But if Elwin and Tiergan didn’t see anything wrong, she had to believe that she was fine. She couldn’t worry about one more thing.
“I think you should go home and rest,” Sandor suggested.
“If I go home early, Grady and Edaline will worry—and they’re dealing with enough right now. I’m fine, really.” Sophie stood up to prove it. “How hard is it to sit through an hour of study hall?”
Sandor’s glare didn’t falter, but Elwin nodded. “I guess you can rest here until the end of the session—but you’re going to rest. And I’m going to check a few more things as you do.”
“Deal.”
“I don’t like this,” Sandor grumbled. Everyone ignored him.
Tiergan excused himself, promising to see Sophie on Thursday and ordering her to hail him if she needed anything. She nodded as she lay back down on the cot and closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of Elwin’s fingers snapping. She used the time to try and think of a plan for helping Alden. Her only possible lead was her old journal—but she had no idea what happened to it. The elves wouldn’t have left any trace of her existence for humans to find. Would they have destroyed the things she left? Or brought them back to the Lost Cities?
She really hoped it was the latter, but she wasn’t sure how to find out. Usually she went to Alden with those kind of questions. Who else would know?
The Councillors would—but she couldn’t exactly hail them on her Imparter and ask for a favor, could she?
She still hadn’t come up with an answer when the bells chimed the end of session. Sandor tried one last time to convince her to go home, but Sophie thanked Elwin—promised she would call him if she felt even the slightest headache—and headed to study hall in the glass pyramid. Dex waved her over to the table he’d saved.
Sophie grinned as she took the chair across from him and got a better look at his hair. It looked like he’d stuck his head out a car window going ninety miles an hour down the freeway. “How was ability detecting?”
“So annoying. They were testing to see if we were Gusters, so we basically spent two hours in a wind tunnel.”
That explained the hair. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in and whispered, “You could be taking technopathy instead.”
“Yeah, and be studying the stupidest ability ever,” he whispered back.
“It’s not stupid—it’s awesome. Have you at least told your parents?”
“No. My dad would tell everyone, trying to prove that his son’s not Talentless like he is.”
“Or maybe because he’d be proud of you. It’s an amazing ability.”
“Yeah, right. I can play with gadgets—who cares?”
“I do. That iPod trick you set up for me was so cool. I never thanked you for that, by the way.”
Dex’s cheeks turned bright pink.
“Ooh, are we making Dex blush?” Marella asked as she grabbed the seat next to Dex. “That’s one of my favorite games.”
“Mine too,” Keefe said, snatching the seat on the other side of Sophie. “Though it’s also fun making Foster blush.”
Sophie felt her face get hot and he smirked at her.
“See?”
“Mr. Sencen!” Sir Rosings—the Mentor monitoring study hall—called, slamming his skinny arm on his desk. “Would you like me to extend your detention?”
“Tempting. But I think I’ll pass.”
The room erupted with giggles as Sir Rosings glared at Keefe—or Sophie assumed he was glaring. It was hard to tell. He had the kind of face that looked like he’d just licked a lemon.
“Shouldn’t you be sitting with the Level Fives?” Dex hissed as Jensi dragged over a chair.
“Nah, somebody had to keep Foster company.” Keefe scooted his chair closer to Sophie’s—earning himself an eyeroll from Dex—and pulled out one of his textbooks, flipping through the pages so quickly Sophie doubted he was reading them. He may have had a photographic memory, but even she couldn’t learn that fast.
“Hey,” Keefe whispered, nudging Sophie with his arm but keeping his eyes glued to his book. “Do you know what’s going on with Alden?”
“I . . . um . . . have you talked to Fitz?”
“He isn’t answering his Imparter.”
“Oh. Yeah. He’s . . . got a lot going on.”
“Aw, come on, Foster, don’t hold out on me. Every time anything weird happens, you’re always involved.”
Sophie knew he was joking, but there was a touch of truth to his words. Keefe must’ve felt her mood shift because he turned toward her. “Everything’s okay, right?”
Sophie bit her lip. “I think Fitz should be the one to tell you.”
“That’s another day of detention, Mr. Sencen,” Sir Rosings shouted. “And one for you, Miss Foster!”
“Ooh, we can be detention buddies again!” Keefe said as Sophie shot him a death glare and went back to her homework.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about Fitz.
He was home mourning his father. And she hadn’t even checked on him—or Biana.
She felt queasy just thinking about it—but she was their friend, and she couldn’t keep avoiding them just because she was afraid of what they might say.
They needed her now more than ever.
FORTY-ONE
SOPHIE SHIELDED HER EYES AS she approached the glowing gates, afraid of what might happen if she focused too intently on the light. Her light leap home from school had made her head fuzzy, and leaping to Everglen had made it even worse.
Or maybe it was the nerves.
All the hairs on her arms were sticking straight up, and her knees knocked together as the gates swung open. Edaline—who’d been spending most days there—gave her a sad smile as she held out her hand. Sophie took it, leaning on her as they made the long trek to the house.
