Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3)

by Shannon Messenger

  Warm energy swelled in her mind, and she fueled it with more memories until her brain felt ready to burst with the excess energy. Blue light rimmed her vision as she focused on Bronte and channeled the force out of her mind.

  Bronte gasped as the emotion hit him, his sharp features softening as it sank in. A hint of a smile flitted across his lips, but it vanished just as quickly.

  “That hardly counts as inflicting,” he told her—though his voice sounded lighter than normal. “Is that really the best you can do?”

  She gripped the armrests of the throne, focusing on the one memory that felt the purest: the day Fitz had first shown her she was an elf. It was before she’d known about the Black Swan or the kidnappers, before she’d realized she’d have to leave her family. He’d swept her away from her world of headaches and blaring thoughts and the inescapable sense that she was too strange, too different—and shown her where she truly belonged. And for that one brief moment everything felt right, like a missing piece of her life had finally clicked into place.

  She drew on the feeling, wrapping her mind around the spark and letting it grow into an inferno in her mind. Then she met Bronte’s cold, piercing eyes, wondering if he could see flames in hers as she shoved every ounce of energy toward him, slamming his mind with the hottest mass of happy she could muster.

  Bronte gasped as the force hit him, but it quickly turned into a laugh.

  No—a giggle.

  She’d made Bronte giggle!

  He covered his mouth like he was just as shocked as her, but more laughter slipped through his fingers, until his face turned red and his whole body was shaking.

  “That’s amazing!” Kenric told her as Bronte dropped to his knees, laughing so hard he started to cry.

  But as Sophie watched the tears stream down his cheeks she realized they weren’t tears of joy like they should be. His lips may have been smiling, but his eyes were pure terror.

  She grabbed his shoulders, trying to shake him out of the frenzy. But Bronte kept right on laughing, turning more and more hysterical.

  “Stay calm,” Kenric told her, taking Sophie’s hands and waiting for her to look at him. “Whatever’s happening, you have the power within you to fix it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve seen the wonders you work, Sophie. You just have to believe.”

  She swallowed so hard it hurt as she reached for Bronte’s temples. His pointy ears were much bendier than she’d thought, and when she pressed her fingers along each side of his face, his skin felt cold and clammy.

  “You can do this,” Kenric repeated.

  Sophie hoped he was right, taking three deep breaths before she shoved her consciousness into Bronte’s mind.

  His memories felt like sludge. Thick and cold, like a snowdrift—and when she tried to sort through them, something kept shoving her back, sending her deeper and deeper into the mire.

  Bronte? she transmitted, calling his name over and over.

  He didn’t respond. And when she tried sending happy thoughts—like she’d done when she healed Alden—the glimmers of warmth bounced off the sludge and stung her.

  Stop it, Bronte! her mind yelled. Or you can get out of this yourself.

  The harsh words sank into the darkness, which grew calmer and warmer as it absorbed the emotion behind them.

  Is that the trick? she asked. Did Bronte need more anger?

  It seemed like a backward approach, but she was out of ideas. So she thought about Stina, and Marella, and the whispers that followed her everywhere. Of the rebels and the ogres and anyone who dared to try to hurt Silveny. Of the nightmares and the worries and the massive burden the Black Swan had dumped on her—before they completely abandoned her.

  Every bitter thought poured out of her like a river, and as they surged through Bronte’s consciousness they melted the sludge, lifting her up and out until she was finally free.

  Bronte sat up, gasping for breath and cradling his head.

  Several seconds passed before he turned his tear-stained face to them and said, “We will never speak of this again.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  NEXT TIME YOU ALMOST KILL a Councillor, can I be there?” Keefe asked as he tossed a handful of gold powder on the path leading to the main auditorium. Lady Cadence had given them something called musk-tang and told them to coat every walkway on the campus. It wouldn’t have been such a terrible detention punishment if it hadn’t smelled like rotting bananas. Keefe told her the whole Sanctuary had been dusted with it.

  Another protection against ogres.

  “I didn’t almost kill him,” Sophie whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure none of the other prodigies were around. “I don’t know what happened—and neither did Bronte or Kenric. One second he was insulting me, next second he was collapsed on the floor.”

  “Clearly it’s not a good idea to get you angry. Uh-oh, should I be afraid?” Keefe asked as she glared at him. “You going to knock me out or something, are you?”

  “If only.”

  She wanted to kick herself for telling Keefe what happened.

  But she’d had to tell someone. The more she’d replayed the session, the more she felt a nagging itch in the back of her mind, telling her something was off.

  “Besides, it wasn’t the anger that took him down. That was actually how I got him out of it. Which seems weird, doesn’t it? I mean, he was basically allergic to happiness.”

  “Um, you have met Bronte, right?”

  “I know. But I’ve been in some messed-up minds, and I’ve never felt anything like that sludgy darkness I felt today.”

  “Maybe that’s what an Inflictor’s mind feels like. I mean, no offense, but what you guys do is kinda creepy.”

