Neverseen (31 page)

Dex looked like someone had crushed all his gadgets to dust. “We have to help them,” he whispered. “They saved us, Sophie. Lur and Mitya.”

“I know,” Sophie said.

Biana rushed to give Calla a hug. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to leave Alluveterre? The plague seems to be popping up everywhere.”

“We’ll travel deeper than normal, and I’ll steer clear of the Neutral Territories,” Calla promised, heading outside and down the winding stairs. When they reached ground level, she sang a deep, earthy song to create a tunnel and tangled the roots around them. The journey was faster than ever—so fast Sophie was sure she lost her stomach several times. But it was worth the nausea when they arrived at the Stone House after only a few minutes of journeying.

Sophie had assumed it would still be sunny, but when they climbed out of the tunnel the sky was bruised by twilight, the only light coming from the early stars and the hideout’s windows.

“Should we knock?” Biana asked as they crept toward the cottage’s door.

“No need,” Blur said, phasing through the wall and making them all scream. “But you do need to explain what on earth you’re doing here. How . . .”

His voice trailed off when he noticed Calla. “Better come in.”

They squeezed into the room, trying to find places to stand in the small, crowded space. Sophie’s heart twisted when she saw that Prentice hadn’t changed at all since the last time she’d seen him.

He also had guests.

Della stood with three figures that Sophie recognized right away, even though her brain kept telling her they couldn’t possibly be there.

“Magnate Leto?” Keefe asked, sounding equally confused to see Foxfire’s principal in a Black Swan hideout.

Next to him stood Tiergan, Sophie and Fitz’s Telepathy mentor. And on his other side was his adopted son, Wylie.

Prentice’s son.

Sophie had only talked to Wylie twice, and both times had been a disaster. She’d never forget their fight at his mother’s grave, when he’d told her, “You were supposed to make it right.” That was when she’d realized she’d been designed for healing minds, and that something must be wrong with her if she couldn’t. She’d gone to the Black Swan and risked her
life to reset her abilities. And yet, there Prentice rested, farther from being healed than ever.

Wylie resembled his father even more than Sophie had realized. His skin was a slightly lighter shade of black, and his features a bit sharper. But he had his father’s hair and lips and eyes.

“I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to find us here,” Magnate Leto said.

“It’s weird,” Biana admitted. “Are you part of the Black Swan?”

“That would be rather impossible.” Magnate Leto smoothed his black hair, even though it was coated with so much gel it couldn’t possibly move. “I’m here to cover for these two.”

Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that Magnate Leto would help—he’d protected her when he’d discovered the ability-restricting circlet didn’t completely stop her telepathy.

“The Council is watching us,” Tiergan said, tugging on the sleeves of his simple gray tunic. His usually deep olive skin looked almost as pale as his blond hair as he added, “The Collective hopes that if Prentice hears our voices, it might reach him.”

“So they pretend to be meeting with me in my office every evening,” Magnate Leto added. “And instead we come here.”

“Our pendants have to stay near each other or the Council won’t believe we’ve been together,” Tiergan explained.

“I might be able to fix that,” Dex offered.

“Maybe another time,” Blur said. “Right now you need to tell us why you’re here.”

“Should we wait for the rest of the Collective?” Sophie asked.

“They can’t get away from their other identities right now,” Blur said.

Calla asked everyone to head downstairs, not wanting to reveal the bad news in front of Prentice. The round bedroom below was simple but cozy—a bit too cozy once they’d all squeezed in. Sophie was surprised Blur let Tiergan, Magnate Leto, and Wylie join them.

She spent most of Calla’s update staring at her feet so she wouldn’t risk meeting Wylie’s eyes. Every time he looked at her, she could see such heartbreaking sadness and disappointment. She was trying to think of something to say to him when she realized the room had gone quiet.

“Calla was wondering if you could transmit to Lur, Mitya, and Sior,” Keefe whispered to catch her up.

“I can try,” Sophie said, hoping her voice sounded less shaky than she felt. “What do you want me to say?”

