sooner or later he would do it. And if Sophie hadn’t registered . . .
“I just made things awkward, didn’t I?” Fitz asked, his eyes fixed firmly on his boots.
Sophie tried to clear the squeak out of her voice. “Of course not. It’s not like it’s a secret. Obviously you’re going to have Winnowing Galas someday.”
She just so wasn’t ready to think about it.
But he’d said “a couple of years,” so . . . there was that.
She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to find a bodyguard who could help her change the subject. But Tarina must’ve been waiting outside, and the others still hadn’t caught up with them.
Honestly, what was the point of having five bodyguards if they weren’t around to save her from another miserable matchmaking conversation?
“So, you guys had the galas for Alvar already?” she asked, trying to at least steer the conversation toward less dangerous territory.
“Yeah.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “Alvar had two. One when he first entered the elite levels, and another after he graduated.”
She turned to study the hall again, trying to picture it full of fancy elves in their fanciest clothes. “What were the galas like?”
“I don’t really know,” Fitz admitted. “I wasn’t invited—though I did sneak into the second one and steal some cake. But my dad caught me after, like, five minutes.”
“Why weren’t you invited?”
“Winnowing Galas are restricted to the people on your match list and their parents.”
Sophie frowned. “So . . . you don’t get to have any of your friends there?”
There was a beat of silence before he said, “Not unless they’re one of my matches.”
Which made sense, Sophie supposed.
Winnowing Galas weren’t just pretty parties. They were a way to start scratching names off your list—or circling them.
“So . . . you could technically end up throwing a party for an entire room full of strangers,” Sophie realized.
Fitz nodded. “I mean, usually you at least know of them—either you’ve seen them at Foxfire, or your parents know each other, or something. And in some ways that might make it easier? My mom said she was friends with everyone at hers and it was super awkward. And I can kinda see how it would be, since . . . how do you choose who to talk to first? I think that’s why they came up with the dance cards as a tradition. Then people just sign up whenever and you work your way down the card.”
“You have to dance with a hundred people?” Sophie had to ask. Her feet hurt just thinking about it.
“Nah, not everyone signs up for a dance. And some won’t even come to the gala.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they already know who they like. Or maybe they just know they’re not interested in you. Or maybe they registered but they’re not looking for a relationship yet. There are actually lots of reasons someone might skip. That’s why registering isn’t as big of a deal as you keep thinking it is—but don’t worry, I’m not trying to have that conversation again. Just know that it’s usually more like half that show up.”
“Huh,” Sophie mumbled. “I guess that makes sense.”
But she had a feeling it wouldn’t be like that for Fitz.
He was a Vacker.
It was like . . . being matched with a prince.
A really, really cute prince.
She was pretty sure everyone on his list would be bragging about it.
And that was the thing she hadn’t really let herself think about, because she was too busy trying to decide if she wanted to register.
If she did—if she set aside all her reservations—what were the odds of her ending up on his list?
What matchmaker would say, Let’s pair our golden boy with the weird girl with the freaky brown eyes who grew up with humans and will never fully fit into our world?
Her gaze drifted back to the enormous Vacker family portrait, which must’ve been painted somewhat recently.
Between their poses and their jewels, they . . . looked like royalty.
The prettiest of all the pretty people, with their perfect posture and perfect hair and perfect clothes.
And she didn’t fit.
“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked, stepping closer.
She blinke
d to cool her burning eyes. “Just trying to figure out when this was painted.”
“A couple of months after you healed my dad. My mom said we needed to commemorate that we were all still together. Aaaaaand then we found out about Alvar.” His hands curled into fists. “He looks smug, doesn’t he? I bet it’s because he was sneaking into my dad’s office during the breaks to snoop around.”
That was definitely possible.
And Sophie tried to compare Alvar’s cool, painted expression against the scarred, emotional guy she’d seen that morning.
