Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3)

by Shannon Messenger

  “Who else is on the list?” Fitz asked.

  “Alden volunteered, of course.”

  Sophie shook her head so hard it hurt. “He’s still too fragile.”

  “I agree,” Tiergan told her. “Which leaves just three possibilities: Fitz. Quinlin Sonden. And myself.”

  That . . . wasn’t a very long list.

  “I don’t know Quinlin well enough,” Sophie said slowly. He’d been the one to perform the actual memory break on Prentice—and also discovered Sophie’s existence. But she’d only met him once, in his office in Atlantis, after the Councillors had ordered her to have her memories probed. The whole process had been very unnerving.

  “So that leaves Fitz and myself,” Tiergan said quietly. “And before you decide, I’d like to say one thing. Of course I’d be more than happy to guide you, Sophie. But honestly? I think the wisest choice would be Fitz.”

  “You do?” Sandor and Fitz asked at the same time.

  “Why?” Sophie asked.

  Tiergan smiled. “I know Fitz isn’t as experienced as I am. And I know he’s your friend and you want to protect him. But you and Fitz have a very strong—very special—connection. I’ve seen you transmit to him anywhere, and with more ease than when we’ve tried with other prodigies. And let’s not forget that you were able to reach him halfway across the world—while your mind was drugged and dazed, no less.”

  “I’m pretty sure panic and desperation helped with that,” Sophie argued.

  “I have no doubt it did. But it also says quite a lot that you chose to reach out to him. You trusted him with your life. And that’s the kind of bond you should have with your guide.”

  Fitz leaned closer, making her suck in a breath with the intensity to his stare. “Please let me help you, Sophie.”

  He looked so much like his father in that moment, and Sophie couldn’t help remembering Alden collapsed on the floor, his face streaked with red . . .

  “Last time was so awful,” she whispered.

  “I know. But I’m not carrying around a huge load of guilt like my dad was. I promise, I can handle this. Have I ever let you down?”

  He had, actually, a few weeks back when he’d blamed her for what happened to Alden.

  But he was also the boy who’d shown up on her class field trip and shown her where she really belonged. The one who’d let her cry on his shoulder when she had to leave her family, and who’d gone out searching for her in the middle of nowhere, just because he’d heard her voice in his head.

  “Okay,” she said quietly, hoping she wouldn’t regret the decision. “So what do we do next?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  TIERGAN SPENT THE REST OF their session explaining his new “Guide Safety Procedures.” The two primary rules were, “make eye contact every few minutes” and “don’t do anything without warning.” He also insisted that they “communicate in code,” so that if Fintan’s mind became conscious at any point, he wouldn’t know what they were doing.

  Their homework was to create their code words, and have them memorized by their telepathy session on Thursday. It took them all of study hall to create their list—though that was mostly because their friends kept interrupting. Dex kept grumbling about Telepaths. Biana kept begging to use her ability to sneak into the healing. And Keefe kept interrupting with unhelpful suggestions like, “snickerdoodle” and “hippity hop” and “Keefe is the awesome Lord of Everything.” Only Jensi and Marella left them alone, though Sophie could tell they felt left out. But she wasn’t dragging any more of her friends into all her drama.

  The commands they finally picked were:

  “Alden”: No reason to worry

  “Mallowmelt”: I found something good

  “Dame Alina”: I’m in trouble

  “Verminion”: Get out as fast as you can

  “Everblaze”: I’m going to use a brain push

  Fitz hadn’t understood why Sophie wanted a code word about brain pushes. But she’d used the rare method of channeling during Fintan’s memory break, and it happened right before everything went wrong. Part of her kept wondering if the two elements were connected.

  Hopefully she wouldn’t need to take such an extreme measure this time, but in case she did, she wanted Fitz to be warned and ready.

  She was going to protect him every way she could.

  Sophie had figured her friends would want to come over after school, but Biana and Dex both got a ton of homework from their ability sessions, and Tiergan gave Fitz concentration exercises to practice. Even Keefe was stuck doing some sort of Empath practice with his dad. And with Grady still not home, and Edaline outside giving the verminion a bath, Sophie ended up roaming her empty house, trying to figure out where they would’ve put Jolie’s old school things.

  There weren’t a lot of places to check. The downstairs was mostly one big open space, with no closets or cupboards or even any drawers. And half of the second floor was Grady and Edaline’s room—which Sophie honestly wasn’t sure if she was allowed to go into. So unless there was an attic she didn’t know about, the only places left were Grady and Edaline’s offices, and Sophie had a feeling Edaline’s was the better bet. It was the Place Where Stuff Goes to Die, after all.

  Sandor had to help her push open the door, because a huge bin of unopened letters was blocking most of it. And the office inside was far worse than Sophie remembered. She’d never seen so many trunks and boxes in one place, all stacked into chaotic piles and draped with more junk, turning the room into a dusty maze.

  “One trunk at a time,” Sophie whispered, opening the one closest to her.

