Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3)

by Shannon Messenger

  “Remember, we’re here for you,” she whispered into Sophie’s ear.

  “I’m fine,” Sophie promised.

  But she didn’t feel fine as Grady called the Leapmaster to bring them the crystal for the Wanderling Woods. Especially when Sandor joined them under the crystals.

  The Council would only allow a goblin into the Wanderling Woods if they were expecting some sort of danger.

  Sophie had thought the crowd for Alden’s planting had been huge—but it was nothing compared to the turnout for Kenric. A never-ending line of green-clad figures stretched down the silvery path, waiting silently for their turn to pass through the archway that proclaimed Those who wander are not lost.

  And they weren’t just elves. Gnomes, goblins, dwarves, and some sort of wet-looking, grayish-green creatures—trolls, maybe?—were all in the mix.

  But no ogres.

  Sophie wondered if any of the Neverseen were lurking among the crowd.

  She wouldn’t put it past them.

  She reached for Grady’s hand, expecting him to head to the back of the line. But Grady led them to a side entrance, hidden among a thick vine of white star-shaped flowers.

  The goblin guarding the gate was so large he made Sandor look scrawny, and his voice was even squeakier as he told them, “There’s a space reserved for you in the clearing. Just look for the silver ropes.”

  “Thank you,” Grady said, pausing in the middle of the gateway. “Is there a path I’m not seeing?”

  “The crowd keeps closing it off,” the goblin told them. “And I suggest you move quickly.”

  Sandor saluted the guard and took the lead, ordering Sophie to stay right behind him as he pushed into the mass of bodies, creating a narrow wake for them to follow.

  Despite the suffocating crowd, the Wanderling Woods maintained its eerie, unnatural silence, swallowing the sound of their footsteps as they wove through the carefully arranged trees. Each Wanderling’s seed was wrapped with a hair from the person who’d been lost, making the tree reflect their appearance as it grew and absorbed their DNA. There were tall trees, thin trees, leaves in every color of the rainbow, trees with dark bark, or light bark, or flowers, or berries.

  Plus three small saplings that never should’ve been planted.

  They passed Alden’s Wanderling first, and Sophie was stunned at how tall the dark-leafed tree had grown in such a short time. If it weren’t for the vivid teal flowers peppered among the branches, she never would’ve guessed it was his.

  Hers and Dex’s trees looked taller too, though it was hard to tell from a distance. Their Wanderlings had been planted side by side, high on a hill, and Sophie was tempted to climb up and check on them. But Sandor moved like a bull who’d seen red, rushing past tree after tree after tree—each more ancient looking than the last—until they reached the clearing for the ceremony.

  A silver stage had been set up in the center for the Councillors, and the crowd around it was packed so tightly, Sophie could barely breathe.

  “That must be the area the guard meant,” Grady said, pointing to a pale yellow tree where a small spot of shade had been blocked off with thick silver ropes.

  Three goblins were guarding the area, and once they’d let Sandor pass, they positioned themselves to the left, right, and front of Sophie. Sandor stood behind, and his grip stayed locked around his sword, ready to unsheathe it any second.

  Sophie was tempted to tell him he was being overly paranoid. But then she noticed the crowd’s faces.

  They weren’t staring at her.

  They were glaring.

  Whispers followed—and this time they weren’t calling her the girl who was taken.

  They used the same two words over and over—the same words Sophie was fighting so hard not to think:

  Her fault.

  Sophie searched the faces, desperate to find a friend. But the closest she came was Marella—and when their eyes met, Marella looked away.

  A muffled gasp finally silenced the crowd, and Sophie craned her neck to see that the remaining eleven members of the Council had arrived in the clearing. Four goblins guarded each Councillor, cramming the small silver stage with their muscular bodies. But it still looked empty without Kenric’s bright, smiling face.

