Neverseen (46 page)

The word sounded heavier on Bronte’s lips, as though it were a burden he’d been carrying for far too long.

“The drakostomes are an accident of nature,” he whispered, and yet the sound still rang off the jeweled buildings. “A force that was never meant to be unleashed. Had your people not lost Serenvale, it’s likely the plague would’ve remained undiscovered. But the ogres stole your homeland, tore down your beloved Panakes, and split open their bark.”

A sharp gasp echoed through the crowd.

“Yes,” Bronte told them. “The trees of your legends were real. And their fall unleashed the greatest danger your people have ever faced. We don’t know how the ogres discovered the parasite—or how they infected your leaders—but King Gowg assured us he’d harvested enough to infect the entire
gnomish population. He also insisted that there was no cure.”

The crowd erupted, both elves and gnomes shouting in anger and grief and disbelief.

“That was our reaction as well,” Bronte said. “But King Gowg claimed that the only substance able to resist the drakostomes was the bark they’d once been preserved in. And he took quite a lot of delight in explaining that he’d burned every last piece of the Panakes in order to harvest the parasites.”

Bronte let that sink in before he added, “That was when he gave us an ultimatum. We could surrender to his demands, and he would swear never to unleash the plague. Or we could sacrifice the entire gnomish species.”

“It’s important to note,” Councillor Emery jumped in, “that the King’s demands were surprisingly manageable. We assume that was because he feared war. He knew he would lose if he pushed us too far. So he made demands that would still give him the advantage, but that we would be willing to accept. The choice was clear, even if it still pains us all these centuries later.”

“Our decision was made with the full support of the ailing gnomish leaders,” Bronte added. “Their only request was that we protect the rest of the population. They asked us to house your people within our borders, knowing the Lost Cities were the only place the ogres would dare not tread. We promised that any gnomes who chose to live among us would be able to go about their lives any way they wanted. We have been incredibly
grateful that you’ve chosen to assist us while you’ve lived here, and share your produce—but that was never a requirement. And it never will be. Our only desire is to shelter and protect your species.”

Unease settled over the audience, no one sure what to say. Eventually a gnome braved the question no one else wanted to ask. “What happened to those infected with the plague?”

The Councillors reached for each other’s hands, and a moment of silence passed.

“Our physicians never ceased searching for a cure,” Bronte promised. “But they were unable to produce one. With their final breaths, your leaders made us swear never to tell anyone what had killed them. They didn’t want your lives darkened by the shadow of the ogres’ threat. And they didn’t want any other creatures to discover the drakostomes existed, for fear they’d find a way to unleash them. Their only other request was that they be brought to Lumenaria to assume their final forms—a silent testimony to the ogres’ atrocities. You know them well, though you likely have not realized. They asked us to call them the Four Seasons Tree.”

The crowd’s reaction to the news was a mix of shock, horror, and anger. But their shouts soon faded to cries of mourning.

“So is the Four Seasons Tree like a Wanderling?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin. “Where some of their DNA gets incorporated into the seed after they die?”

“No, when gnomes meet their final end, they stand rooted
to their final resting place. They’re plantlike in life, and truly plants in death.”

“Please tell me every tree isn’t a dead gnome,” Sophie begged.

“Not every tree. But generally the most spectacular ones.”

Sophie doubted she could ever walk through a forest without feeling sad again. Meanwhile, the crowd’s grief seemed to be morphing into a single cry—a demand for justice so loud it shook the Pures. Sophie could see Councillor Emery fighting for control, but the crowd was whipping into a frenzy. Roots stretched out of the ground and pulsed with a thumping beat, fueling the gnomes’ furious chants.

Finally another Councillor stepped forward—a male Councillor with a shock of black hair pulled into a ponytail. He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a sound like screeching tires and squealing children and yowling cats all competing to see who could be the loudest. It rippled through the air, leaving stunned silence in its wake.