But her eyes kept shifting back to the portrait of Fitz, and the longer she looked, the more she wondered how she could’ve let her silly crush go on and on without putting a stop to it.
How could she have ever fooled herself into thinking she had a chance?
“Seriously, what’s wrong?” Fitz asked, stepping in front of her. “You look like you’re ready to cry.”
She shook her head, knowing if she tried to speak right then she would cry—and that would be a thousand times worse than the day she threw up on him.
“Is it Alvar?” he asked. “Did he say something?”
She shook her head again, sucking in a deep breath.
His eyes widened. “Is it your echo?”
She wished it was. The monster was so much easier to resist than the crushing regret and humiliation trying to bury her.
“No,” she managed to force out. “I just . . .”
“What?” he begged when she didn’t go on. He took her hand, gently twining his fingers with hers. “Please tell me. You can tell me anything.”
Not this.
She knew that now.
There was only one way this ended.
Which meant it was time to get over her crush—once and for all—and be his friend for real.
Leave the rest for the perfect matches that would someday be filling this shimmering hall and adding their names to his dance card.
Accept that she would never be one of them.
He looked away, chewing his lower lip hard enough that it almost looked painful before he turned back to her and said, “I want it to be you.”
The words seemed to burst out of him, and then they just hung there—these strange, impossible things that wouldn’t compute.
Fitz seemed just as stunned by them as she was.
“I wasn’t reading your mind—in case that’s what you’re wondering,” he said, running a hand down his face.
A hand that was shaking.
“I wouldn’t do that without your permission. Especially for this.”
“This,” Sophie repeated, noticing the hand holding hers was shaking too.
And his cheeks . . . they were flushed.
And he’d said . . .
He’d said . . .
“I want it to be you.”
It took her a second to realize he’d said it again. And he looked less startled this time—more . . . relieved as he took a step closer, leaving very little space between them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve been trying not to say that, because it’s not fair. But . . . I couldn’t let you stand there looking like . . . like you do when someone gives you a compliment and you don’t believe it. I’m trying not to pressure you, Sophie. I know you’re not sure about any of this.” He used his shaky arm to gesture around the room. “But . . . I’m so tired of trying to hide the fact that the only name I want to see on my lists is . . . yours.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking on it thanks to the way her heart had crammed itself into her throat.
He couldn’t have just said that.
It had to be a misunderstanding.
Or a daydream.
Or . . . or . . . anything.
But he was leaning closer, leaving barely a breath between them.
And his eyes.
She couldn’t deny what she saw in them.
It gave her the courage to blurt out, “I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”
She’d thought he’d given her perfect smiles before. But the one right then?
Amazing.
And it only grew bigger when she bumbled out, “And you know I don’t just mean ‘like,’ right? I mean like. Like, like, like.”
UGH—WHY WAS SHE SO BAD AT THIS?
Fitz laughed and took her other hand, holding on in a way that felt different from all the other times they’d held hands before—like he was never going to let her go again. Which miraculously stopped her from saying “like” anymore.
It might’ve stopped her from ever talking again. Especially when she realized his eyes were now focused on her lips.
“Sooooo . . .” He dragged out the word. “What do we do now?”
Sophie had ideas.
Lots of ideas.
But then Fitz dropped her hands and clutched his chest, blowing out a breath.
“Oh no—is it your echo?” she gasped, reaching for him in case he needed help regaining his balance.
“I’m fine,” he promised through another slow exhale. “Better than fine.”
He glanced down to his heart, where she hadn’t realized her hand now rested.
And they were standing even closer.
So, so close.
They’d barely have to move, if they wanted to . . .
But Sophie couldn’t seem to find the courage to close that last bit of space. Because this was Fitz, and it was everything, and . . . what if she was bad at it? The only other time she’d done it hadn’t exactly gone well. And if she had to see that kind of disappointment in his eyes, she—
“I have a new goal,” Fitz said quietly, interrupting her downward mental spiral. “I’m going to get you to trust me.”
