Whispers followed—most of them sounding pleased. Though it was a far cry from the cheers Sophie suspected the Council had been hoping for.
“And when will you hold your election?” King Dimitar asked, triggering another silence.
“That is also an announcement we had planned to make momentarily,” Emery told him. He closed his eyes, like he was listening to the thoughts of the other Councillors, before he said, “The period for nominations will begin tonight, and last for exactly one week, after which we will work to select our newest member as quickly as possible. And once the Councillor is elected,” he added, turning to King Dimitar, “a gathering will be held in Lumenaria with yourself and all the other leaders, so that we all can prepare to move forward together.”
“Looking forward to it,” King Dimitar told him.
“One final announcement—since I’ve covered all the others,” Councillor Emery added. “Given recent events, we’ve decided to declare a period of grieving, effective immediately. All noble facilities—including Foxfire Academy—are closed until the new Councillor is elected.”
Sophie glanced at her friends as the crowd hissed with more whispers.
No school for at least a week?
“I assume that includes your legendary Sanctuary?” King Dimitar asked, forcing Sophie to pay attention. She wanted to strangle something when he added, “I’d been hoping to pay a visit before I left. I’ve heard wonders about your newest transplant.”
“The Council better not let him anywhere near Silveny,” Keefe told her under his breath.
Sophie nodded, resisting the urge to cheer when Councillor Emery told the king, “We must respect the grieving period.”
“Perhaps after the gathering in Lumenaria, then,” King Dimitar pressed.
“Yes, perhaps,” Councillor Emery agreed. “We appreciate your patience—and the time you shared with us today. Please bring our regards to the rest of your court.”
“That’s it?” Sophie asked—a little louder than she meant to—as all eleven Councillors bowed.
But seriously, what was the Council thinking?
They should be demanding to know why he was interested in Silveny—and if he knew anything about the homing device and the Neverseen and the footprints outside the Sanctuary. And if he refused to tell them, they should arrest him, or have Alden probe his mind or . . . something—anything.
Instead, they stood silent as King Dimitar bobbed another halfhearted bow and told them, “Should you need any assistance from my people, all you must do is ask. We’re always there for our neighbors—especially in their hour of need.”
“Thank you,” Councillor Emery said with a tight smile. “We ask only what we always do. Patience. Kindness. And the continued pursuit of peace.”
King Dimitar snorted, his wide nostrils spraying something wet in the process. But he said nothing further as he turned to leave.
Sophie had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming Wait!
“We have to do something,” she whispered to Fitz and Keefe.
“Like what?” Biana asked.
Sophie was pretty sure jumping in front of King Dimitar and demanding he answer her questions wouldn’t be very effective—especially when she took another look at his rippled chest. He had muscles on top of muscles, and paired with his freakishly long arms, he could probably tear her in half.
But there was more than one way to find out what he was hiding.
“I have a plan,” she told her friends, before she darted into the crowd, moving parallel to the king.
Keefe was the first to catch up with her. “Okay, I have no idea what you’re thinking, but the amount of panic radiating off you tells me it’s probably not a good thing.”
It wasn’t.
This was arguably the most dangerous idea she’d ever had.
But what was the point of being an unstoppable Telepath if she couldn’t use the ability to protect Silveny and maybe even catch Kenric’s killers?
Somewhere deep in the back of her brain, a tiny voice reminded her of the laws of telepathy. But a much more desperate voice convinced her those rules only applied to elves.
Plus, she’d broken rules before, when the situation called for it—and if any situation called for it, it was this.
“Cover me,” Sophie whispered.
Keefe grabbed her arm as she tried to duck behind him. “Cover you how? Don’t you think you should at least tell me your crazy plan before you start doing it?”
“What crazy plan?” Fitz asked, pushing through the crowd to join them.
“Ask her—she’s the one wigging out over here,” Keefe told him.
“I’m not wigging out, I’m just trying to do something and I need you to cover me so no one knows I have my eyes closed.”
“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Fitz told her.
But he was too late.
Sophie had already opened her mind to the ogre king’s.
FORTY-THREE
SOPHIE HAD NO IDEA WHAT an ogre’s mind was supposed to feel like. But she definitely wasn’t expecting it to be so . . . soft.
And blank.
No color.
No sound.
Just a thick, endless sea of fuzzy white nothing. Like trying to shove her way through a giant ball of cotton.
She took a deep breath, rallying her mental energy as she tried to decide if a brain push would be too risky.
She knew from past experience that she could slip in and out of a mind completely undetected. But if she pressed too hard, she could accidentally give herself away.
Deciding to play it safe, she tried to imagine her mind sweeping away the cottony thickness in layers—like carefully pulling back sheer drapes, trying to find the window underneath. Each pass did seem to brighten the fog around her, revealing hints of shadows and shapes, and filling the silence with the trace of whispers. But nothing she could translate or recognize.
Maybe if she—
“Sophie, please stop!” Fitz begged, shaking her so hard it knocked her off balance.
