Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3) (5 page)

She tried to call Silveny to her side, but Silveny was too busy chasing her tail to obey.

Keefe frowned. “Do you feel that, Foster?”

“Sort of.” Sophie closed her eyes, trying to sort through the dizzying emotions swirling in her head. She’d forgotten how overwhelming Silveny’s energy could be.

Calm,
she transmitted. But Silveny kept on spinning, and the more she circled, the more Sophie picked up a darker emotion in the mix.

Why are you afraid?
she asked, repeating the question until Silveny finally stopped to look at her.

A rush of fear clawed at Sophie’s mind like an angry verminion, and she stepped back, needing room to breathe. “What is she afraid of?”

“It’s . . . probably easier to show you.” Jurek opened the satchel he’d been carrying and pulled out a handful of twisted blue stalks, filling the air with a spicy, cinnamon scent.

Silveny’s hunger clouded Sophie’s mind, but the alicorn backed away from the treats.

“Why would she—”

An ear-splitting whinny cut Sophie off, and Silveny reared back as a blur of silver dropped out of the sky. Jurek barely managed to pull Keefe out of the way before a huge alicorn with blue-tipped wings landed right where he’d been standing.

“This is Greyfell,” Jurek said, tossing the handful of treats to distract the new Alicorn while he swung a golden lasso around the massive horse’s neck. Greyfell bucked and thrashed and wrestled against the restraint, but Jurek managed to hold tight. “He’s our resident male. And up until a few days ago, he and Silveny were getting along just fine.”

“So what changed?” Sophie asked as Silveny screeched and launched back into the sky.

“I have no idea.” Jurek tried to stroke Greyfell’s nose, but the alicorn glared at him with the coldest brown eyes Sophie had ever seen. “That’s what you’re here to figure out—and you’d better do it quick. Otherwise I’m afraid he’s going to kill Silveny.”

FIVE

I
T’S OKAY,
SOPHIE TRANSMITTED AS
Silveny circled above them.
I won’t let him hurt you.

But as Greyfell thrashed again, nearly pulling Jurek over, she wondered if she could really keep that promise.

Everything about Greyfell was
fierce
. His wild eyes. The constant twitching in his bulky muscles. The gleam of his teeth as he tried—and thankfully failed—to snap through the thick rope holding him.

And yet, the cold waves rippling through Sophie’s mind felt more like fear than rage.

“Careful,” Keefe warned as Sophie took a step closer. “I’m getting some pretty serious I-will-bite-your-hand-off-if-you-touch-me vibes.”

It’s okay,
Sophie transmitted.
I’m not going to hurt you.

Greyfell stamped his hooves.

Silveny whinnied, transmitting,
Sophie! Danger! Fly!
But Sophie ordered her to stay back, wishing she could block Silveny’s panicked shouts from her head.

She closed her eyes, letting everything else fade to a hum as she imagined her consciousness stretching toward Greyfell like a blanket of feathers. Most Telepaths couldn’t open their minds to the thoughts of animals, but thanks to her enhanced abilities, Sophie’s head filled with images of snowcapped mountains and towering trees and lakes so clear they looked like mirrors of the sky. Everything felt bright and open and free, and yet a hollow ache laced through every scene—the same mournful emptiness Sophie remembered feeling the first time she met Silveny.

You’re not alone anymore,
Sophie promised Greyfell.
Friend.

She sent images along with the word: scenes of herself caring for Silveny, and flying with Silveny, and letting Silveny nuzzle her neck—anything to prove that Greyfell could trust her. She even showed him she could teleport, wanting him to know how deep their connection went.

A word filled her mind then—one that took Sophie a second to translate from the alicorn language Greyfell was using.

Kin.

Yes,
Sophie transmitted, opening her eyes to study him. Greyfell’s irises were flecked with gold—just like hers—and as he held her gaze, tiny bits of cold speckled her consciousness, like icy drops of rain inside her head.

The more she concentrated on them, the more they turned into a steady stream.

Then a downpour of nightmares.

Sharp-toothed beasts, and humans with gleaming weapons—chasing, hunting, out for blood. Screams and war cries echoed in her consciousness as the ache of scars still healing brought tears to her eyes.