  The Councillors all wore the same pale shade of green—but instead of the simple gowns and tunics they’d worn for Alden’s planting, their clothes were covered in emeralds and peridots, and their circlets were crusted with diamonds. Their hair was perfectly styled and their clothes were perfectly pressed. But the finery didn’t make them look any less weary and miserable. Especially Oralie.

  Her eyes were nothing more than puffy red slits, and she leaned on her goblin bodyguards like they were the only things keeping her standing.

  “We appreciate your support on this challenging day,” Councillor Emery said, his voice hoarse as he stepped forward to address the crowd, “and I know many of you have questions about what will happen next. But now is not the time to focus on such matters. We will have a brief announcement after these proceedings. Before that, we must celebrate the life and loss of our dear friend—and inspiring Councillor—Kenric Fathdon.

  Soft sniffles hissed through the air as Councillor Terik stepped off the stage and dug a small hole in the ground with a silver shovel. When the seed was completely buried, Councillor Liora poured a shimmering syrup from a green bottle on top, then cracked the glass against her palm, letting it shatter into a million shimmering specks that blanketed the freshly turned ground.

  The sniffles turned to quiet sobs as a tiny sapling sprang from the earth and sprouted vivid red leaves. But Sophie battled back her tears, knowing if she let herself fall down the rabbit hole of grief, she might never find her way back.

  “She doesn’t even look sorry,” someone near Sophie whispered.

  “Of course she isn’t. This was probably what she was created for all along.”

  “She should be exiled.”

  “Or banished.”

  “To the goblins!”

  “Or the ogres!”

  The crowd pressed closer and closer, until Sandor ordered the other goblins to evacuate. Before Sophie knew what was happening, the bodyguards lifted her over their heads and rushed her outside the woods to the normal forest that surrounded the Wanderlings.

  “We should be safer here,” Sandor told her, setting Sophie down in the shade of a tall pine tree. “I’ll bring you back in after the receiving line has finished, so you can hear the Council’s announcement.”

  “Can’t I go through the line?” Sophie asked.

  “The Councillors asked that you don’t,” Grady said quietly, as he and Edaline caught up with them. “The less interaction you have with the crowd, the better.”

  “Great—maybe they should just lock me away in Exile.”

  Edaline hugged her. “It’s going to be okay. We just need to give the public some time to reset.”

  “Or to gather the torches and pitchforks and come after me,” Sophie mumbled.

  “They’d come after me, too—if it makes you feel any better,” Fitz said behind her.

  Sophie turned to find him leaning against a nearby tree. His smile was too sad to make her heart do anything except break.

  “We’ll let you two talk,” Edaline said, taking Grady’s hand and leading him back toward the woods. “Sandor will keep an eye on things while we pay our respects.”

  “Tell them I’m sorry,” Sophie called after them.

  Edaline turned back. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Sophie. But we will give them your condolences.”

  Sophie watched them go, not sure if she should be grateful for not having to face the heartbreaking scene, or mad that the angry crowds were keeping her away.

  “My parents are in there too,” Fitz said after a second, waving her over to join him in
the shade. “I stayed with them as long as I could, but we were standing near the Hekses and they got everyone all riled up pretty quickly.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “The usual. That my family needs to get away from you to save our reputation, that we’re ruining the world, blah, blah.” He tore a piece of dead bark from the tree and flung it away.

  Sophie’s stomach wrenched as she sat beside him. “If you want to stop hanging out with me—”

  “I told you, I’m in. In fact, there’s something I have to tell you—”

  “There you are,” Keefe interrupted, stomping over from the exit to the Wanderling Woods. “You could’ve told me about your little private party out here. I’ve been stuck watching my parents play who can pretend to be the saddest? in the middle of a mob that smelled like a goblin’s armpit.”

  “I’d be careful what you say,” Sandor warned, pointing to the three scowling goblins behind him.

  Keefe shrugged, unfazed. “So . . . ,” he said, his smile fading as he turned to Fitz and Sophie. “Rough weekend?”

  “You could say that,” Fitz mumbled, tearing off another piece of dead bark.

