Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3)

by Shannon Messenger

  “The only thing I’m in danger of is dying of boredom.” She glanced at the endless stretches of crystal and glass, wondering if she was even looking in the right place.

  Jolie could’ve hidden the mirror anywhere. Maybe even at school . . .

  No—that wouldn’t make sense. Access to the elite towers was restricted to the elite and Sophie doubted Jolie meant for one of her schoolmates to find it. Why else would she leave the clue at her house? Plus, if she wanted to keep it safe, why hide it somewhere there’d be hundreds of prodigies who could accidentally stumble across it.

  No, Jolie must have hidden it at Havenfield. And the safest place would be her room.

  Sophie just had to search smarter.

  She moved to the indent in the carpet where Vertina used to be and placed her feet on the line, facing the same way. Whatever mirror Jolie meant couldn’t have been within Vertina’s line of sight—otherwise Vertina would’ve known where to find it. Which meant Sophie could rule out . . .

  Most of the places she’d already wasted time checking.

  Awesome.

  She swallowed her frustration and turned to face where Vertina couldn’t see, looking for somewhere that wouldn’t draw much attention. One of the corners seemed to have more shadow than light, and there was a strip of space next to the bookshelves, covered mostly by the lace curtains of the nearby window. She tiptoed to the corner—afraid that making a sound would scare the dim possibility away. And maybe it worked, because when she pulled back the dusty lace, she found a narrow row of square glass panes.

  The square in the center was a mirror.

  “Got you,” Sophie whispered, tracing her fingers along the edge.

  The mirror felt slightly less flush with the wall than the other panes, and when she pressed the upper right corner, the mirror popped out, swinging on an invisible hinge. Her hands shook as she pushed the door aside, revealing a sliver of a compartment—barely deep enough to pass her fingertips—with a slim lavender journal tucked inside.

  The cover felt cold as she traced her finger along the elegant runes drawn in the center, and it took Sophie’s mind a second to translate the word:

  Reflections.

  Jolie had written it using the Black Swan’s cipher. And yet, when Sophie turned to the first page she found row after row of carefully shaped runes that formed nothing more than gibberish. Nonsensical words mixed with lines and squiggles and dots and dashes. For page after page after page.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sophie grumbled, flipping the book upside down, like that would somehow fix it.

  It didn’t.

  Still . . . something felt familiar about the runes.

  She closed her eyes, hoping a memory was about to trigger.

  “What’s that?” Edaline asked, making Sophie stumble backward into the bookshelf.

  “Sorry, you scared me,” Sophie mumbled, trying to hide the journal behind her back. But she knew Edaline had seen it. And when Edaline made her way over she realized she’d left the secret compartment wide open.

  “How did you find this?” Edaline whispered, swinging the mirror back and forth on its hinge.

  “It’s . . . a long story.”

  “Well, I’ve got time.”

  Sophie was tempted to lie—or dart upstairs and lock herself in her room. But . . . Edaline was Jolie’s mother. So she followed Edaline over to the bed and explained about Prentice’s memory, and the mirrored compact, and Vertina’s clue, and the gibberish journal.

  Edaline didn’t speak when she’d finished. Just took the journal and flipped back and forth through the pages.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  “Should I not have told you?” Sophie asked, hating the shadows that had crawled under Edaline’s eyes.

  “No. In fact . . . I think Jolie might have tried to tell me. She came home rather suddenly, not long before the fire. I could tell she was stressed, but she wouldn’t tell me why. And one night I found her sitting, pretty much right here, staring at that wall. When I asked if she was okay, she asked me, ‘What if someone wasn’t who you thought they were?’”

  “That’s what she told Vertina,” Sophie whispered. “I’d thought she’d discovered the leak in the Black Swan. But now we know they don’t have a leak, so . . . do you have any idea who she meant?”

  Edaline shook her head. “At the time, I’d just figured she was having a fight with her friends. They’d been pulling away from her after she got engaged, and Jolie had been pretending not to notice. But I knew it was breaking her heart. So I told her, ‘There will always be people who disappoint us, and it’s up to us to decide when to forgive, and when to walk away.’”