She tried to pull her mind free, but Greyfell kept sending violent, bloody scenes filled with lumpy-faced monsters—ogres, she realized—beating and bludgeoning everything they touched until the whole world was red. She wanted to cry, scream, scratch the scenes out of her brain. But she could only stand there as the fear seemed to crystallize inside her, freezing her from the inside out.

“Whoa,” Keefe said, dragging Sophie back. He held her tight as she shivered against his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“What happened?” she asked when her voice was working again.

“I have no idea. One minute you and Greyfell were becoming BFFs. Next minute you were shaking and Greyfell was thrashing so much Jurek had to sedate him.”

“He did?” She tried to spin around and felt her knees collapse.

Keefe barely managed to catch her. “Hey—take it easy. He’s fine, see?”

He turned so they were facing Greyfell’s collapsed body, which didn’t
look
fine. His wide eyes stared at nothing and his purple tongue drooped to the ground. But his chest was rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths.

“He’ll wake up as soon as I remove this,” Jurek said, pointing to a lei of tiny green-blue flowers around Greyfell’s neck.

Sophie usually loved anything teal, but there was something ominous about the pointed petals, like nature was trying to warn everyone to stay away.

“Dreamlilies,” Jurek explained. “The slightest touch of their pollen and you’re out like a hibernating bugbear.”

Sophie didn’t know what a bugbear was, but she hoped they slept peacefully.

“So,” Keefe said, making her realize she was still holding on to him. “You okay now?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” She pulled away to stand on her own, hiding behind her hair so he couldn’t see her blushing. “Greyfell’s just had a
much
harder life than Silveny.”

Her voice quivered as her mind replayed the horrors Greyfell had shown her. He must be centuries old, and had witnessed the murder of his own kind at the hands of all manner of vicious creature. Most of the time he’d barely escaped with his own life, while friends, family—even his mate—weren’t as fortunate.

But one memory was far more terrifying than the others, partially because it was familiar, but mostly because it was
recent
.

“The rebels have been here,” Sophie whispered.

“You’re sure?” Keefe asked, the same time Jurek said, “That’s impossible.”

But Sophie knew what she’d seen. “Greyfell saw a black-cloaked figure do something to Silveny while she was sleeping. That’s why he’s afraid of her.”

She called Silveny down, half hoping she was wrong as she led her a safe distance away from Greyfell’s unconscious form. But when she traced her fingers through the shimmering silver strands of Silveny’s tail, it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for—right where Greyfell had shown her it would be.

“This is why Silveny keeps chasing her tail,” Sophie said, holding out a quarter-size disk with five tiny crystals set into one side.

She’d never seen one so large or intricate, and she’d never seen one made of silver.

But she knew exactly what it was, even before Jurek tore his hands through his hair and said, “That looks like a tracker.”

SIX

T
HERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE,”
Jurek said for the dozenth time as he combed through Silveny’s mane, checking for other trackers. “No one could’ve gotten near either of the alicorns without my knowledge.”

“The rebels always find a way,” Sophie whispered.

They’d snatched her and Dex from a cave right outside her home, and tracked them down in the streets of Paris after the Black Swan helped them escape. They’d thwarted Sandor’s goblin senses and snuck into Havenfield’s pastures without being detected, leaving behind nothing but a single, unidentifiable footprint. And most impressive of all, they’d somehow followed her and Keefe across the ocean in the middle of the night, even though they were flying on the back of an alicorn, heading to a cave only the Black Swan knew existed.

“We need to tell the Council to move Silveny out of the Sanctuary,” she decided.

“To where?” Jurek asked. “Where else could possibly be safer than this?”

“Uh, clearly there’s a few holes in the security,” Keefe said, stroking Silveny’s nose to keep her calm. “How long has Greyfell been acting weird?”

“Not long. Maybe three days.”

“You’re sure it was three?” Keefe asked, glancing at Sophie like that was supposed to mean something.

Jurek nodded. “I remember him snapping at her when I was giving Silveny her bath, and I only bathe her once a week.”

“What happened three days ago?” Sophie asked when Keefe turned slightly pale.

“That’s when my dad had the effluxers installed.”