Calla cleared the thickness from her throat. “Tell them we’re not giving up, so they must not give up on themselves. And remind them that the good in nature is always stronger than the bad. Ask them if there’s anything they can share that might help us find the cure. And . . . tell them we love them.”

Sophie translated the message to gnomish and transmitted it in every direction. Her brain hurt from the strain, but she
kept repeating the call, stretching out her consciousness and listening for any trace of a response.

For several endless minutes all she found was a headache. Then a voice that sounded like Mitya’s filled her mind.

“They say the plague works in stages, and that they’re only stage one,” Sophie whispered.

“How many stages are there?” Magnate Leto asked.

Sophie transmitted the question and the room seemed to hold its breath.

“They don’t know,” Sophie said. “So far the healers have counted six. But they won’t know the final count until someone dies.”

The word struck a blow, and Sophie was glad Biana could take Calla’s hand—especially since she had an even more upsetting message to deliver.

“They say there are two hundred and thirty-seven gnomes in quarantine.”

The number was too big to fit in such a small room.

Two hundred and thirty-seven gnomes, all sick and slowly dying.

We’re going to find the cure,
Sophie transmitted.
We’ll do whatever it takes.

Calla was crying by then, and Sophie nudged through the crowd, hugging her tight and repeating the promises she’d given Lur, Mitya, and Sior.

Calla swallowed hard and reached for the chain of Sophie’s
allergy remedy, which still held the moonlark pin.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Calla whispered, then pulled away. “I need some air.”

She disappeared upstairs, and others started to follow.

“Can I . . . talk to you for a second?” Wylie mumbled as Sophie passed him.

“Uh, sure,” Sophie said, even though her stomach felt like a nest of fire ants had taken over. She wasn’t sure she could handle another fight.

“Let’s give them some space,” Tiergan said, herding Dex, Keefe, and Biana away.

Once they were alone, Sophie studied the patchwork quilt and the crystal lamp—anything to spare her from having to look at Wylie.

He cleared his throat. “You know I blame you for what happened to my dad—and I can’t promise I’m ever going to stop. But . . . I think I finally get why he sacrificed himself for you. What you just did there—sending that message around the world. And the way everyone was looking to you . . . they all believe in you.”

“Thank you?” Sophie said, not sure if it was the right reaction.

He nodded, and she thought maybe the awkwardness was over. But he stepped closer, his voice deep and intense.

“Just make it worth it, okay? Everything he did. Make. It. Worth. It.”

Sophie wanted to tell him she would. But she didn’t want to lie. “I promise I’ll try as hard as I can.”

Wylie nodded.

He turned to leave, but before he disappeared up the stairs she told him, “Don’t give up on your dad yet, Wylie.”

He reached up, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I won’t if you won’t.”

She held his gaze. “I
won’t
.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Fitz drank the last cup of vile tea and was instantly back to normal, just as Physic had promised.

He spent the day working through Cognate exercises with Sophie, but their progress didn’t feel like enough. Neither did Dex’s attempts to improve the Twiggler. And Biana and Keefe found nothing new in the Exillium records Dex had stolen.

“We need a plan,” Sophie said, pacing around the girls’ common room. Della was visiting Prentice again, so they had time to scheme. “Exillium is our chance to finally get some answers. We need to find out who the Psionipath is and figure out how to find him, and what he was doing with that tree. We’ll also
be in the Neutral Territories, so we need to learn anything we can about the plague. We need proof that the ogres are behind this—
if
they’re behind it—and we need to figure out if the drakostomes are involved.”

“That is quite a large to-do list,” Mr. Forkle said.

He stood in the doorway, holding a large gray trunk. Granite lurked behind him, carrying the same.

“Lur and Mitya saved my life,” Dex said as the two members of the Collective shuffled into the room and set their trunks in the center of the floor. “Now they need our help.”

“I understand the stakes,” Mr. Forkle told him. “But that doesn’t mean you can put aside caution. One of the hardest parts of our role is not letting things become personal.”

“But it
is
personal,” Keefe argued.