  Sophie couldn’t argue. If she had her way, she’d probably get rid of the dangerous ability. But talents couldn’t be switched off once they’d been triggered. And creepy ability or no, she still didn’t think that explained what had happened. Especially when she factored in the way Bronte’s mind had blocked her from his memories. Almost like he had something to hide . . .

  “You’re cute when you worry, did you know that?” Keefe asked her.

  Sophie flung a handful of musk-tang at his feet, surrounding him in a cloud of stinky golden dust.

  He laughed as he coughed. “Oh, it is so on.”

  He pelted her with a giant handful, and Sophie struck back, nailing him in the shoulder before she took off running.

  Keefe chased after her, hurling handful after handful as Sophie tried to swerve and duck. She was so busy launching counterattacks that she forgot to pay attention to where she was going. Which was how she ended up crashing into Lady Cadence, seconds before Keefe accidentally musk-tanged the furious Mentor’s face.

  “Don’t let her get to you, Foster,” Keefe said as they made their way to their afternoon sessions. “Lady Cadence can send as many disciplinary reports to Dame Alina as she wants. It still won’t change the fact that watching her choke on that mouthful of musk-tang was one of the greatest moments of my life.”

  It had been pretty priceless.

  And the disciplinary report wasn’t what was bothering Sophie—though she wasn’t exactly thrilled about that. Lady Cadence had gone on and on and on about how, given the controversy surrounding Fintan’s healing, Sophie should be working harder than ever to prove herself a well-behaved citizen in her world. But what Sophie wanted to know was, How did everyone know so many classified things?

  The information had to be leaking from someone in the Nobility—and a lot of the things people had heard about were things only the Councillors would know. . . .

  “What if Bronte’s the one leaking secret information from the Council?” she whispered. “That would explain why he didn’t want me to look through his memories.”

  “But why w
ould he do that? He’s just causing more problems for himself.”

  “Maybe not. He also told me today that he didn’t vote in favor of Fintan’s healing. So maybe he’s trying to stop it by getting the public all riled up against it.”

  “I guess. But it still feels like a stretch. Bronte’s the longest standing member of the Council—by a lot. I can’t see him doing anything to undermine it.”

  Sophie sighed. “I wish there were some way to find out for sure. Oh! What if we—”

  “If you’re thinking of breaking into his office,” Keefe interrupted, “you should know that the crystal castles are impossible to sneak into. Trust me, I tried several times when I was a kid.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest breaking and entering. But you’re an Empath, right? And Empaths can detect lies.”

  “Only sort of. Lies aren’t an emotion. All I can pick up on are the feelings that go with it—like the guilt and the stress and the worry. But if someone’s a good enough liar they know how to hide that. I’ve pulled it off with my dad many times.”

  “Well, still, couldn’t you test Bronte and see how he reacts?”

  “Maybe. But it’s not like I have weekly Councillor hang-out time—and even if I did, as soon as I asked about the leak he’d know what I was doing.”

  He was right. Bronte was far too grumpy and suspicious not to catch on.

  But he was also hiding something—she could feel it.

  There had to be a way to figure out what it was.

  Sophie came home to find her bedroom covered in boxes, each wrapped in opalescent paper and tied with a sparkling pink bow.

  “I know you’re not that into clothes and dresses,” Edaline said, popping out of Sophie’s closet carrying more boxes—and nearly giving Sophie a heart attack. “But I realized that we’ve never gone shopping together, and I’ve never really bought you anything, so . . . ta-da!”

  She tried to set her boxes down, but there was no more empty space. “Hm. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

  “A little” was putting it mildly. Sophie doubted the stores in Atlantis had anything left to sell. And she was pretty sure this was leftover guilt from Edaline giving Biana Jolie’s clothes. But it was nice of Edaline to think of her.

  “Well, aren’t you going to open them?” Edaline asked, grabbing a wide rectangular package from the top of the nearest pile. “Start with this one, it’s my favorite.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Sophie couldn’t help smiling as she untied the glittering ribbon. Pink sparkles stuck to her fingers as she pulled open the box to find . . .

  A sea of wispy lavender chiffon, covered in diamonds and pearls.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Edaline asked. “Most of the things I got are a bit simpler than this, since I know that’s more your style. But I wanted you to have at least one special dress, and this one just reminded me so much of you. Hold it up—let’s see if I guessed the right size.”

  Edaline showered the floor with glitter as she pulled out the dress and held it against Sophie’s shoulders.

  Sophie repressed a sigh when she realized it had a train.

  As if she didn’t have a hard enough time walking without tripping.

  Edaline gasped. “The color, with your hair. It’s—you look so much . . .”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but Sophie knew how it ended.

  You look so much like Jolie.

  “Lady Ruewen?” one of the gnomes called from downstairs, saving Sophie from having to figure out a reply. “The new verminion tunneled out of its pen again.”

  “I am dreaming of the day those obnoxious creatures are ready for the Sanctuary,” Edaline told Sophie, wiping pink glitter off her hands. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, why don’t you try that on and see how it fits?”