  “And you,” Keefe said, turning to Sophie, “didn’t I tell you I wanted to be there the next time you—nope, actually, I can’t joke about this.” He shook his head—hard—and sat down facing them. “Are you guys okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Fitz answered when Sophie didn’t say anything. “I think I’m still . . . processing it.”

  “I think we all are.” Keefe turned to stare at the Wanderlings. “And I’m guessing there’s no chance this could all be a mistake again?”

  Fitz shook his head, twisting the piece of bark in his hands until it crumbled. “My dad saw it happen.”

  Sophie shuddered, trying not to imagine it.

  “So what’s the plan now?” Keefe asked after a painful silence. “And don’t pretend you don’t have one, Foster.”

  “But I don’t have one. That’s the problem.”

  She’d found no other record of the Neverseen. Jolie’s mirrored compact had been a bust. Vertina wasn’t cooperating. The Black Swan was compromised. And everyone was so distracted by the fire that there’d been no more news about the missing dwarves or the ogre footprints.

  All she had were questions and problems.

  Fitz glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer. “I might have a plan.”

  “Hmm,” Keefe jumped in before Sophie could say anything. “Team Keefe-Foster-Fitz doesn’t have quite the same ring, but I’m still in. Oh—maybe we could be the Keefitzter!”

  “Not unless it’s the Keefianaitzter,” Biana informed them as she appeared next to Keefe. “Or the Keefitzeriana.”

  “That doesn’t really have the same ring,” Keefe told her. “And have you been there the whole time?”

  “Yep. I followed Fitz after he left, figuring I could sneak up on anyone if they tried to hassle him. And then Sophie came out, and I stayed hidden so I could make sure they couldn’t leave me out of their plans.”

  Fitz rolled his eyes. “This vanishing thing is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you include me.”

  “You guys shouldn’t be doing this,” Sophie said, wondering if Dex was about show up to complete the Let’s Ruin Our Lives Club. “Don’t you see? Everyone blames me for what happened, and they’ll hold that against anyone who’s friends with me.”

  “So?” Biana asked.

  “So . . . don’t you care that you’re stuck outside the Wanderling Woods instead of standing in the receiving line with the normal people?”

  “No,” Keefe answered immediately, with Fitz and Biana only a fraction of a second later.

  “You think I care about not getting to be around the people saying horrible things about my best friend and my brother?” Biana asked.

  “I’m your best friend?” Sophie said—then realized she was focusing on the wrong thing. “Never mind, what I mean is, they’re only saying that because of me. Because of this like . . . aura of doom that seems to ruin everything I touch.”

  “Aura of doom?” Keefe asked, a smirk curling his lips. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

  “Mine too,” Fitz chimed in.

  “And mine,” Biana agreed. “Besides, you already agreed to this, remember?”

  “And I’m the only one with a plan,” Fitz reminded them.

  “Hey—I’ve got plans,” Keefe argued.

  “Plans that don’t involve tormenting Dame Alina,” Fitz clarified.

  “But those are always the best plans!”

  Fitz and Biana laughed, and Sophie couldn’t decide if she wanted to join them or scold them. Kenric was dead—and they were sitting outside his funeral, making jokes and . . .

  Actually, that was probably exactly what Kenric would’ve wanted. If he were still there, he would’ve laughed right along with them.

  “Fine,” she told them, wondering what she was getting herself into. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Wait,” Sandor shouted before Fitz could say anything.

  “Aw, don’t be like that, Gigantor. We’ll play by your rules—mostly.”

  “No,” Sandor insisted, waving Keefe silent and sniffing the air. “Do you smell that?” He turned to the other goblins, who were all unsheathing their swords.

  “What is it?” Sophie whispered.

  Sandor tightened his grip on his weapon. “Something unpleasant is coming.”

  Before he could say anything else, the ground rumbled, creating a wide sinkhole.

  Sophie and her friends scrambled back as the goblins shouted orders at each other and surrounded the opening, holding their swords at the ready.

