Neverseen (47 page)

“And what is your deal?” Councillor Emery asked.

“I’m not talking to you. This decision is entirely up to the gnomes. Are you listening?” he asked them. “I’m only going to say this once. We’re willing to share the cure on a single condition. You must leave the Lost Cities and serve in Ravagog.”

“The gnomes do not
serve
us,” Councillor Zarina shouted.

“I love that you’ve managed to believe that lie after all this time. Perhaps you leave their chores to their discretion. Perhaps you tell them they can leave anytime. But they’ve been trapped by their ignorance, and those who dared to live beyond the Lost Cities had no knowledge of the danger of their situation. You also left them without a homeland, by your choice, not theirs, and
your
word that it was the request of their leaders.”

“It was!” Bronte shouted. “Every decision we made was in an effort to protect your people. We can see now that there were flaws in our reasoning—but don’t confuse the situation. The villains are not those who shielded you from the truths of these revelations. It’s those who broke the treaty and unleashed the plague. Those who stand before you now ready to enslave you, not save you.”

“It’s true,” Fintan told the gnomes. “Our offer isn’t one of freedom. You
will
serve the ogres in Ravagog. But your loved ones will survive this infestation.”

“I have a project for you,” King Dimitar added. “One that requires your special talents. Serve me well and you have my word that I’ll never unleash the drakostomes again.”

“Why should we believe you?” someone shouted, and again, Sophie wondered if it was Calla’s voice. “How do we know the cure is even real?”

“We’re willing to prove it,” Fintan said, nodding at King Dimitar.

King Dimitar flung the test tube toward the Pures, and the gnomes scrambled to catch it before it shattered.

“Test it,” Fintan told them. “And as you watch it work, keep in mind that—by their own admission—the Council has tried to create a similar remedy for nearly five thousand years. They can’t provide you with a cure. And you can’t cure yourselves. We’re the only ones who can help.”

“You have one week to make your choice,” King Dimitar added. “Either I will find you at the gates to Ravagog, ready to serve, or I will unleash the plague. And I wouldn’t count on the protection of the elves. The distribution system is already in place. Hide here, and the drakostomes will contaminate the Lost Cities.”

“A life serving the ogres is no life at all,” Oralie shouted to the gnomes.

“Funny, I thought death from disease was far less of a life,” Fintan corrected. “But as I said, it’s your choice. You have a week.”

With that, Fintan leaped away—but not before tossing his sphere of Everblaze at the Council. The silver stage burst into flames, and the Councillors scattered as the goblins rushed to pull them to safety. Others cried for the reserves of frissyn. Through the chaos, Sophie caught the briefest glimpse of King Dimitar laughing as he vanished into the ground.

“This was my mom’s vision,” Keefe said, shaking so hard Sophie knew he would collapse any second. His skin felt cold to the touch and his eyes looked glazed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dex asked.

“I think he’s in shock.” Sophie hoped that was all it was, but she couldn’t help thinking about how Alden had looked after he first saw Prentice in Exile—when his mind first started to shatter.

Keefe had just seen his father. And King Dimitar pretty much confirmed his mom was dead. And Fintan had claimed that this horrible mess had been her idea. And thanks to Lady Gisela’s note, Keefe knew she did it all for him.

“Keefe needs help,” she told Sir Astin.

“I agree,” he said. “Your disguises are also nearly gone. But it would be unwise to head straight to Alluveterre, in case the ogres are tracing any leaps.”

“So where are we supposed to go?” Dex asked.

“With me,” a sharp voice said behind them. “I can hide them at Sterling Gables.”

Sophie spun around and found Timkin Heks. Her confusion morphed into disbelief when Sir Astin agreed.

“Wait,” Sophie said as Timkin tried to take Keefe from her.

“It’ll be okay,” Sir Astin promised, holding a crystal up to the sunlight. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I speak with the Collective.”

He was gone before she could argue.

“Come on,” Timkin said, dragging her, Dex, and Keefe toward his wife, who had a path already created for them.

“We can’t leave Fitz and Biana,” Sophie argued.

“Alden already took them away,” Timkin said.

“And why should we trust you?” Dex asked, locking his knees to slow their momentum.

“Because Mr. Forkle isn’t the only one with multiple names.”

It took Sophie a second to figure out what he meant—and also who he could be.