She was about to ask him what he was doing when she noticed where Keefe was pointing.
King Dimitar stood in the middle of the path. And his eyes were locked on her.
“Oh, Councillors,” the king called, his lips curling back to show every one of his pointed teeth. “Perhaps you can explain why this little girl has taken it upon herself to probe my mind without my permission. And don’t even think about denying it,” he told Sophie, as gasps echoed through the silent woods—along with a squeaky groan, which had to have come from Sandor. “I felt you the second you slipped in.”
Sophie tried to choke down the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t budge. “I’m sorry. I . . . shouldn’t have.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” King Ditmar agreed. “And sorry doesn’t change the fact that you just violated our treaty.”
Their treaty? Sophie thought, the world spinning too fast around her.
“She didn’t know!” Councillor Emery shouted over the flurry of raised voices. “Sophie is very new to our world and still learning the specifics of our laws. She’s what you might call a special case.”
The crowd fell silent as King Dimitar stroked his lumpy chin. “I see nothing special about her.”
“Neither do I,” someone nearby muttered, stirring other grumblings.
“Breathe, Foster,” Keefe whispered, giving her palm a quick, reassuring squeeze.
She clung to his hand like it could keep her alive and forced herself to take a shaky breath.
“So tell me,” King Dimitar said, turning back to the Council. “If she’s new to your world, where has she been all this time?”
Councillor Emery closed his eyes, deliberating with the other Councillors.
Before they came to a decisio
n, someone in the crowd shouted, “She was raised by humans!”
“Humans!” King Dimitar snarled. “I thought the elves had severed ties with those vermin.”
“We have,” Councillor Emery promised. “Like I said, Sophie is a special case.”
“Well then, let’s see how special she is.” King Dimitar stalked toward Sophie, sending the crowd around her scurrying.
Sophie locked her knees, begging them not to give out as she faced the monstrous king. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sandor fighting his way toward her, but the fleeing masses kept knocking him back. Only Fitz and Keefe stayed by her side—though Sophie had a feeling Biana was hiding nearby.
The king leaned so close, Sophie could smell his breath—rotten meat and burned garlic—as he sniffed her hair and said, “I feel everything that goes on in my head. Everything. Do you?”
“Y-yes,” she managed to stutter.
King Dimitar’s eyes narrowed and Sophie braced for him to raise one of his massive arms and smash her.
Instead, Biana reappeared with a yelp as she, Fitz, and Keefe dropped to their knees, covering their ears and squeezing their heads.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie shouted, trying to shake them out of whatever was happening. “What are you doing to them?”
“The better question,” King Dimitar said as he relaxed his brow and halted whatever torture he’d been delivering, “is why didn’t it work on you?”
“Like the Councillors already said, Sophie is special,” Alden spat as he pushed his way to his children’s side.
Grady and Edaline were right behind him, and they pulled Sophie close as Sandor moved in front of them and straightened to his full height, leaving the king in his shadow.
“Those children you just harmed were innocent,” Sandoor snarled.
“Guilty by association,” King Dimitar argued. “And they’ll be fine in a minute. Meanwhile, this one . . .”
He reached for Sophie, and Sandor shoved his hand away.
King Dimitar laughed, a wet, gurgley sound. “You have no place here, goblin.”
“That girl is my charge.”
“Is she now?” His eyes traced over Sophie, lingering on the scar on her hand. “Raised by humans, strange talents, and a bodyguard. I’d heard rumors that the elves had a new trick up their sleeves. I just never expected it to be in such an unimpressive package.”
“Sophie is not a trick,” Alden assured him. “She’s a child. A child who made a very grave mistake—and she will be punished accordingly.”
“Yes, she will,” King Dimitar agreed, slamming his gigantic fist into Sandor’s stomach.
Sandor dropped to his knees, coughing and wheezing as the King grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him into a nearby Wanderling.
Sophie wasn’t sure if the loud crack was the tree or Sandor’s head, and when she tried to run to check on him, King Dimitar snatched her wrist.
“This child invaded my mind and challenged my authority!” he shouted, dragging her to his side. “That means I get to decide her punishment. And I’ve decided she’s coming back to Ravagog with me, to serve a life sentence.”
FORTY-FOUR
THAT’S NOT WHAT THE TREATY says!” Grady shouted, grabbing Sophie’s free hand and starting a tug-of-war. “If you don’t let go of my daughter right now, I will make you cut off your own arm.”
“Your mind tricks don’t work on us,” King Dimitar sneered.
“Don’t they?” Grady narrowed his eyes, and the King dropped Sophie’s hand and punched himself in the nose—hard.
Dark maroon streamed down his face as the king screamed, “This is an act of war!”
He lunged for Grady’s throat, but Grady narrowed his eyes again and King Dimitar froze like a statue, his vicious mouth barely moving enough to breathe.
“All right—enough!” Councillor Emery shouted, pushing his way through the panicking crowd, followed by the rest of the Council and their furious bodyguards.