“Sophie Foster returns,” Alvar said, appearing out of thin air from his spot on the steps outside the mansion. “Welcome to the most miserable place on earth.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Especially with the raspy, eerie song ringing in the background. “What’s that sound?”
“My mom. Today she’s singing.”
“Singing?”
Alvar sighed. “My mom studied music with the dwarves. She thinks it’ll bring my dad back. Just like making his favorite foods should’ve done yesterday and showing him every picture we’ve ever taken the day before.”
“It’s hard to let go,” Edaline whispered, wiping a tear. “I’d better go check on her. Will you be okay?” she asked Sophie, and Sophie nodded, even though she felt anything but okay.
“You came to see Fitz and Biana?” Alvar asked, motioning for her to take the seat next to him.
“Yeah—if they’ll see me.”
He shrugged. “Everyone handles this stuff differently. My mom’s trying to ‘fix’ it. Biana’s hiding and not talking to anyone. And Fitz is trying to figure out who’s to blame.”
“Me,” she whispered, feeling tears burn her eyes when Alvar nodded.
“And Prentice. And the Council. He’s basically mad at the world.”
Sophie watched Alvar shoo away a fly that was buzzing around his face. She felt about as small and unwanted.
“Should I not go in, then?”
“No, you’re here. You should see them. Maybe it’ll help. Something has to.”
That left her no choice but to get up and head inside. But before she opened the door, she turned back to Alvar. “How are you doing?”
He smoothed his hair and gave her a weak smile. “It’s one day at a time.”
SOPHIE HAD HOPED FITZ AND Biana would be separate, so she could talk to them each alone. But she could hear them both in Everglen’s gigantic kitchen and had no choice but to head there and face the firing squad.
Biana froze when she saw her, turning into a Biana statue that didn’t move, didn’t blink, and barely breathed. That was way better than Fitz, though. He slammed his bottle of lushberry juice on the table as he stood and snapp
ed, “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . just wanted to check on you guys and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“No—you’ve done enough, thanks.”
The words stung, but she’d heard them before. And she’d been expecting them. She’d thought about telling them she might have found a way to fix Alden, but it wasn’t right to get their hopes up until she knew for sure. So she went with the answer she’d practiced, reminding herself that she was there to help them. “If you want to blame me, go ahead—”
“Wow, I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” Fitz interrupted.
Sophie ignored him, sticking to the script she’d rehearsed the whole walk there. “I just want you to know that I know you’re going through a lot and . . . if blaming me makes that easier for you—do it. You don’t have to feel bad later or apologize. I understand.”
“Oh, you understand?” He laughed and glanced at Biana, but she was still in stunned statue mode. “So you really get why I’m mad, then?”
She didn’t, but her best guess was, “Because I went to Exile with him instead of you, and you think that would’ve changed something.”
“No. Because you went with him even though you were hiding the fact that your brain has problems!”
“What?”
He stalked closer. “You told me that day—when you did that weird thing with the blinking. You told me you were getting headaches. And you told me you were going to talk to Elwin. But I asked Elwin. He had no idea. Not until you came back faded. And I’m guessing my dad didn’t know either—did he?”
“No,” Sophie mumbled, trying to sort through the questions and memories and horrifying possibilities that were crashing around her head.
Was he right? Did that make it worse?
“That’s what I thought,” Fitz growled. “So you let him bring you, let him trust you with his life, and you never warned him something might be wrong.”
“I told him I didn’t want to do it but he said it had to be me!”
“Yeah, well, maybe he wouldn’t have said that if he’d known you were damaged!”
The word felt like a slap in the face.
Damaged.
Was that what she was?
“I think that’s enough, little brother,” Alvar said, appearing in the room. Sophie’s head was spinning too much for her to wonder how long he’d been there. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if she was damaged.
Fitz rolled his eyes and mumbled something about his brother being clueless as he grabbed Biana’s hand and dragged her out of the room.
“You okay?” Alvar asked as Sophie fought back her tears. She tried to nod, but she was afraid if she moved, she might crumple to the floor in a heap.
Alvar moved closer and grabbed her shoulders. “Hey. Don’t let what he said get to you. Even if he’s right—which I doubt he is—it was guilt that broke my dad. Guilt for something that happened a long, long time ago—before you were even born.”
But she was the reason behind that too.
Alvar sighed. “Look, I don’t know how to make you believe me but just . . . remember, if you fall apart, then all of this was a waste. Breaking Prentice led us to you—and my dad always believed you were the key to everything. It’s why he worked so hard to find you. So if you let the guilt break you, then everything he did was for nothing. Do you want that?”
“No,” Sophie whispered, repeating his words until they cleared the fog from her head. “You’re right—I won’t let this break me.”
“Good,” he whispered back.
He seemed to realize he was still holding her shoulders and let her go, dropping his arms to his sides. “You should probably head home. Before my idiot brother starts any more drama.”
She nodded, but not because she was afraid of seeing Fitz. She needed to get home and come up with a plan—a real one this time.
Alden gave up everything to save her. It was time she did the same for him.
FORTY-TWO
AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?” Grady asked, peeking through her doorway.