Because the patrol had found those strange footprints.

“But Greyfell didn’t see an ogre,” Sophie reminded him. “He saw a figure in black.”

“True,” Keefe agreed. “Unless . . .”

Their eyes met again, and this time she did know what he was thinking.

Unless the rebels and the ogres were working together.

“Those footprints were
not
ogre tracks,” Jurek interrupted as he dusted off his hands. “Ogres leave a trail of stink everywhere they step. But those prints smelled like ash.”

“Ash?” The word tasted sour on Sophie’s tongue.

The rebels had at least one Pyrokinetic in their ranks. Maybe he’d found a way to use fire to hide his scent.

But then why would the tracks look like ogre prints?

“Either way,” Sophie said, holding out the tracker to remind them, “
Someone
put this in Silveny’s tail. And I’d like to know why, wouldn’t you?”

Keefe took the tracker from her and studied the glittering crystals. “Think they can hear us right now?”

Sophie backed a step away. “Can trackers do that?”

“No idea. But just in case . . .” He held the tracker up to his mouth like a microphone. “Yo, bad dudes. If you’re listening, you should know that I’ve been practicing my aim with goblin throwing stars—a lot. If you touch one more hair on Silveny I will come at you with everything I have, and I promise, I won’t miss again.”

Sophie shuddered.

She’d watched Keefe clip one of the rebels across the shoulder with Sandor’s bladed, disklike weapons, and she didn’t want to be there when one hit the mark.

“Maybe this is all just . . . a misunderstanding,” Jurek said after a second. “Maybe the disk is just a decoration or something. I’ve never seen a tracker with crystals on it, have you?”

“No,” Sophie admitted. “But it still looks almost exactly like the trackers Sandor has sewn into my clothes.” She could feel the faint outline of one in the lining of her sleeve. “They’re gold, and they have slits where the crystals are. But the rebels probably went with sparkly silver so it would hide better in her tail.”

“Right,” Jurek mumbled, sounding as tired and defeated as he looked. “I just . . . I’ve worked around the clock trying to keep Silveny safe, and when I tell the Council that the rebels managed to get past me . . .”

“No one’s going to blame you,” Sophie promised.

“Won’t they? The alicorns are
my
responsibility—and it’s not a responsibility someone like me is normally given. When I started at the Sanctuary, I was basically a poop scooper. And now I have to tell the Council that the rebels slipped in under my nose and tagged their precious alicorn?”

“But the Council understands how sneaky the rebels are,” Sophie reminded him.

Jurek laughed darkly. “The Council understands
nothing
. They sit in their crystal castles, basking in their own brilliance, while their Emissaries are out doing their dirty work. They have no concept of what it’s like for the rest of us, and worse yet, they don’t care. All they care about is keeping the status quo.”

Sophie glanced at Keefe, not sure how to respond. She’d heard whispers and murmurs against the Councillors before—especially in the wake of her kidnapping. But she’d never had someone condemn the Council so openly. And she couldn’t necessarily blame Jurek for what he was feeling. The longer she lived in the Lost Cities, the more she realized that things weren’t as perfect as the elves wanted them to be.

“Let me talk to Alden,” she said after a minute. “He
does
understand how ruthless the rebels are—and he’s not afraid to stand up to the Council if he has to.”

He’d come to her defense more times than she’d like to admit. And he didn’t hesitate to bend, or even break, a few rules if he needed to. The fact that he’d spent years searching for her—when no one else was willing to believe she existed—was proof of his determination.

“Alden will know what to do,” she assured Jurek. “And if he decides we should go to the Council, I know he’ll make it clear to everyone that whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I doubt
Alden Vacker
will give a second thought to someone like me. But . . .” Jurek moved to Greyfell’s side, kneeling in the grass to stroke the still-unconscious alicorn’s sleek silver mane. It was obvious how much Jurek cared about the precious creature, even before he whispered, “Do what you must.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Sophie willed the words to be true as she took the tracker back from Keefe and stuffed it in her pocket. “We’ll go to Everglen right now.”

“This sounds like a great plan and all, but, uh, how are we supposed to get there?” Keefe asked. “You and I both only have home crystals, and I’d really rather not deal with my father right now.”