When they reached Grady’s side, Councillor Terik squeezed Grady’s shoulder and told him, “You’ve made your point.”
Grady hesitated a fraction of a second. Then stepped back, dragging Sophie safely behind him as King Dimitar collapsed in a heap, panting and clawing at the ground with rage.
“The treaty is over,” he growled between gasping breaths.
“Is it?” Councillor Emery asked, waving his hands to silence the shouting elves all around. “I think you need to check again.”
“We have the treaty right here,” Councillor Liora said as she conjured a golden scroll.
“And as you can see,” Councillor Emery said, taking the scroll from her and quickly scanning it, “it says, ‘No elf shall use their ability on an ogre without their permission in times of peace.’ But trying to drag someone’s daughter away does not constitute a ‘time of peace.’ So Grady’s act was not a violation—end of discussion.”
King Dimitar spit, splattering the grass with dark blood. “What about the girl?”
“Yes, let’s examine that, shall we?” Councillor Emery scrolled down and pointed to a block of text. “It says, ‘Should a serious violation occur, a punishment must be agreed upon by both sides.’”
“The only punishment I’ll agree to will be in my city under my control!” King Dimitar shouted.
“Then we are apparently at an impasse.”
“No—we’re at war!”
“Is that really what you want?” someone called, causing the crowd to part again as Lady Cadence stalked forward.
She dipped a slow, elaborate curtsy and held up her Markchain to show King Dimitar. “I remember when you gave this to me, I thought, here is a king who cares about the safety of his people. Such a king would not want them needlessly slaughtered in battles.”
“Who says they would be?” King Dimitar argued. “Elves do not fight.”
“We fight for them,” Sandor growled, unsheathing his blade. The Councillor’s bodyguards did the same.
King Dimitar feigned a yawn. “Goblins are no match for us.”
Sandor stomped closer, pointing his sword at the ogre king’s heart. “Tell that to the thousands you lost in the last war. Trust me, if my hands were no longer tied by the restrictions of peace, you would not still be standing.”
“Neither would you,” King Dimitar growled back.
“Neither would any of us,” Lady Cadence said firmly. “Which is why we all agreed to the treaties in the first place. So our children would not have to grow up without fathers. Is that really something you would give up because of your wounded pride?”
“You speak too boldly,” King Dimitar warned, his words switching to the ogre language.
“Perhaps I do,” Lady Cadence replied in the same tongue. “But that is only because I know you as a king who understands reason. A king who came here today to offer his sympathy in our dark hour. A king who knows that war should never be sparked by the mistake of a child—a child who will be punished by her own for the shame she’s brought on everyone today.”
King Dimitar gritted his teeth so hard Sophie swore she could hear them cracking.
“You also told us if we needed your assistance, we just had to ask,” Councillor Oralie said quietly, her ogre words slightly stilted but perfectly understandable. “This is our need.”
The king spat at Sophie’s feet, splashing the bottom of her gown with bloody spittle. But he told the Council, “Fine, punish her as you see fit. But know that I will be following up.”
“We will send you a full report,” Councillor Emery promised. “But we must wait until we are a complete body of twelve again.”
“I’ll give you two weeks,” the King told them, turning to face Sophie. “Then I’ll be back to check on things—and I’d better be satisfied with what I see. Otherwise you can consider your treaty over.”
<
br /> “Please say something,” Sophie whispered, twisting one of her nexuses so many times it was starting to rub her wrist raw.
She’d already torn out every loose eyelash she could find—plus several that had been very much attached. And still, she sat on the pristine couch of Havenfield’s main room, feeling the glass walls close in while Grady, Edaline, Tiergan, Alden, and Sandor all seemed to be competing in some sort of Who Can Glare At Sophie The Longest contest.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated for the ten millionth time. “I didn’t think—”
“That’s just it,” Grady interrupted. “ You didn’t think. Do you have any idea what would’ve happened to you if he’d dragged you away before we could stop him?
She didn’t.
But she was very aware that she’d almost started a war.
And that she’d forced Grady to use his ability, which had been the most terrifying part of the day—by far. She never wanted to see that side of Grady again.
“Is the Council going to exile me?” she whispered.
Tiergan shook his head. “The ogres do not support that prison—largely because some of their own are being held there. King Dimitar would never approve.”
“So what will he approve?” Sophie asked, hearing the panic in her voice but unable to hide it.
What could be worse than Exile?
Alden sighed and sat down beside her. “There’s no reason to worry too much, Sophie. What you did was very serious. But the Council is also well aware that King Dimitar’s visit today was hardly the concerned check-in he claimed it to be. His sole purpose was to assess the unrest in our world and increase it. He wants us to crumble so he can swoop in and conquer the pieces, and he was looking for anything that might help him accomplish it. You were simply his convenient excuse.”
“Incredibly convenient,” Tiergan muttered. “You might as well have wrapped yourself in shiny paper and tied your hair with a bow.”
Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3) Page 25