Sophie scrambled to close her notebook as he made his way into her room. “Nope. Just . . . doing homework.”
She’d actually been listing the pros and cons of all the Councillors, trying to figure out who was the best one to ask for help finding her journal. Something the Black Swan didn’t want her to know was in there. Maybe it would tell her what they were really about.
Grady sat on the edge of her bed. “Edaline said things got a bit tense at Everglen today—or that was what Alvar told her.”
Sophie looked away. “It’s fine. I was expecting it.”
She figured he was going to give her some long lecture on patience and forgiveness, but all he said was, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
He tugged at the collar of his cape. “I really hate wearing these ridiculous clothes.”
He unfastened the pin securing the two ends around his neck and let it slide off his shoulders to the floor. Then he undid the laces on his jerkin, and the top button of the collared shirt underneath. “We all have to do things that are unpleasant sometimes. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” His eyes dropped to his hands. “Bronte’s planning something very difficult for your session tomorrow. Something the Councillors and I . . . well . . . He says it’s necessary. And there’s a chance it won’t even work, but I want you to take this with you tomorrow in case you need it.” He handed her a small vial filled with a milky white liquid.
“Dex and Kesler made it just for you. They said this one was especially hard to do without the limbium, but they found a way. It won’t be quite as effective, but it should help you clear away any darkness.”
“Darkness?” Sophie could hear the tremble in her voice.
He didn’t clarify. Just squeezed her shoulder and told her that Elwin was there for her if she needed him. Which only made her more nervous. What was Bronte going to do to her?
“Get some sleep,” he told her as he grabbed his cape and left her alone in her room.
She stared at the tiny white bottle in her hands.
Yeah—like she was ever going to be able to sleep now.
HER INFLICTING SESSION WAS AT the very top floor of the Silver Tower—so high that Sophie lost count as she followed Master Leto. The room was bare except for a gleaming silver throne, which Bronte didn’t even bother getting up from as she entered.
“Isn’t it customary to curtsy when approaching a Councillor?” he asked as Sophie tried to figure out where to stand.
“Sorry, Sir—Councillor Bronte.” Sophie dipped an awkward curtsy as Bronte shook his pointy-eared head.
Bronte turned to Master Leto. “No matter what you hear, you would be wise not to investigate unless I call for you. Otherwise I will not be responsible for your pain.”
“Understood.” Master Leto gave a quick bow before he turned to leave, and Sophie tried to convince herself she’d imagined the look of pity in his eyes.
She dropped her satchel in the corner and leaned against the cold metal wall opposite Bronte, crossing her arms and giving him her best, you don’t scare me look. She had a feeling it wasn’t very convincing. Especially when he smiled.
He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in his throne. “Let’s be honest, Miss Foster. You’re here because your creators—in their infinite absurdity—decided to give an insolent, uneducated girl the ability to inflict pain. And I’m here to make sure you don’t abuse your power.”
A dozen angry retorts pressed against her lips, but Sophie bit them back. She knew Bronte was pushing her, trying to get her to slip up so he’d have a reason to expel her.
He scowled, probably annoyed she hadn’t fallen for his trick. “I hear you’re not a fan of this ability. Is that true?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“And why is that?”
Because it’s scary. And cruel. But all she said was, “Because I don’t like hurting people.”
&
nbsp; “And I suppose you’d rather make everyone feel happy and loved.”
“Is that possible?”
“Once again your ignorance astounds me. Only negative emotions can be inflicted, Sophie. Fear and pain and hopelessness work best. Though anger works too.” He crossed his arms. “Well, go ahead, then.”
“Go ahead, what?”
“What do you think?”
“You want me to inflict on . . . you?”
“Do you see anyone else here?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask you again, Sophie.”
Not sure what else to do, she closed her eyes and tried to muster up the right amount of rage. It was hard with no impetus.
Bronte’s sigh was so loud she was surprised it didn’t shake the walls. “That’s what I figured.”
“I don’t know—”
“Oh, no need for explanation. I’d expected nothing less. You have no knowledge or appreciation for your talent, because it doesn’t occur naturally. They just twisted your genes, giving you any powers they wanted with no rhyme or reason. And now the Council wants you to harness a power that your mind doesn’t understand. Which is why I’ve had to come up with a way to help you learn how to interpret it.”
Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore there was glee in his eyes as he lunged for her, pinning her against the wall.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying—and failing—to squirm away.
“Something several of the Councillors think I won’t be able to do.”
He closed his eyes and his hands started to shake.
“You’re going to inflict on me?”
He didn’t reply—but the icy darkness that seeped into her head told her she was right. She shivered as the cold gnashed at her mind with sharp teeth, pressing and scraping and thrashing. But the pain wasn’t unbearable. It didn’t leave her doubled over on the floor, flailing and writhing, like the other people she’d inflicted on.
Bronte gasped for breath and the force changed, turning bright and hot. It melted the darkness, consuming everything it touched like fire. The harder Sophie tried to fight the heat, the hotter it burned. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a trickle of the fire pushed deeper.
Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities) Page 25
