Find a solution.
“What about incubators?” she asked, pulling away from Fitz to pace. “Couldn’t we put the babies—”
“If they were several weeks older, yes,” Vika cut in. “But given how early it is in the pregnancy and the vitals I’m detecting for the babies, unfortunately, they’re not going to make it.”
“So we don’t even try?” Sophie snapped back.
“Of course we will. I’ll do everything in my power. But there are certain rules in nature that cannot be cheated. You need to prepare yourself for today to be a very hard day.”
Tears burned Sophie’s eyes and she blinked them back. “And there’s no way we can just . . . stop the labor?”
“Not when the contractions are already five minutes apart,” Vika told her.
“But even if you’d gotten us here earlier,” Stina added quietly, “I doubt it would’ve helped. See how low the babies have dropped?” She pointed to Silveny’s stomach. “I bet Silveny’s been having contractions for several days. So . . . don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
That was the nicest, most considerate thing that Stina had ever said to her. And it nearly broke Sophie apart.
If Stina was trying to comfort her . . .
“Hey,” Fitz said, stepping closer and offering his shoulder, not seeming to care at all that she’d just pushed him away.
Sophie sank against him, tears soaking his cape as she clung as tightly to him as he clung to her.
“There’s seriously nothing you can do?” Fitz asked, his voice shaky with tears of his own. “What if we bring Elwin here, or Livvy, or—”
“You can bring as many physicians as you want,” Vika interrupted. “They’ll all tell you the same thing. We’re going to lose these babies—heartbreaking and devastating as that is. And we can’t let that break our focus. We still have a victory to claim today. We’ve arrived with enough time to save Silveny—and that is incredibly fortunate. I don’t think you realize how often we lose the mother in these kinds of situations. And the babies are also well positioned, so we should even be able to preserve her ability to conceive—which is far better than I imagined when I realized we’d be facing this challenge. So let’s try to focus on that—on pulling Silveny through this and giving her a second chance at being a mother someday. It means we’ll also have another chance to reset the Timeline to Extinction.”
“Extinction?” Tarina repeated, crouching to study Silveny. “So these are the creatures I’ve heard reports of.”
“The last of their kind,” Timkin agreed.
Tarina scratched her chin. “Then these aren’t normal babies. . . .”
“No,” Vika murmured. “A lot of hopes have been resting on them. But . . . as long as nothing goes terribly wrong today, the alicorns will have another chance.”
“They may not want it,” Sophie warned, glancing at Grady and Edaline, who seemed to be very interested in the way she was all wrapped up in Fitz. And she couldn’t bring herself to care. “You guys know what it’s like to lose a child. Silveny and Greyfell are about to lose two.”
“It will be brutal,” Edaline agreed, moving closer, trailing gentle fingers through Sophie’s hair. “This kind of grief . . . There are no words for it. But Silveny is strong. She couldn’t have survived so long on her own if she wasn’t. And she has Greyfell. And you. And all of us. She has a whole world ready to do whatever she needs to get through. So it will be hard, and it will likely take time, but . . . she won’t let this loss break her.”
Sophie wanted to believe her.
But she felt broken, and she wasn’t even the one about to lose two babies.
“There might be another option,” Tarina said, her voice soft and chirpy.
Sophie stumbled away from everyone to face her. “What do you mean?”
Tarina leaned closer. “I can’t answer that question unless you agree to our alliance—and I promise I’m not saying that to force your hand. The information I’d have to share beyond what I’ve just said . . . I can’t share it unless you’ve sworn to protect it. And even then, it leaves my people vulnerable in ways you wouldn’t be able to imagine. So I need your word that you’re with us—truly with us. Otherwise I can’t take that risk.”
“Should we be concerned that they’re speaking in a language we can’t understand?” Timkin asked, making Sophie realize Tarina had shifted them to Trollish.
“They do that sometimes,” Grady told him, with a casualness that didn’t match the knowing glance he aimed at Sophie.
And Timkin didn’t look convinced.
But Sophie would worry about that later.
“If I agree to your alliance, what exactly do I get?” she asked Tarina in her language.
Tarina glanced at Silveny, studying her for a long second before she told Sophie, “If we act quickly enough, my people and I can save these babies.”
“How?” Sophie demanded, trying to fight the hope that was already sparking to life inside her. She was still speaking in Trollish, but Sophie felt the need to lower her voice when she continued, “How can you save Silveny’s babies?”
Tarina sighed. “I told you, I can’t share that information until you agree to an alliance.”
“And how am I supposed to believe you if you won’t give me any proof?” Sophie argued. “You heard why Vika thinks it’s hopeless. What can you do that she can’t?”
“Many things,” Tarina promised.
Sophie shook her head. “You have to do better than that. You’re asking me to commit treason—”
“No, I’m asking you to promise you’ll be there for my people should we ever need your help—like you were there for the gnomes when the ogres and Neverseen came after them.”
“I didn’t have an alliance with the gnomes when I did that,” Sophie reminded her. “It was just the right thing to do.”
