“Are you okay?” Grady asked Sophie.
Before she could answer, Sandor charged into the room, waving his sword and demanding to know what was going on. Brant covered his face and screamed.
“You’re making it worse!” Grady shouted, shoving Sandor back toward the door. “I have everything under control.”
“That’s not what it looks like.” Sandor’s eyes focused on Sophie’s wrist. She covered the wound with her hand, but he still insisted, “I’m taking Miss Foster with me.”
“No,” Sophie told him, relieved at the steadiness of her voice.
All of her instincts were telling her to run—flee—get far, far away.
But she couldn’t ignore what she’d seen in Brant’s mind.
His memory of Jolie’s death had been sickening and horrifying. But it had also been clear—not scrambled up or shattered, like the broken memories she’d seen.
There had to be something left of Brant’s consciousness.
“I can help you,” she told Brant, waving Sandor back as she took a cautious step closer. “I can heal you.”
“Heal me?” he asked, as Grady gasped.
The shadows seemed to crawl deeper into Brant’s scars as he uncovered his face and asked, “What do you mean heal me?”
“Heal your mind,” Sophie said quietly. “Make you better.”
“Better,” Brant repeated. “How will healing me make me better?”
“You’ll be able to think clearly again,” Grady jumped in. “Go back to normal—”
“Normal?” Brant screamed. “There is no normal!”
He whipped his bag of Indigoobers at Grady, and one of the clusters splattered Grady’s cheek.
“Brant, please,” Grady said as the goo slid down his face. “If you would just listen.”
“No—you listen. Nothing will ever be normal because nothing will ever bring her back!”
Grady closed his eyes, and his voice was impossibly sad as he said. “I know you miss her. I do too.”
“No, you don’t. If you did you would’ve broken like me. Then you’d know that there’s nothing without her. Nothing . . .” Brant’s voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands. “Get out.”
“Brant, please—”
“I SAID GET OUT!”
The words were so sharp, Sophie could practically feel them prick her skin.
But they weren’t as scary as what Brant whispered while Sandor dragged her and Grady out the door.
“I never want to be healed. Never never never never.”
Sophie didn’t feel Grady take her hand, or the warm light whisk her away.
She didn’t feel the pain in her wrist—though she was sure that would hit her when she got home.
All she felt were the claws of fear and doubt raging inside her, twisting and tearing and shredding her resolve.
Because if Brant didn’t want to be healed, Prentice might not want to be either.
THIRTEEN
BUT PRENTICE IS THE PLAN, Sophie told herself for what felt like the hundredth time, as she pulled her memory log from its hiding place in the bottom drawer of her desk.
Alden had given her the teal book with the silver moonlark on the cover after she’d accidentally bottled quintessence—the highly dangerous fifth element, which could only be collected from one of the five unmapped stars—and he’d revealed the truth about her past. She’d been created as part of Project Moonlark, the Black Swan’s secret genetic experiment, and after she’d been born they’d hidden classified secrets in her brain. The memories only resurfaced with the right trigger, so she’d been recording her dreams in her memory log, along with any clues that might lead her to her kidnappers, and any memories she’d recovered in the minds she’d probed.
She flipped to Prentice’s pages, her clammy fingers sticking to the paper as she studied the twisted, nightmare scenes she’d recorded. Searching his mind had been one of the most terrifying things Sophie had ever experienced, and she couldn’t imagine Prentice would want to live that way forever.
But he doesn’t know what he’ll be waking up to, she reminded herself.
A lot had changed since Prentice’s mind had been broken.
Years had passed—more than a decade. His son, Wylie, had grown up without him. And his wife . . .
Sophie didn’t know all the details—only that something had gone wrong while Cyrah was light leaping and she’d ended up fading away.
And Prentice had no idea. He would wake up expecting to find his wife and son waiting for him. Instead he’d learn his wife was dead and his son had been raised and adopted by an old family friend.
Would he be able to handle all of that tragedy?
Or would the grief and guilt and anger simply shatter him all over again?
Sophie sighed, stuffing the memory log away.
Mind healing was turning out to be way more complicated than she’d thought. And of course the Black Swan hadn’t given her any guidance except, “Wait for instructions and stick to the plan.”
Unless . . .
She ran to her door, threw it open and—
—slammed into a muscley goblin chest.
“Ow,” she complained, pinching the bridge of her smashed nose. “You don’t have to barricade me in.”
“Actually, I do. I figured it was only a matter of time before you tried to sneak away.”
“I’m not sneaking away. I was going down to check the caves to see if the Black Swan replied to my note.”
“So you weren’t going to pay a secret visit to Elwin on the way back?”
“Why would I . . .”
Sandor reached for her wrist, pointing to the ugly reddish bruise she’d forgotten about.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, trying to pull her arm away.
“If you don’t mind, I think I should be the one to decide that.”
She rolled her eyes as Sandor sniffed the injury. “If you lick me I’m going to kick you.”
“That would be like a kitten kicking a bear.” His smile faded as he took another whiff. “This is more than a bruise.”