  “Did she say anything to that?”

  “She said ‘I love you, Mom.’ And I remember being surprised by it. I’d been ‘Mother’ for a very long time. It was so nice to be ‘Mom’ again.”

  There couldn’t be a more perfect moment for Sophie to tell Edaline the same thing, finally cross that line and start treating her like a parent, not just a guardian.

  But the moment slipped away.

  “Was that the last time you saw her?” Sophie asked, hoping the question wasn’t too painful.

  “No. I saw her the day of the fire. She stopped by out of the blue, and I remember thinking she looked tired—though of course I’ve since wondered if she also looked afraid. She told me she thought it was time to walk away, and I . . . I thought she meant Brant. I thought the pressure of the bad match had finally gotten to her, and I knew she’d never forgive herself if she gave up just because it was hard. So I told her to never let fear drive her. I told her . . .”

  “What?” Sophie asked when she didn’t finish.

  But Edaline shook her head, handing Sophie the journal as she stood. “Hindsight is a dangerous game to play.”

  She turned to head for the door. But before she left, she whispered, “I’m not going to try to stop you from finding out what Jolie was into. But I am going to tell you what I should have said to her that day. Please be careful. And if whatever you’re chasing starts to catch up with you—run, don’t walk away.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  A SCROLL ARRIVED THE NEXT morning, bearing the Council’s official seal.

  Sophie had a horrible, flip-floppy feeling, since the deadline King Dimitar had given the Council was almost up. But when she mustered the courage to break the seal, she found an invitation to an event at Foxfire that evening. As far as Sophie could tell, it appeared to be some sort of hybrid between the inauguration of Magnate Leto and an official Council assembly—which sounded like a terrifying combination. But Grady didn’t seem concerned.

  “They’ve always done an inauguration when a new Principal is appointed,” he said, pouring himself a cup of some sort of strange red tea. “And the Councillors are always there, just like they are during the Opening Ceremonies. Remember, Foxfire is a noble academy. The Council is a part of their celebrations.”

  “Right, but, it says”—she picked up the scroll, reading directly from one of the paragraphs—‘“Further updates will also be delivered by the Council, and the event will conclude with an important public announcement.’ Is that normal?”

  “No,” Grady admitted. “But . . . this is a strange time for the Council. Both their official amphitheater and their tribunal hall burned in the Everblaze. They also have a brand-new Councillor, a terrified populace demanding answers, King Dimitar threatening war, a city to rebuild, and somewhere in there they also need to inaugurate a new principal. I’m guessing they figured that since we’d all be gathering anyway, they might as well double up and address some of the people’s questions.”

  “I guess,” Sophie mumbled, still staring at the scroll.

  “You’re worried they’re going to announce your punishment there, aren’t you?” Grady asked.<
br />
  “Shouldn’t I be? I mean . . . doesn’t it seem like the perfect place?”

  “It does. . . .”

  He dragged out the word as he rubbed a crease on his forehead. “Listen, Sophie, I haven’t wanted to tell you this, but there’s been a bit of drama surrounding your upcoming sentence. A rather vocal group of people have seized upon it as an opportunity to . . . have you expelled.”

  All the blood drained from her face. “From Foxfire?”

  Grady nodded. “They know you were indirectly involved with the fire—and then they watched you almost cause a war with King Dimitar. They’re scared, Sophie. And when people are scared, they do crazy, heartless things. Like blame an innocent girl for impossibly complicated situations, and try to keep her away from their children.”

  Sophie stared at her sleeve, flicking away a piece of lint. “Do you think the Council’s going to listen to them?”

  “No, I don’t. Alden’s met with them several times, and he’s confident that they have a different punishment in mind.”

  “And what punishment is that?” she asked, no longer able to breathe.

  “Unfortunately I have no idea. They’re being extremely tight-lipped, since they need to make sure King Dimitar approves it before the sentence is given. Alden still feels that it will likely involve time at the Sanctuary. But he also warned me that there might be something else in addition, and judging by this invitation, I’m guessing it’ll be some sort of public reproval.”