“And I’m sure that’s how you’ll feel about any favors we might ask. We do not take advantage of our allies or call on them unless it is absolutely necessary. My empress simply likes to be prepared—likes to know that she has made whatever arrangements she can to keep her people safe. She’s also happy to repay any loyalty shown to her—which is why I know she’d allow me to make this offer. But I’m still going out on a limb by making it without asking for permission—and I’m taking that risk because I realize that time is of the utmost in this situation—and that applies to you as well. If you waver too long on this decision, I won’t be able to help save these babies. But I also can’t go any further without securing your commitment. So think fast, Sophie.”
“How do I even agree?” Sophie wondered. “Am I supposed to take some sort of oath? Sign my name in blood?”
“You’re supposed to give me your word. I know you wouldn’t make that kind of promise without meaning it. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would’ve just agreed, taken what you wanted, and backed out later. But that’s not who you are—and it’s not who we are either. If you make us this commitment, we will do all we can to honor it from our end. Not just in this instance.”
Sophie looked away, noting the mix of curious and suspicious faces watching them very closely—especially Fitz, who looked like he’d guessed at least part of what they were saying.
“You guys okay?” Grady asked.
Sophie nodded. “I’m just . . . asking Tarina about trollish medicine to see if they have anything that might help.”
Edaline straightened. “Do they?”
“I’m trying to think,” Tarina told her, shifting back to Trollish before she told Sophie, “Brilliant cover. You’ve now laid the groundwork for the story we would need to craft should you accept my help. And not to add pressure to you—but there are a number of steps we’ll have to take, and the alicorn is already beginning to stir again.”
Sophie’s gaze darted back to Silveny, and her stomach twisted when she saw that Tarina was right. Silveny was making tiny movements—mostly leg twitches and tail flicks. But it
was only a matter of time before she’d be thrashing again. Sophie had seen enough human movies and TV shows to know how messy and painful birth could be. And to think that at the end of it, instead of getting to nuzzle her new babies, Silveny would have to face the overwhelming grief of knowing they were gone . . .
“You’re sure you can save them?” she whispered in Trollish.
Tarina sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair of me to make a guarantee, since what I’m offering has obviously never been tested on anything beyond my own species. But it should work. And it’s the best chance you have.”
The only chance.
And didn’t Silveny deserve it?
The Council might even agree, given how much they cared about the Timeline to Extinction—not that Sophie could tell them what she was doing.
She wished Mr. Forkle was there to weigh in with his opinions—or that he’d at least gotten back to her with the results of his research.
This was all happening too fast.
She couldn’t do it on her own.
And maybe she didn’t have to.
Her focus shifted back to Fitz, who now had a deep crinkle between his eyebrows. She could tell he wasn’t telepathically eavesdropping—but he clearly wanted to be.
Trust me, she transmitted to him, before glancing back at Tarina. “The thing you need to understand,” she said in Trollish, “is that it wasn’t just me who saved the gnomes that day in Ravagog. So if you want an alliance with me, you’re going to need to let me be open about it with my friends. I’m not saying I’ll spill every single secret. But I don’t work alone. And I can’t commit to something that requires me to lie to everyone.”
Tarina let out a heavy breath, smoothing the thick green strands of her hair. “I suppose we can leave that mostly to your judgment—with the understanding that we’ll need to establish some boundaries once we’re not so pressed for time.”
Sophie nodded.
“Was that an agreement?” Tarina asked. “Because I’m going to need something a bit clearer than that.”
Sophie swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on Silveny to remind herself why she was doing this. “Okay, we have an alliance. Now tell me how we save Silveny’s babies.”
“Perhaps we should go somewhere with a bit less of an audience,” Tarina suggested, her eyes flicking to Timkin, who’d gone from looking suspicious to looking seriously concerned.
When Sophie nodded, Tarina switched back to the Enlightened Language and said, “We’re going to take a quick walk so I can contact my empress.”
Edaline sucked in a breath. “Does that mean you’ve thought of something that might help?”
“It’s possible,” Tarina agreed. “And I realize time is of the essence, so if there’s anything you can do to slow the progress of the alicorn’s labor—do it. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sophie could feel everyone’s stunned stares trying to hold her there like mental tractor beams. But no one argued as Tarina led her down the beach, their feet kicking up sand as they tried to hurry without seeming frantic—even though Sophie had never felt so impatient.
She managed to wait until they’d rounded a bend and left Silveny’s cove for a wider, rockier stretch of shoreline. Then she reeled on Tarina and whisper-hissed, “Okay, what’s the plan?”
“It’s best if we continue in my language, just to be safe,” Tarina warned, and the chirpiness of the words made it clear she’d already switched. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a few eavesdroppers. Your boyfriend in particular.”
“He’s not my boyfr—” Sophie started to tell her, but she cut herself off when she realized that might not actually be true.
Fitz had almost kissed her.
And he’d told her he wanted to find her name on his match lists.
And she’d told him she’d liked him forever.
And he’d been so helpful and amazing ever since.
But . . . none of that actually meant they were dating.