  “Sure,” Sophie said, not finding the idea nearly as exciting as Edaline seemed to. But there was something she wanted to see.

  The lightweight fabric felt cool against her skin, and it swished and swirled with every step as she made her way to the floor-length mirror.

  “Wow,” Vertina said as she appeared in the corner. “You look so . . . pretty.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Sophie grumbled.

  “Oh please, you wear dull colors and never do anything with your hair—and don’t get me started on your desperate need for lip gloss and—”

  Sophie stepped out of range, making the tiny face disappear.

  She counted to ten, then stepped back in front of the mirror.

  “Just because I’m a gadget doesn’t give you the right to flick me on and off at will,” Vertina huffed. “Jolie never would’ve treated me that way. You may look like her, but—”

  “So you really think I look like her?” Sophie interrupted, squinting at her reflection. That’s what she kept trying to figure out—what did Edaline see?

  Was there really a similarity? Or was it Edaline’s wishful thinking.

  “Well, it’s not like you’re twins or anything,” Vertina told her. “Jolie’s hair was shinier than yours—and she had the most gorgeous turquoise eyes, unlike your weird ones. But you do remind me of her. If I didn’t know better I’d think you two were related.”

  The word was like a spark, igniting the firestorm of panic that had already been brewing in Sophie’s stomach.

  If Jolie had been working with the Black Swan, could she have been a part of Project Moonlark?

  And if so . . . could she be Sophie’s mother?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  IT CAN’T BE, SOPHIE TOLD herself, repeating it over and over and over.

  Jolie died sixteen years ago.

  And Sophie was only thirteen.

  The numbers didn’t lie.

  But the numbers also didn’t account for the fact that the Black Swan had built her in their lab, twisting and tweaking her genes for who knew how long before her embryo had been implanted in a human being. Sophie didn’t know much about that process, but she knew embryos could be frozen. Which meant her mother could’ve been anyone, anywhere, any time.

  “Please, Vertina,” she begged. “You have to tell me what Jolie was hiding about the Black Swan.”

  “I can’t. Not unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” Sophie shouted, looking around for something heavy she could threaten the obnoxious mirror with. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

  “Because Jolie said it wasn’t safe!” Vertina shouted back. “She said that someone was not who she thought they were, and even if I knew the person asking, I couldn’t tell them unless they knew the password.”

  “But she couldn’t have meant me—I wasn’t even born yet!”

  “You still don’t know the password,” Vertina reminded her.

  She clicked away before Sophie could argue, and Sophie sank to the floor, the lavender gown crumpling around her.

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  She knew she should be focusing on what Vertina had just told her, since it sounded like Jolie might’ve known about the Black Swan’s leak—and maybe even who it was. But she was too distracted by a much stranger question.

  If Jolie was her mother, and Grady and Edaline were her grandparents, did that mean she and Dex were . . . cousins?

  “Are you avoiding me?” Dex asked, cornering Sophie the next morning in PE.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Uh, maybe because every time I tried to find you at orientation you were somehow on the other side of the room—and now you’ve partnered with pretty much everyone except me.”

  She’d been hoping he wouldn’t notice that. . . .

  She forced herself to look at him—and then instantly regretted it. Suddenly she was noticing the curve of his chin and the lines of his cheekbones, realizing she could sorta
see a resemblance to hers.

  She didn’t understand why that bothered her so much. But it did.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Dex asked quietly.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what’s wrong? Is it Marella? Because I heard about what she said to you yesterday, and if she thinks—”

  “It’s not Marella,” Sophie interrupted, though Marella had gone out of her way to avoid her again. Even Jensi wasn’t hanging around, though when she’d made eye contact with him, he’d still smiled. “I’m just not feeling good, okay?”

  “What’s this?” a deep voice asked behind her, and she spun around to face Sir Harding, her broad-shouldered PE mentor. “You do look pale,” he decided after studying her face. “Perhaps you should go to the Healing Center.”

  An Elwin visit was way better than more Dex interrogation. So Sophie told him, “Maybe you’re right.”

  She gave Dex a hasty wave and retreated from the gymnasium.

  Sandor rushed after her, grabbing her arm to slow her down. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

  “Because it’s not a big deal.”

  “Everything is a big deal.”

  “This isn’t. I just needed a break. I’ll hang out in the atrium until lunch.”

  “You most certainly will not. If you said you’re going to the Healing Center, then to the Healing Center you’ll go. I’ve been wanting Elwin to check that wound on your wrist again anyway.”

  She could tell there would be no changing his mind, so she switched direction, muttering under her breath about stubborn goblins.

  “Let me guess,” Elwin said as she walked into the Healing Center. “You overestimated the strength of your levitating abilities and crashed into the ceiling.”

  “Very funny. Actually, I . . .” Her voice trailed off when she realized Elwin wasn’t alone.

  Master Leto bowed. “Hello, Miss Foster. I would say this is a surprise, but from what I hear, you stop by quite often. In fact, we were just talking about you.”