“It is and it isn’t,” Mr. Forkle said. “The problems our world is facing go beyond protecting the people we know and care about. Believe me—I understand the struggle. Do you think we were never tempted to break Prentice out of Exile before now? We knew where he was. We knew the nightmare he was trapped in. But we couldn’t risk that kind of exposure until Sophie was ready. And now”—his voice cracked—“it’s possible we were too late. But that doesn’t mean we were wrong to focus on Sophie’s safety.”

“We’re not saying you can’t investigate,” Granite added quickly. “We’re saying to manage your risks wisely. Enduring Exillium will be your greatest challenge yet, in many
ways. Do not let your goals distract you from surviving.”

“Surviving?”
Sophie repeated. “Enduring” didn’t sound very awesome either.

“Exillium is not so much a school as it is an institution,” Mr. Forkle warned. “It exists for the Unworthy—the hopeless cases that must be kept in line. Expect rules—
lots
of rules—which absolutely must be followed, regardless of how unfair or bizarre they may seem. Names are forbidden. Friendship is forbidden. Talking or interaction of any kind is forbidden. Refusing an order or an assignment is—”

“Let me guess,” Keefe jumped in. “Forbidden?”

“Yes, Mr. Sencen,” Mr. Forkle said. “And as our resident rule breaker I cannot emphasize enough how important it will be for you to submit to authority this time. Exillium is beyond the protection of the Lost Cities, which means there are no restrictions for how the Coaches punish disobedience. Also, the less you draw attention to yourselves, the safer you’ll be. You need to blend in at Exillium. Embrace your anonymity.”

“Will we really be wearing masks?” Biana asked.

“You will.” Granite opened the chests, which Sophie noticed had been painted with a black
X
across the top and the letter
E
embossed where the lines intersected. “Your uniforms are the same for boys and girls, and they are designed to hide your identities.”

He handed them each a thick stack of gray and black clothes,
along with a pair of heavy black boots, and a silver-studded black half mask.

“I’ll try it on,” Biana said, heading toward her bedroom.

She clomped back a few minutes later in the steel-toed boots, which laced up over the fitted black pants. The long-sleeved shirt was also black, and worn tucked under a gray vest with silver buckles and chains across the front. The back half of the vest draped low and flared like a trench coat. Sewn under the collar of the vest was a hood with a deep cowl that cast Biana’s face in deep shadow. Paired with the mask, it was impossible to tell what Biana looked like, and the full effect was incredibly intimidating.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Sophie mumbled, “but I miss the dorky Foxfire capes.”

“I dunno,” Fitz said. “I think it’s kinda cool.”

“See, and I’m not on board with the hood,” Keefe said. “It totally kills the Hair.”

“The mask smells funny,” Biana added. “And this heavy fabric is making me sweaty.”

“Is the campus somewhere cold?” Dex asked.

“It changes every day, as part of their security,” Mr. Forkle said. “But it’s always in the Neutral Territories. You’ll find the campus tomorrow at dawn using these.” He reached into one of the trunks and pulled out a small black pouch, which contained five long black cords strung with a single bead.

The bead was blue and dotted with a flake of crystal no bigger than a speck of glitter.

“The crystal only works for a single leap,” Granite explained. “After that, you’ll have until sunset to prove that you deserve another bead to return the next day.”

“What happens if we don’t get one?” Dex asked.

“Do not find out,” Mr. Forkle warned. “I have no doubt that all of you are capable of handling their curriculum. Exillium focuses on skills, not abilities. Tasks like night vision, slowing your breath, regulating body temperature, suppressing hunger, levitating, blinking in and out of perception, telekinesis, on and on. It will be exhausting, and physically demanding, but could prove useful in the future. We know you’ll also be trying to gather information—and we’ll be grateful for anything you learn. But do not do so at the expense of your safety.”

Keefe fiddled with his necklace, coiling the cord so tightly around his finger it turned his fingertip red.

“You okay?” Sophie asked him.

He shrugged. “You know what gets me? My dad always said I’d end up in Exillium.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Biana and I will be the first Vackers ever sent there,” Fitz said. “Pretty sure that means we’re officially the disgrace of our family.”

“No, you’re not,” Della said, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes looked shadowed as she studied the uniform Biana was modeling. “You’re sure sending them to Exillium is a good idea?”