  “Do I want to know what that means?” she asked, trying not to envision stocks and whips.

  “Basically they would deliver your punishment in front of everyone, along with a stern lecture.”

  “That’s . . . it?”

  Grady laughed. “And here I thought you’d be panicking.”

  “Well, I don’t love the idea of being humiliated in front of my entire school. But compared to being expelled . . .”

  “It’s definitely better,” Grady agreed, pulling her in for a hug.

  She rested her head against his chest, letting the sound of his steady heartbeat calm her racing pulse.

  Then Grady had to ruin the moment by adding, “It’s probably going to be a pretty humiliating experience, though, Sophie. People see you as a threat to the peace and safety of our world. If the Council’s not going to give them what they want, they’re going to have to come down very hard on you to prove they have you under control. I promise, everything is going to be okay. But I think we need to prepare for the fact that tonight is going to be . . . a very long night.”

  The crowd at Foxfire was even larger than Sophie had been expecting.

  It leaked out the ornate golden doors to the main amphitheater—where the inauguration was being held—and spilled into the grassy courtyard, crushing the bushes shaped like the different mascots and blocking the path.

  A tiny, less-than-nice part of Sophie wished one of the glaring people would accidentally find one of the effluxers and trigger an epic stink blast—especially when she spotted Marella standing with Stina.

  There was a pocket of space between them, like neither girl truly wanted to be with the other. But when Marella noticed Sophie watching her, she tossed her hair and turned away.

  Sandor kept a loose grip on Sophie’s wrist, leading her straight to a security checkpoint outside the main entrance. A dozen elves in bright orange capes were scanning everyone’s registry pendants and dividing them into two lines, one leading up to the arena’s seats, and one to the floor level. Only noble families were given access to the floor—but not all of them. And as far as Sophie could tell, there seemed to be no reason for the division.

  Her family was sent to the floor.

  The crowd was thinner there, filled mostly with stern-looking elves dressed in very fancy capes. So Sophie was surprised to recognize a familiar face.

  “Dex?” she called, rushing over to his seat in the second row, near the center. He was sitting right behind the seats marked for her, and his whole family was with him—even the triplets. Sophie had never seen Kesler and Juline dressed so fancy—though their capes were still far simpler than the finery that surrounded them. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Thought I’d be up in the common area, didn’t you?” he asked, his wide grin making it clear that he didn’t mind if she had. “Not anymore! They stopped us on our way in and told us that because one of my inventions would be featured prominently in the assembly, they wanted me nearby in case they needed any assistance.”

  “That’s awesome,” Sophie told him, knowing it was the reaction he was expecting.

  But . . . why would the Council want to demonstrate a weapon?

  Kesler patted Dex on the back, his pride obvious—though he still looked like he’d rather be back in his lab coat, whipping together some sort of crazy concoction.

  “Oh—before I forget,” Dex said, glancing over his shoulder as he dug into the pocket of his jeweled blue cape. “I finally had a chance to fix this.”

  He handed over her iPod, which now had a small silver triangle sticking out of the base. “I still don’t get why you need this. But that receiver will pick up pretty much any kind of signal you want. And I made a few tweaks to the way it works, because, well, man that thing was slow.” He touched the screen, tapped one icon, and instantly the Internet loaded. “That’s what you needed, right?”

  “Yeah—it’s perfect.” Sophie shoved it into her pocket before anyone could notice—though Sandor had already seen, and was giving her his Do you really think this is the time or place to have human technology out in plain sight? look. “You’re the best.”

  “I know.”

  She elbowed him, and he laughed.

  But he turned serious as he studied the packed audience above them. “I heard the Councillors saying something about an announcement regarding you. Everything okay?”

  “I hope so.” She said it with a smile, but what little she’d choked down of her dinner turned to prickles in her stomach.

  Despite Grady’s assurances, she couldn’t help worrying that the Council was going to expel her. That wasn’t something they would need a unanimous vote for. Only a majority—and she wasn’t sure she had seven supporters.