“Thank you, Noland,” Councillor Emery said as Noland reclaimed his place among the other Councillors. “Having a Vociferator in our ranks comes in handy. And we understand your anger. We hear your cries for action. But the fact is, a cure still has not been found. Over the centuries we’ve researched every parasite that ever affected a tree. And we’ve searched high and low for another Panakes. Both efforts have been unsuccessful. We did manage to create medicines that are slowing
both the progress of the plague and easing the symptoms. But they’re not enough to risk any action that might lead to further infestation.”

“So those infected have no hope?” someone shouted, and Sophie could’ve sworn the voice was Calla’s. “And the ogres get away with murder?”

“For the moment, the only answer we can give is ‘yes,’ ” Emery said sadly. “We cannot punish the ogres for using this weapon without risking that they’ll attempt an attack on those of you here in the Lost Cities. Even if we increase security, we know too little of how they spread the plague. And all it would take is one case to trigger an outbreak.”

More angry shouting followed, and Sophie braced for Councillor Noland to unleash another sonic scream. But the ground in front of the stage rumbled first.

The goblins scrambled to regroup, forming a circle around an enormous brown beast crawling out of the earth.

King Dimitar, the ogre king.

K
ING DIMITAR LOOKED
every bit as ridiculous as Sophie remembered, between his riveted metal diaper and his hairless gorilla-shaped body.

He also looked extra terrifying.

He wore no cape or crown—just a series of swirling tattoos across his forehead, and yellow stones set into his earlobes. But everything about him testified to his kingship. He moved with authority and confidence, as though he knew he could defeat the goblins towering over him without even needing his evil-looking sword.

If barbed wire were as thick as King Dimitar’s head and sharpened to a wicked point, it would look a lot like his blade.
A single stroke likely wouldn’t just kill someone, it would disembowel them.

“Oh, relax,” King Dimitar said in his painfully familiar voice as the goblins pointed their curved swords at his chest. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“And if your presence was welcome, we would’ve invited you,” Councillor Emery countered.

King Dimitar smiled—a cruel curve made jagged by his pointed teeth. “You
accuse
me. That’s invitation enough. If you’re going to insinuate that my people are behind this plague—”

“Do you deny it?” Councillor Emery interrupted.

“I don’t deny that the drakostomes exist. Nor that they are one of my favorite possessions. But tell me this: Have you found any signs of ogres at the sites of the infestations?”

The Council’s silence made his smile stretch wider. “That’s what I thought.”

The gnomes resumed their cries, hurling insults and accusations. Councillor Emery called them to order before he told the king, “Evidence can be missed.”

“Or it can never be left in the first place.” He stalked closer to the goblins, forcing them back a step before turning to the crowd. “Your rebels came to me with this grand scheme for domination. I’ve simply sat back and watched it unfold.”

“He’s right,” a new voice shouted from somewhere high above them.

Gasps echoed through the city as a black-cloaked figure waved from the roof of an amethyst and emerald tower. Even from that height, the white eye symbol on his sleeve taunted them.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” the figure told the goblins scaling the walls to arrest him. He snapped his fingers, and a sphere of neon yellow Everblaze sparked to life over his left hand. “You just rebuilt this city, didn’t you?” he asked the Council. “I suspect you’d prefer not to do it again. Especially since this time I hardly think you can count on the gnomes to help.”

King Dimitar laughed, picking bits of something Sophie didn’t want to identify out of the jagged barbs of his blade. “Now you see my new strategy. I don’t have to defeat the elves. You’ll do that yourselves.”

“Why?” Councillor Emery asked, his eyes focused on the Neverseen figure. “Why would you harm so many innocent gnomes?”

“Because sometimes you have to let things burn to let something better rise from the ashes.” He tossed the fireball up and caught it with his other hand a split second before it would’ve ignited the building. “And let’s not ignore the role you’ve played. We’ve been waiting for you to come forward, confess the secrets you’ve kept. We timed each release of the plague in careful stages—and look how many it took to get
us here today. Even now, you only stand there because the gnomes pieced things together. That’s become the elvin way, secrets and lies, while those who depend on you suffer in ignorance. But things don’t have to stay that way!”

Sophie tried to think, but every time the flames flickered, her mind was paralyzed by memories of the jeweled buildings melting into glittering lava.