“I think he twisted the skin as he squeezed—or maybe it happened when I tried to pull away.” Her little sister used to do that to her all the time. It always stung like a burn.
Sandor frowned. “Well, it does seem like a surface wound, so it will probably clear up with a salve. But if it’s still there tomorrow I will insist we stop by the Healing Center on your lunch break. Agreed?”
Sophie nodded, hoping one of the billions of ointments Edaline kept around the house in case of “Sophie Emergencies” would work. She was already holding the record for Most Physician Visits that year—and Foxfire had only been in session for a few weeks.
“Can I go now?” she asked, pulling her wrist free.
Sandor shook his head. “I’ll check the cave. You stay here and treat that wound before it starts to fester.”
“How do I know you won’t hide their reply if you don’t like it?”
“Because secrets hinder my ability to protect you—whether I’m keeping them, or you are. We need to work together. I know you’re not used to trusting people, Sophie. But I’m on your side. I wish you would believe that.”
Sophie touched the edge of her bruise. Her skin really was stinging. And she didn’t exactly love going to that creepy cave. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.”
“Good. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sandor said, already on his way to the door. “And I hope when I come back I’ll find you sleeping peacefully.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” she reminded him.
“Sounds like a perfect time for a nap. Trust me—you need one.”
He left before she could argue, and Sophie checked her reflection in her floor-length mirror, surprised at how shadowed her eyes were.
“Ugh, what’d you do—get into a fist fight with your pillow?” Vertina asked as her tiny face appeared in the upper corner of the glass.
Sophie kn
ew spectral mirrors were just a clever bit of Elvin programming. But she was always surprised by how lifelike Vertina seemed—and how much she wished she could reach through the glass and strangle her. If Vertina hadn’t been such close friends with Jolie, Sophie would’ve left the obnoxious talking mirror to gather dust for all eternity.
“You should really think about using glimmer dust,” Vertina told her, tossing her long black hair. “It worked wonders on Jolie—and she had the worst dark circles I’ve ever seen.”
“Was Jolie having a hard time sleeping?”
“Toward the end, yeah. But that was when . . .”
“When what?” Sophie asked.
“Have you thought about trying gold eye shadow? It would really bring out the flecks in those freaky eyes of yours.”
“When what?” Sophie pressed.
She’d been trying to get information out of Vertina for weeks, but so far all she’d gotten was snippy makeover advice.
Vertina chewed her lip. “I . . . can’t tell you. Jolie said I couldn’t tell anyone, even if she was gone. Especially if she was gone.”
“Wait—are you saying she knew she might die?”
Vertina squeaked and tossed her hair to hide behind it. “I can’t say any more. Not unless . . .”
“Unless what?” Sophie asked.
“If you don’t know, I can’t help you.”
“What does that even mean?” Sophie was shouting now, but she didn’t care if anyone heard her. Not that it made a difference.
“I’m sorry,” Vertina told her, and it almost seemed like she meant it. “I can’t say anything else. I’ve probably already said too much.”
She blinked away with a faint click.
Sophie stared at the empty glass, not sure what surprised her more, that Vertina could turn herself off, or that Vertina really was hiding an important secret.
There had to be some sort of password—or maybe something she was supposed to show Vertina—in order to get her to share. Sophie tried to figure out what it would be as she searched the huge ebony armoire in her bathroom for a salve to treat her wrist. Edaline had bought Blister Blast and Scratches ’n Splits and Abrasion Persuasion. But Sophie grabbed the Bruise Cruse, hoping it wasn’t made with any sort of animal pee as she smeared the yellowish sludge over her wound.
The cream felt prickly as it sank in, like she was rubbing her skin with a burr. And the longer it set, the hotter the zings grew until Sophie finally gave in and scrubbed her arm with soap and cold water.
“How’s the wound?” Sandor asked, making her jump so hard she splashed herself.
“Sorry,” he said, handing her one of the feather-soft towels. “I thought you heard me come in.”
“Actually you walk pretty quiet, despite your giant goblin feet.”
“I don’t have giant goblin feet.”
She moved her foot next to his, which looked like a lizard next to a dinosaur.
“Okay, maybe I do,” Sandor conceded. “Let me see your wrist.”
Sophie reluctantly held out her hand, revealing the angry welt. “I must’ve used the wrong ointment—but I’ll try a different one in a few minutes. I just want to let my skin calm down.”
“If it’s not better in the morning—”
“I know, I know. So what’d you find in the cave?”
Sandor reached into his pocket, removing a clear glass vial with a note curled inside. The sign of the swan—a black curve like a swan’s neck—had been pressed into a wax seal on the stopper.
“I waited for you to open it,” he said as she grabbed the vial and pried at the seal.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she removed the crystal stopper. She’d gotten dozens of notes from the Black Swan before, but this one felt bigger.
This time, they were responding to her.
But her excitement quickly faded as she read their carefully written message:
Your request is denied, for your own protection.
FOURTEEN
DUDE, WHAT IS UP WITH them not rhyming?” Keefe asked, holding up the note like he expected to find a secret message scratched into the paper.