  She wasn’t sure she even knew seven of the Councillor’s names.

  Still, it had to help that Dame Alina was the newest member to the Council. She’d seen firsthand how well Sophie did at school—surely she’d be able to come to her defense.

  “It’s time to take your seats,” a snooty sounding elf told them, shuffling past in a silver-and-black cape. “The inauguration will begin in a moment.”

  Sophie had barely settled into her chair next to Edaline—which was also conveniently in front of the steps for the stage—when the bells chimed a slow, tinkling peal, and the Councillors and their bodyguards appeared.

  They weren’t wearing their usual gowns and capes. Instead, they wore identical silver suitlike garments, with simple, fitted jackets and tailored pants. Their long silver cloaks had hoods, which they all tossed back in unison, revealing matching silver circlets. The female Councillors even had their hair pulled back, making it hard to tell which Councillor was which.

  The only one easy to recognize was Councillor Emery, whose dark skin gave him an air of importance as he welcomed everyone to the assembly. He explained that the inauguration would happen first, followed by a brief speech from the Councillors, which would conclude with an announcement—and Sophie was pretty sure he glanced at her when he said the last part.

  Sophie reached for Edaline’s hand as the Councillors stepped back, leaving room for Magnate Leto to move to the center of the stage. His orange robes were a vivid flame among the muted silver of the Council, and when the floor beneath him lifted to create a pedestal, he looked like a torch—a torch that suddenly had an unearthly green glow as the lights dimmed in the
auditorium.

  “Foxfire,” Sophie whispered, realizing the glow was the same shade as the luminous mushrooms the academy was named after.

  No matter how many times the elves explained the “illumination in a darkened world” analogy, she would never stop thinking it was weird to have a school named after glowing fungus.

  Councillor Emery’s booming voice snapped her out of her spore-related musings, and he unrolled a golden scroll, reading a long, boring oath for Magnate Leto to repeat—most of which Sophie tuned out. All she really caught was the final stanza—and only because Councillor Emery raised his voice to make it echo around the auditorium.

  “Do you swear to put the safety and success of your prodigies above all else—even your own life?”

  “Yes!” Magnate Leto called, lowering into a deep bow as polite applause filled the arena.

  One by one the Councillors dipped their heads, paying their respects to the new principal of Foxfire. And when they reached the last of the twelve, Dame Alina, she stepped forward, holding a narrow scepter with a glowing orange F on the end. For a horrible second Sophie thought they were going to brand the F onto Magnate Leto’s skin, like farmers did to cattle. Instead, Dame Alina pressed the glowing end against the center of the pedestal and turned it like a key, making the room rain with glittering orange sparks.

  The sight should’ve been breathtaking, but it reminded Sophie too much of the Everblaze. And from the squeamish looks on the Council’s faces, she clearly wasn’t the only one fighting flashbacks.

  “That’s the key to Foxfire,” Edaline whispered as the pedestal lowered and Dame Alina handed the scepter to Magnate Leto.

  He dropped to his knees and vowed that the light would never go dark on his watch. Then he pressed the key into the floor and the room flooded with light, so bright Sophie had to rub her stinging eyes.

  By the time her vision cleared, the pedestal was gone and Magnate Leto had stepped back to the shadows.

  “Under normal circumstances, our festivities would end here,” Councillor Emery said as the Councillors moved to center stage. “But we all know our circumstances are hardly normal at the moment. We thank you for your patience and trust, and we’re happy to announce that the gnomes have reported to us just this morning that the cleanup in Eternalia is now complete. Every speck of ash and refuse has been washed away—a truly incredible gift these remarkable creatures have given us, and we all owe them a debt of gratitude. In the months ahead we will owe a similar debt to the dwarves for their help rebuilding what we’ve lost. And we always owe a debt to the goblins for standing at our side, ready to serve and protect. All of these creatures support us—not just because they are generous, compassionate beings—but because they rely on us for something as well. Something that recently we’ve been failing to deliver.” He paused for a second, letting the audience lean forward in their seats, before he told them: “Peace.”