  One . . . two . . . three seconds passed.

  Then a stocky brown beast leaped out of the fissure, scattering rocks and dirt and grass as it landed with a heavy thud.

  “Is that an ogre?” Sophie whispered, staring at the creature’s lumpy face, trying to understand why none of the goblins were attacking.

  “Yes,” Sandor said, a snarl in his voice as he lowered his head with a reluctant bow. “This is their king.”

  FORTY-TWO

  THE OGRE KING, SOPHIE THOUGHT slowly, fairly certain her brain was about to call it quits.

  He wasn’t dressed like a king—at least not by elvin standards. Or human standards, for that matter.

  The only clothing he wore looked like riveted steel underwear, and his body was shaped like a hairless gorilla on a massive amount of steroids, with skin that reminded Sophie of weathered marble. He carried no weapons and arrived with no guards. And while he did have enormous glittering yellow stones set into the centers of his stretched-out earlobes, he had no crown, no scepter, no signet ring. His bald head was marked with some sort of black, squiggly patterns, but it didn’t look kingly. It pretty much just screamed, This dude is scary.

  Still, there was something regal about the way he fearlessly faced the goblins, all of whom were at least a foot taller than him. And his scratchy voice held authority as he turned to Sandor and said, “Settle down, goblin. I’m only here to pay my respects.”

  For a second Sophie thought Sandor was going to pounce. But his snarl faded to a glare as he stepped back and said, “Then allow us to clear you a path.”

  Sandor glanced at Sophie as he turned to leave, and his eyes seemed to be saying, Follow us and I will clobber you!

  But there was no way Sophie was going to miss this.

  “I’m pretty sure that was the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Fitz whispered as he, Keefe, and Biana caught up with her.

  “Yeah, not gonna lie—I almost peed my pants. Did you see his nose?” Keefe curled his fingers in front of his face to mime the gigantic bulbous mass. “He could’ve taken us all out with one sneeze. And his teeth?”

&nb
sp; He shuddered.

  Fitz and Biana did too—and the king’s gray pointed teeth were terrifying. But Sophie was much more bothered by his eyes.

  The two cold silver orbs tucked among the lumps and bumps of his face had a glint to them. A hint of glee that didn’t belong on the face of someone coming to a funeral.

  The crowd toppled over themselves to get out of the king’s way, and Sophie and her friends rode the wake, ducking back into the masses when they had a clear view of the stage.

  The Councillors stood hand in hand in a precise line, and their bodyguards had formed two lines surrounding them: one on the ground with their backs against the stage, the other behind them, their swords raised.

  “King Dimitar,” Councillor Emery said from the center of the line, while all eleven Councillors bowed as one. “How generous of you to come.”

  King Dimitar bobbed his head in the briefest bow possible—though he didn’t have much of a neck, so that might have been the best he could do. His droopy chin seemed to connect directly to his muscle-bound shoulders, giving him a permanent hunch.

  “I assumed all the kings would be here,” he said, turning to study the sea of curious faces. “But perhaps I was too late to catch them?”

  “No,” Councillor Emery said carefully. “They were otherwise engaged.”

  “Of course they were,” King Dimitar agreed. “And I’m sure you will have their full support for whomever you elect as your newest Councillor.”

  His cold smile said otherwise, and it stretched wider as he scraped one of his teeth with a black fingernail. “I stopped by your capital on my way here, by the way. The damage is far more extensive than I’d been led to believe.”

  That earned him a few gasps from the audience, but Councillor Emery held up his hand. He addressed the crowd, not the king, as he said, “We’d been waiting to share that announcement until we’d completed the memorial proceedings, but yes, King Dimitar speaks correctly. The Everblaze consumed much of Eternalia. However”—he paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down—“the gnomes and dwarves have surveyed the damage and believe they can rebuild before the equinox, which, as you all know, is less than four months away. And they’ve assured us that the new buildings will be even greater than the former.”