She squinted at Timkin, trying to imagine him covered head to toe in white curly fur as she asked, “Coiffe?”

“Yes. Now come with me.”

T
IMKIN BROUGHT THEM
to an expansive manor made of silver and crystal, surrounded by lush pastures filled with grazing unicorns.

“This is where you live,” Sophie said, not sure what surprised her more—that she was at Stina’s house, or that it was so bright and lovely. She’d always imagined the Hekses lived somewhere with blackened windows and crumbling walls, surrounded by gargoyles and craggy trees and a bunch of growling animals.

“We need to get him to lie down before he gets any paler,” Timkin said, dragging Keefe toward the house.

Dex grabbed Sophie’s arm. “Do you really think we can trust him?”

“He’s Coiffe,” she reminded him, still trying to wrap her head around it.

“But it’s the
Hekses
,” Dex said.

“I know. But . . . Fintan is alive. The Neverseen and the ogres are trying to force the gnomes into slavery. I think it’s time to admit the world no longer makes
any
sense.”

Dex couldn’t argue with that.

So they followed their enemy into his house, which was decorated in pale blues and greens, like grass and sky. The furniture was plush, and the crystal walls were hung with family portraits. It wasn’t as grand as Everglen, or as pristine as Havenfield, but it was the most homey house Sophie had encountered in the Lost Cities.

“Do you have an Imparter on you?” Timkin asked as he brought Keefe to the couch.

Sophie shook her head. “I left it back at Alluveterre.”

“Fine, wait here,” Timkin told them, “And don’t touch anything.”

Sophie dropped to her knees next to Keefe and tried to get him to look at her. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, taking his clammy hand.

Keefe didn’t blink.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Dex said, studying a humongous portrait of Stina on the wall. “Nothing about it makes any sense.”

“
You
don’t make sense,” a snotty voice said behind them.

Sophie cringed, allowing herself one breath before she turned to face Stina—and found a fun bonus to put the cherry on top of the awkward moment.

Marella looked anywhere but at Sophie as she asked, “What’s wrong with Keefe?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted.

Keefe didn’t seem to have a headache—which was a good sign. When Alden’s mind broke, he’d clutched his head and cried out in pain.

But guilt affected people in different ways.

“Elwin will be here soon,” Timkin said, stalking into the room, carrying a blanket. He froze when he noticed his daughter. “Where’s your mother?”

“She stayed to make sure no one noticed you taking
them
away.”

“Probably wise.” Timkin draped the blanket around Keefe and placed his palm over Keefe’s forehead to check his temperature. “I wish she’d kept you with her. I don’t want you involved in any of this—”

“Why not?” Stina asked. “If
she
can be a part—”

“Unlike others in the Black Swan,” Timkin interrupted, “I do not endanger children. Especially
my
children.”

Sophie had seen the look on Stina’s face many times, and fully expected a screaming match to follow. But after a second, she tossed her hair and stomped upstairs.

Marella turned to follow, and Sophie rushed to her side,
taking her chance before her former friend could walk away.

“I’m sorry for anything I said before I left,” she mumbled.

Marella frowned. “Huh. I thought you were going to apologize for leaving without me.”

“I . . .” Sophie didn’t know how to finish her sentence. She’d never realized Marella would’ve wanted to go with her to the Black Swan. And . . . if she was being honest, she wouldn’t have ever thought to include her.

She liked Marella—she did. But she didn’t know her
that
well.

So she let Marella follow Stina upstairs, hoping Stina would be a better friend than she’d been.

“She’s better off,” Timkin said, echoing her thoughts.

“If you hate the Black Swan so much, why are you one of them?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t hate the Black Swan.”

Sophie snorted. “You’ve said nothing but horrible things about them.”

“Yeah, I always figured you’d join the Neverseen someday,” Dex added. “If you weren’t part of them already.”

Timkin smiled at that. “I’d wager you think anyone who dares not to like Miss Foster has allied themselves with evil. And truth be told, I still see no value in Project Moonlark. But our world needs change. And while I don’t agree with all of
the Black Swan’s politics, I
can
agree that they’re the best chance we have of surviving. So if that means spending my days pandering to a group of children who will surely never live up to the Black Swan’s foolish expectations . . . so be it. I’m hoping to be proven wrong.”