  A cloud of dust made her choke as she sifted through the tangle of silky lavender fabric inside. Sophie thought they were dresses, but when she pulled one out she realized they were tablecloths, edged with pearls and frilly lace. The trunk next to that held the same, and the one after that appeared to be the matching napkins. When the last trunk in the stack had diamond napkin rings, Sophie decided to move to a different spot.

  Hours passed with more of the same, and Sophie was fairly certain the labyrinth was stretching around her, trapping her with the endless supply of dusty party decorations for the rest of her days. Her nose itched and her back ached but she forced herself to keep going, working through two more chests of crystal goblets before she opened a small black trunk stuffed with books and scrolls.

  The Foxfire seal on a notebook made her heart triple in speed.

  But when she looked closer she realized they were from Jolie’s early levels. Pages of boring lecture notes from elvin history and multispeciesial studies—many with doodles in the margins of a boy who looked like the photos she’d seen of Brant. There were stacks of sketchbooks, too, filled with gorgeous renderings of landscapes, and creatures, and other prodigies at school. Sophie had never realized Jolie was so talented—and she’d never realized she was a Conjurer. But she found The Elemental Guide to Conjuring and Translocation with worn pages covered in hundreds of notes written in Jolie’s loopy writing.

  It was eye-opening and fascinating. But not particularly useful. And Sophie was about to move on to another chest when she noticed a crunched red scroll at the bottom, tied with gleaming gold ribbon and bearing a strange seal: two hands with fingers intertwined, their wrists bound with golden threads.

  It took several tries to untie the extra tight knot in the ribbon, but when Sophie finally unrolled the scroll she found five curled pages, all stamped at the top with the same seal. Underneath in a fancy, frilly script it said:

  By Official Arrangement of the Matchmakers:

  Matches for Jolie Ruewen

  Every scroll had a date at the top—each one exactly a month older than the last—and a title that implied the matches had been ranked. The first page said: Top Tier, the one after it: Second Contenders, followed by: Third Considerations, then: Fourth Runners-Up, and lastly: Fi
nal Alternatives. And underneath each heading was a list of one hundred names—five hundred different matches to choose from overall.

  Sophie scanned the names, surprised that number thirty-seven on Jolie’s Top Tier matches was someone named Ollie Heks, who must be Stina’s uncle or cousin or something. Also on that page were two different Vackers—Benesh Vacker at number twenty-four, and Harlin Vacker at number seventy-seven—though neither were names Sophie recognized. In fact, none of the names seemed familiar, and it took her a minute to realize what that meant.

  She rechecked each scroll, making sure her photographic memory hadn’t failed her—but it was exactly like she’d remembered.

  Five hundred names on the scrolls.

  Five hundred approved matches for Jolie.

  And Brant’s name wasn’t one of them.

  TWENTY-THREE

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” EDALINE asked from the doorway, making Sophie fumble and drop the scrolls. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “It’s okay,” Sophie told her, hoping she wasn’t in trouble for being in Edaline’s office. “I just thought this might be a good place to look for Jolie’s school things.”

  “Oh, I bet you’re right! This is where I usually stuff anything I don’t know what to do with.” Edaline clapped her hands, making an enormous crystal chandelier light the room—and reveal about a hundred more trunks that had been hidden in the shadows. “I’ve really let things get out of control in here, haven’t I? Hazard of being a Conjurer, I guess. It’s too easy to snap my fingers and make anything I don’t want to think about disappear.”

  She opened a nearby trunk and pulled out a garland of dangling diamonds and sparking amethysts and iridescent flowers that looked like they were woven from fairy wings.

  “Decorations for the wedding,” she explained quietly. “I’d been making everything myself to ensure it would be perfect. But now . . .”

  She crushed a fragile flower in her hand, showering the ground with sparkly crumbs.

  Sophie was still struggling to figure out how to respond, when Edaline cleared her throat and asked, “So have you found anything from Jolie?”

  “One trunk so far, but it’s all older stuff. It did have this, though.” Sophie showed her the matchmaker’s scrolls. “How come I couldn’t find Brant’s name?”

  Edaline looked away, taking several deep breaths before she whispered, “Because Brant and Jolie were a bad match.”

  Sophie frowned. “So . . . what, if you don’t marry someone on your list, it’s a bad match?”

  “Of course. How did you think it worked?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I figured you got a list that said, like, Do Not Marry These People. And if you chose to marry them anyway, it was a bad match.”

  “I suppose that would make it easier. But the only “good matches” are the ones the matchmakers arrange. That’s why you can request up to five lists—though most of us find our match on the first. Grady was my number three, and I was his number seven.”

  Sophie couldn’t help wondering who’d been their number ones as Edaline moved to her side and took the scrolls. Edaline traced her fingers along the names, shaking her head sadly. “Some of these options seem like such a wrong fit. And Jolie went back every month for a new list, hoping each time it would somehow have Brant’s name. But we all knew he wouldn’t be on there. Brant never manifested a special ability.”

  “Wait. People without special abilities can’t get married?”

  “No, they can. But they’re only matched with other Talentless.”

  “That seems . . . really unfair.”