Her eyes met his. “I do trust you.”
“Then trust this.” He reached up and cupped her cheek, and her triumphant heartbeat drowned out everything as her brain screamed, HE’S GOING TO KISS ME!
But right before their lips met, she realized hers wasn’t the only voice shouting in her head. And she stumbled back as pure terror stabbed into her brain, along with a transmission that made everything inside her freeze solid.
Silveny begging, SOPHIE! HELP! PAIN!
THIRTY-SIX
SORRY!” SOPHIE SAID, FEELING LIKE her heart was ripping in half when she saw the shock and hurt on Fitz’s face—but she’d have to deal with that later. “I have to go—Silveny’s in pain and begging for help.”
That was all the explanation she had time for as she sprinted for the reception hall’s door, transmitting, WHERE ARE YOU?
Silveny filled Sophie’s head with the same beach scenery she’d shown her several times before. HELP! PAIN! HURRY!
I’M ON MY WAY! Sophie promised, crashing into Tarina as she raced into the courtyard.
Tarina grabbed her shoulders, both to steady her and to stop her. “What’s going on?”
“I have to go,” Sophie said, thrashing to break free. “Silveny’s in trouble.”
Tarina tightened her hold. “Who’s Silveny?”
“I don’t have time to explain! Where’s the nearest cliff?” she asked Fitz as he caught up with them.
“You’re going to teleport?” he asked.
She nodded, hoping there was something closer than the bluffs they’d used the last time she teleported away from Everglen. She couldn’t afford to go running through the forest.
“I can levitate us high enough,” Fitz offered.
“You’re sure?”
When he promised he was, Sophie told him, “Let’s go.”
“Not without me.” Tarina released one of Sophie’s shoulders and grabbed Fitz’s arm in the same motion.
“Fine,” Sophie told her. “But we have to go now.”
Fitz wrapped his other arm around Sophie’s waist, and she let herself lean on him, soaking up his steady strength. For one second their eyes met, and Sophie released a relieved breath when she saw his hurt had been replaced with pure determination.
�
�Let’s go find her,” he said, floating them off the ground fast enough to leave Sophie’s stomach far behind.
“How high do you need?” he shouted over the wind.
“As high as you can go.”
“Why?” Tarina kicked her legs nervously as the scenery grew smaller and smaller. “Why aren’t we just doing that light leaping thing?”
“Because I don’t have a crystal with a facet leading where we’re going,” Sophie explained. “And this should be high enough, Fitz.” The air was much thinner and colder, and Everglen looked like a doll’s house. “Drop us.”
“DROP US?” Tarina repeated.
“It’ll be fine,” Sophie told her. “Just hang on to me.”
Fitz hugged Sophie tighter, and Tarina’s grip on her hand turned crushing as he counted to three and let them plummet.
Tarina unleashed a colorful array of Trollish words as the ground drew closer and closer—but Sophie tuned her out, focusing on the warmth gathering in her mind and the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Right before they would’ve splattered all over the courtyard, she blasted the burning energy out of her brain, splitting the air with a thunderous crack and dropping them into darkness.
“For the record, I’m not a fan of teleporting,” Tarina said, her voice hoarse and shaky as they drifted through the nothingness of the void.
“Almost over,” Fitz promised.
Sophie closed her eyes, concentrating on the beachy images that Silveny had sent her. But as the scene shifted into focus, she changed her mind, switching to mental images of Havenfield.
Thunder clapped again, sending them tumbling into the familiar pastures.
“What the—?” Grady shouted as Tarina yelled more colorful words.
“Is this where we’re supposed to be?” Fitz asked.
Sophie ignored them, stumbling to her feet and shouting, “Where’s Edaline?”
“Right here,” Edaline called out behind her, racing over from Verdi’s pasture. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie had to fight the sudden overwhelming urge to collapse into Edaline’s arms and sob as she told her, “Silveny’s in pain.”
Flashback (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 7) Page 43