She was too lost in the past to ask the question Dex asked next—the question that changed everything: “There’s no way to grow back a hand, right?”

The logic shattered her panic, and in the brief seconds of clarity she managed to realize, “That’s not Brant.”

In fact, now that her brain was catching up, she recognized the raspy tone of the figure’s voice.

“No,” she whispered. “It . . . it can’t be.”

But she knew it was, even before the figure pulled back his black hood.

“I’m tired of disguises,” he said. “Tired of living like I’m the one with something to hide. Tired of letting you think I fear you. I stand before you now as the future of our world, every bit as unstoppable as my flames.”

Sophie stared in horror at the face that was every bit as real as it was impossible.

Blond hair.

Slender features.

Cold blue eyes.

“Surprise,” he said as Oralie screamed and Terik had to hold her back.

Somewhere in the chaos Sophie could hear King Dimitar laughing. But she was too shocked to feel anything.

Fintan had survived the Everblaze.

H
OW COULD HE
be alive?” Sophie asked. “Alden saw the flames overwhelm him.”

“Clearly there was some trick,” Sir Astin whispered.

“Does that mean—”

“No.” He cut her off before she could fully form the question. “Kenric is gone.”

“So was Fintan!”

“Yes. But do you think Kenric would let us mourn his loss? Let that thought go—now. It will only distract you from our actual problem.” He pointed to the roof, where Fintan stood, stroking the smoke around the Everblaze as if it were his pet.

It wasn’t fair—if she had to have Fintan back, why couldn’t she have Kenric, too?

But Sir Astin was right. Kenric would never let Oralie suffer. Just watching her thrash and flail and sob broke Sophie’s heart.

Fintan turned to the goblins, who’d huddled up to work out a plan. “Remember, the only reason these flames aren’t devouring this building is because I’m holding them back. If anything happens to me, this whole city burns.”

“This is madness,” Councillor Terik shouted at Fintan.

“No—it’s called taking action,” Fintan snapped back. “A new concept for you, I realize. I remember when I was a Councillor. Always sitting back, thinking we needed more time, more information, more thorough consideration. We claimed it proved our superior wisdom. But really? We were cowards. Afraid to make the hard choices and do what needed to be done.”

“And what are you accomplishing by killing innocent gnomes?” Emery shouted.

“It’s called getting your attention,” Fintan said. “We have a plan—one I wish I could take credit for, but that’s owed to our previous leader. It’s a shame she couldn’t be here to see her vision realized. In the end, she was a coward too. She wanted to think more. So I removed her to see the Lodestar Initiative through.”

Keefe’s hand fell slack in Sophie’s, and she needed Dex’s
help to keep him steady when Lord Cassius shouted, “What have you done to my wife?”

“Nothing more than she deserved,” King Dimitar said, reminding everyone that Fintan wasn’t the only monster among them. “And no more than I’d be willing to do to any of you.”

“Is that a threat?” Councillor Bronte shouted.

“It’s an end to the ridiculous charade we keep playing,” King Dimitar told him. “Aren’t you as tired of it as I am? You despise us every bit as much as we despise you. And were your minds not so pitifully weak, you would’ve attacked us long ago.”

“And if you didn’t know we could beat you, you would’ve attacked
us
,” Councillor Emery snapped.

“For the moment,” King Dimitar agreed. “But let’s see what happens when we cut off your resources.”

“Yes, let’s,” Fintan said, turning to the gnomes. “Everything the Council told you about the drakostomes is true—with the exception of one crucial detail.” He paused to make sure he had their full attention before he added, “There
is
a cure.”

King Dimitar reached into his metal diaper and pulled out a narrow test tube filled with a muddy liquid. Sophie wasn’t sure which disgusted her more—where that test tube had been, or the fact that the ogres had withheld the cure all this time.

“You didn’t honestly believe we wouldn’t save some of the Panakes bark, did you?” King Dimitar asked the Council.

“So here’s how this is going to work,” Fintan told the gnomes. “You agree to our deal, and we’ll give you the cure to save your ailing kinsmen. There
should
be enough time to save them—no thanks to the Council and their stalling.”