She wasn’t even sure if she was ready to date Fitz, knowing it would cause all kinds of changes—new rules from her parents, possible drama among their friends.
But that definitely wasn’t what she should be thinking about at the moment. So she shoved all those complicated new worries into another mental box she’d deal with later and asked again in Tarina’s language, “How do we save Silveny’s babies?”
Tarina turned to watch the dark waves crashing against the shore. “This is likely going to sound very strange. But remember when I told you that those in my species are hatched when they’re born and you assumed I meant hatching from eggs?”
Sophie nodded. “You made it sound like eggs weren’t really a part of it.”
“They’re not,” Tarina agreed. “At least not the way you might be picturing them. Our young do not develop inside any sort of shell, like birds or reptiles. Instead the process is much closer to marsupials. And what I mean by that is, our babies are born at an incredibly early stage—but instead of moving to a pouch to develop, they’re implanted into a hive, where they can finish developing and grow to a proper size.”
“A hive,” Sophie repeated, her mind immediately conjuring up images of giant beehives filled with thousands of unborn trolls thrashing around inside honeycomb shells waiting to burst into the world as violent newborns—and she really hoped her brain was wrong. “So . . . you’re thinking we’d put Silveny’s babies into the hive and let them finish growing in there?”
Tarina nodded. “The hive should be able to provide them with everything they need to reach viability.”
“Okay, so . . . how do we do that?” Sophie wondered. “We can’t move Silveny—”
“No, we’ll need to retrieve two of our transport pods.”
“Transport pods.” Sophie knew she needed to stop repeating everything Tarina was saying like a parrot. But her brain seemed to require that extra second to process.
“Think of them like portable wombs,” Tarina told her. “Something our scientists invented in order to ensure that every baby reached the hive with enough time to be safely implanted with the rest of the colony. Before them, we used to lose a few babies every year. It’s strange how nature sometimes isn’t enough, don’t you think? Strange that we have to invent ways to survive something that should be automatic—like what’s happening with your alicorn. You would think her body wouldn’t have become pregnant with twins unless it could support them. But . . . sometimes nature needs a little help.”
Sophie couldn’t think of what to say to any of that, so she went with a nod—and tried her best not to look thoroughly grossed out. It wasn’t fair to be bothered by something just because it was different from what she considered normal. But it wasn’t easy when Tarina was using words like “pods” and “colony” and “implanted”—all of which sounded like something straight out of human science fiction and made her think of aliens or giant bugs.
“If it helps,” Tarina told her, “I had a similar reaction the first time I learned that some creatures have bellies that stretch and bulge as the baby develops fully inside them, and then the mother has to push the baby out through a process that looks rather slimy and painful.”
When she put it that way, it definitely didn’t sound a whole lot better.
“I think I’m never having kids,” Sophie decided.
Tarina laughed. “I’m pretty sure we all feel that way at some point.”
“Probably,” Sophie said, shaking her head to clear away the biological horror show going on in her brain.
It didn’t matter how weird it all sounded.
It only mattered that it worked.
“Okay, so . . . two questions,” Sophie told Tarina. “Where do we get the pods? And why was this such a big secret that I had to swear to an alliance before you’d tell me? Isn’t a lot of what you just explained something I’ll be taught in school someday?”
“Well, I doubt your mentors will get quite as specific. But . . . the answer to both questions i
s related. Our birthing process is not a secret. But the location of our hive definitely is, and that’s where we keep the transport pods. And bringing you there also requires me to reveal something that’s beyond classified. Something I doubt our empress ever planned on sharing. That’s why this is such a risk. The only way to help you means . . . revealing the identity of our other elvin ally since the hive is at their property.”
Sophie felt her eyes stretch wide.
Tarina nodded. “I figured that might be your reaction. And I won’t waste time making you renew your promise for secrecy. I’m trusting you to keep your word. I also won’t waste time sharing the whole lengthy history. All you really need to know is that several thousand years ago, our hive was raided by ogres. We managed to fight them off and maintain control of our lands. But in that one night, we lost an entire generation.” She lowered her head, giving those ancient losses a moment of silence. “And after we’d buried our dead, we realized how vulnerable we were. The ogres knew what our hive looked like now. They’d never stop until they found it again. And while our empress considered turning to your Council for protection, she’d already seen how little help they gave the gnomes after the ogres stole their homeland. And she feared her people would fare as poorly. She’d also seen the brilliant illusions that were hiding your cities in plain sight. And she realized that was what we needed—that extra layer of clever camouflage to keep our hive secret. So instead of speaking with your Councillors, she approached the elf who was directly responsible for concealing your world.”
Sophie grabbed her arm, feeling like the earth had just tilted sharply. “Please tell me you’re not talking about Vespera.”
She couldn’t breathe again until Tarina told her, “No. My empress allied with the elf who actually implemented the illusions, since she was the one we’d need in order to veil our hive.”
The earth tilted the other way as Sophie realized there was only one person Tarina could mean—the name Tarina confirmed a second later.
Luzia Vacker.
Flashback (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 7) Page 45