Sophie sighed, marveling at Timkin’s gift to insult her in every possible way while still sounding logical. And she couldn’t fault him for doubting her capabilities. She often doubted them herself. Plus, she remembered what Mr. Forkle had told her about their world needing checks and balances. Why shouldn’t the Black Swan have similar voices of opposition?

She was spared from further musings by a familiar voice saying, “Look who’s back in the Lost Cities again and already needing a physician house call!”

She rushed to hug Elwin, grateful for a friendly face. And as he patted her shoulders, she felt her knots of panic loosen. Elwin would fix Keefe. Everything was going to be okay—if she didn’t think about the Neverseen and the gnomes and the million other catastrophes.

“Okay, let’s tend to the runner up for Most Frequent Patient,” Elwin said, turning his attention to Keefe. He flashed orbs of different color around Keefe’s face to examine him.

As the minutes stretched on, Sophie forced herself to voice her worry. “Could his mind be breaking?”

“I can’t tell,” Elwin admitted. “That’s doesn’t show up medically.”

“Then I’ll have to check,” Sophie whispered.

“Is that safe?” Dex asked.

“If I survived the madness in Exile, I should be up for
this.” Still, her hands trembled as she reached for Keefe’s temples.

She braced for chaos and confusion, shards of memories and pockets of emptiness. Instead, Keefe’s mind looked like a long, shadowy hall, leading to a single memory.

The scene was cracked and distorted, as if the memory had been repressed—or damaged. Keefe was only a kid, no older than five or six, and he’d climbed the endless staircase in Candleshade, following his mother’s voice. He found her on the roof, standing in the moonlight, talking to two figures in black hooded cloaks. Keefe hadn’t recognized the voice when the taller figure spoke. But Sophie did.

Brant.

“We need to move up the timeline on the Lodestar Initiative,” he whispered.

“Why?” Lady Gisela turned to the other figure. “You said the girl had brown eyes.”

Sophie’s mind buzzed, realizing she had to be looking at the Boy Who Disappeared.

“But the real child is out there somewhere,” Brant jumped in. “If Alden finds her first—”

“We’re monitoring Alden closely,” Lady Gisela interrupted.

“Not close enough,” Brant argued.

The Boy threw out his hands. His words were garbled—damaged in the memory—but Sophie was pretty sure he said, “It’s not easy to leave Foxfire.”

“Then perhaps you should go to Exillium,” Lady Gisela told him. “Ruy is having no problems there.”

“You know I would draw way too much attention if I left,” the Boy whispered.

The memory crackled too much to hear Lady Gisela’s reply. Brant said something too, but the words mushed together—or maybe that was Sophie’s brain trying to make sense of what she’d just learned.

The scene cleared as Lady Gisela said, “It’s a good thing Fitz is close to my son’s age. Perhaps they need to spend more time together.”

At the mention of himself, Keefe stepped forward. “Mom? What’s going on?”

Lady Gisela hid her surprise well.

“Nothing, baby,” she said, opening her arms for a hug. “Why are you out of bed?”

Sophie couldn’t decide what made her sadder: watching Keefe cuddle against his mom, or watching Lady Gisela turn to Brant and whisper, “Go get our Washer.”

Washers were Telepaths with the ability to erase memories. That explained why the scene had blips and damage. Lady Gisela had it wiped from Keefe’s mind.

But washed memories could come back. All it took was something to trigger it. Fintan mentioning the Lodestar Initiative must’ve been enough, and now Keefe’s mind was fixated.

The memory started over, and Sophie watched it replay,
searching for clues she’d missed. One thing she knew for sure: Ruy—the Psionipath—wasn’t the Boy Who Disappeared.

But that didn’t matter at the moment. She needed to get Keefe back.

“He’s remembered something his mom erased,” she told Elwin when she pulled her mind back, “and now his brain is stuck on it.”

“What did he remember?” Timkin asked.

Sophie stayed silent. Her trust in Timkin Heks only went so far.

“If that’s the case, what his mind really needs is to rest long enough to reset,” Elwin said, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a vial filled with deep purple serum. “This will knock him out for twenty-four hours, which should be enough time. I wouldn’t leap him until he wakes up, though. He already looks a little faded. I’ll give him something for that—don’t worry.”