Sophie had done the same thing—and searched the empty bottle for clues, and checked the cave to make sure Sandor hadn’t missed anything. But of course the only thing the Black Swan had given her was the incredibly unhelpful message. Which meant her best option in the What Do I Do Now? category involved getting to Foxfire early the next day and ambushing Keefe on his way to morning orientation—though she was already regretting the decision.
Especially when Keefe tossed the note back to her and said, “Okay, I figured out our reply. Write this down, Gigantor: You may not want to meet, but we definitely do. Name a time and a place or we’ll pelt you with sparkly poo.”
Sophie was too angry to laugh.
After all the times she’d risked her life to help the Black Swan. All the times she’d blindly followed their vague instructions. When it was finally her turn to go to them for help—to protect Silveny, no less—they’d cast her aside with a single, poorly written sentence.
“Hey, don’t go,” Keefe said, grabbing her wrist to stop her.
Sophie flinched.
The other bruise ointment she’d tried had bleached most of the wound’s reddish color, but her skin still felt raw and tingly, and throbbed every time she bumped it.
“I’m fine,” she said under her breath, hoping Keefe would drop it and that Sandor hadn’t noticed. She wasn’t in the mood for another Elwin visit.
Keefe narrowed his eyes. But all he said was, “I know the Black Swan are being super jerky. But that means you need to get tougher. Make your next note a demand. Remember, you’re Sophie Foster—Mysterious Girl Extraordinaire!”
He pumped his fist, making most of the prodigies around them turn to stare.
“I mean it,” he added a bit quieter. “The Black Swan needs you way more than you need them. You’re the one holding all the cards.”
Even if that were true, she had no idea how to play the game. Her one move had been leaving them a note, and they’d tossed it back in her face.
“How is refusing to meet with me for my protection?” she asked as they walked along the winding path toward the main Foxfire building. “I mean, if they want to keep me safe, shouldn’t they find out what I know?”
“Maybe they already know what you know,” Keefe suggested. “Or maybe they don’t trust themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the rebels did find their hideout somehow. And we had to fly across the ocean on an alicorn, so I’m pretty sure no one followed us.”
She stopped walking. “Are you saying you think the Black Swan has a leak?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re worried they do, and that’s why they think it’s safer not to meet with you right now.”
“That . . . actually makes sense.”
“Of course it does. I’m a genius. That’s why you keep me around. Well, that and my stunning good looks.”
He rumpled his hair and gave her his most confident smirk, but Sophie was too distracted to reply.
What if the Black Swan did have a leak?
Ten thousand questions swamped into her head, but the crowd had grown too thick for Sophie to say anything further. They’d reached the six-towered, six-colored, U-shaped main building, and everyone was funneling into the five-story glass pyramid in the center of the courtyard. Orientation was held every morning on the ground floor, and as they made their way inside, Sophie expected Keefe to join his fellow Level Fives in their fiery red uniforms. But he followed her over to the cluster of amber brown Level Threes, instead.
“Are you guys leaping to school together now?” Dex asked as they joined him.
“Ha—Foster wishes,” Keefe jumped in, before Sophie could say anything. “I was just walking with her because, well, Gigantor misses me.”
He wrapped an arm around Sandor, and Sandor shoved him away. “I’ll be waiting over there,” he said,
glaring at Keefe before he stalked to his usual spot in the corner.
“What were you guys really doing?” Dex asked as soon as Sandor was gone. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I’m not an idiot.”
“But we were doing nothing. I just had to ask Keefe something. About . . . Silveny.”
It was sort of the truth, but Dex clearly didn’t buy it.
“Oh—Iggy looks awesome,” she added, changing the subject to something safer.
“Really?” Dex’s cheeks dimpled with his smile. “Thanks. I had a super hard time deciding between the orange dreads or green spikes.”
“Dude, can I have the green-spiky elixir?” Keefe asked. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do to Dame Alina next.”
Sophie shook her head at him. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
“Not as long as I have you. Fix me, Foster. You’re my only hope.”
Sophie knew he was teasing, but her cheeks still felt hot—and when she glanced at Dex, she could tell he’d noticed.
“So,” she said, trying to fill the awkward silence, “what have you been—”
“Boo!” Biana shouted, appearing out of thin air between them. She giggled as they all jumped back. “You guys should see your faces. Being a Vanisher is going to be awesome!”
She vanished again as Fitz made his way over to their group—another fiery red uniform among the golden brown. “Can you believe she’s still at it? There’s no way I was this annoying when I manifested.”
“Wanna bet?” Dex mumbled.
Sophie elbowed him.
“No, Dex is right,” Keefe said, smirking at Fitz. “Not only did I have him constantly begging to read my mind, but I had to keep hearing, ‘I’m the youngest Telepath to ever manifest!’”
His impersonation of Fitz’s precise accent was pretty dead-on.
“If only we’d known Foster had you beat by, like, eight years, we could’ve shut you up much sooner,” Keefe added, earning himself a huge grin from Dex. “And wait—isn’t Biana younger than you were?”
“Only by a few weeks,” Fitz corrected. “Plus, telepathy is a rarer ability.”
“Yeah, well, vanishing’s cooler,” Biana told him, disappearing again.
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