  “Brant and Jolie thought so too. The whole point of the matchmaking system is to ensure the strongest genetic potential for our offspring. And I know that probably seems strange, given your upbringing. But you have to consider that there are a lot fewer of us than humans, and we live a very long time—without physically aging. Left to our own devices, it would be far too easy to end up forming an attachment to a distant relative.”

  “Ew.”

  “Exactly. Varying the gene pool is essential. The matchmakers also ensure that different talents and skin colors and body types are all mixing. And of course they also work hard to consider our own personal tastes and preferences. They receive centuries of training before they’re appointed to their positions. You’ll see how extensive the questionnaire is when you’re old enough to register. And until then, it’s best to try to keep an open mind.”

  Sophie definitely didn’t miss the part about her needing to register for matchmaking—but that was a prickly piece of weird her mind wasn’t ready to wrap around. So all she asked was, “What do you mean by an ‘open mind’?”

  “Just . . . try not to form too strong of an attachment to anyone until you receive your lists.” She was looking at Sophie’s ring as she said it.

  Sophie hid her hand behind her back.

  Edaline pretended not to notice as she crouched beside the trunk of wedding stuff and started sifting through.

  “Jolie was in love with Brant pretty much the moment they met,” she said, lifting out a huge knot of fancy garland and trying to untangle it. “She was six, and we were in a pet store in Atlantis, and they both wanted the same gremlin. Brant offered to let her have it, but Jolie suggested they share, and that was all it took. Instant best friends—completely inseparable. For years Grady and I watched them, hoping it would work out. Brant’s family was also in the Nobility, and we had no genetic connections—surely they would end up matched. But then Jolie manifested as a Conjurer, and Brant stayed in ability detecting. Poor boy tried so hard to manifest. His parents even hired extra tutors, and he’d work with them for hours, trying to trigger something—anything. But it never worked. And when it was time to register for the match, we all knew what would happen.”

  Edaline crunched more flowers on the garlands.

  “But they were still getting married,” Sophie reminded her.

  “They were. And Grady and I struggled with it at first—not because we didn’t adore Brant,” she added quickly, going back to sorting through the trunk. “I’d just seen what my sister went through when she married Kesler. All the whispers and the stares and the friends who started avoiding them. Bad matches don’t happen very often, so when they do, they draw lots of attention. And for years after, Juline was afraid to have children, worried something would turn out wrong with them. That’s why Dex is your age, and the triplets are even younger. Fortunately, they’re perfect and healthy—and I’m so happy to hear that Dex manifested an ability! That will make everything so much easier.”

  Something about Edaline’s smile made Sophie very aware again of the ring on her finger.

  “Ah, here it is,” Edaline said quietly, lifting out a fragile headpiece—swirls of gold and silver set with amethysts and pearls and diamonds—and holding it up to the light. “Grady and I gave this to Jolie the day we finally consented to the wedding. We’d watched her yell at the matchmakers enough to know there would be no changing her mind. She loved Brant so much. But we still had one condition. We asked her to take the elite levels, even though Brant couldn’t be with her.”

  That explained why Brant had written Jolie so many love letters while she’d been at the elite towers. And probably why he’d talked about feeling unworthy of her.

  “She was so mad at us,” Edaline whispered. “Accused us of trying to separate them so they’d fall out of love. But I told her that this was what my parents had asked of Kesler and Juline, to prove to others—but mostly to themselves—that they belonged together. If they couldn’t survive two years of separation, how could they survive a lifetime of scorn? So she took us up on the challenge. Said she’d prove to everyone that she wasn’t making a mistake. And she definitely did.”

  Edaline turned away, trying to hide the tears that had slipped down her cheeks. Sophie kneeled beside h
er, wrapping Edaline in a hug.

  Edaline held on tight—so tight it was a little hard to breathe. Then she released her hold, clearing her throat several times before she dropped her arms and said, “I’m sorry. We’re not here to dredge up sad memories.” She stuffed the circlet back in the trunk, slamming it shut with a sort of finality. “We have more important things to find! Where do you want me to start looking?”

  Sophie pointed to a row of trunks, and they both set to work. But even with Sandor’s help, they’d still barely made it through a third of the room by dinnertime. Edaline conjured up two plates of soggy purple leaves—which tasted uncannily like fried chicken—and they kept working while they ate.

  They were just reaching the halfway point when Grady poked his head through the doorway. “Whoa—I can see the cloud of dust you guys are making all the way downstairs.”

  “You’re home!” Sophie said, standing to give him a hug.

  She froze when she got a better look at him. Thorny twigs were tangled in his hair, and his cape was caked with dried mud. But the four thin scratches on his left cheek were the most troubling, especially since one was still bleeding.

  “What happened?” Edaline asked, sending several streamers crashing to the floor as she stood to inspect his injury.

  “Nothing,” Grady promised.

  “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” Edaline touched the skin around the wound, making Grady wince.

  “I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been in the dwarven capital, trying to help them solve a mystery.”

  “What kind of mystery?” Sophie asked, taking a step back as she realized his cape was caked with something other than mud—and whatever it was did not smell good.

  “I don’t know if mystery’s the right word,” Grady said, blotting his cheek on his dirty sleeve. “It’s more like a situation.”