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  “So this is a big change,” Sophie confirmed.

  “It is. The Council is taking a very brave step. But, as Magnate Leto reminded you, change can be a powerful, inspiring thing.”

  He’d made his voice sound like his alter ego, and Sophie was still trying to wrap her head around the weirdness of hearing Sir Astin sound like Magnate Leto when two lines of heavily armed goblins marched through the crowd and formed a perimeter of swords and muscle.

  “Brace yourselves,” Sir Astin said as fanfare rang across the field and all twelve Councillors glittered onto the stage. “This should be very interesting.”

  NINETEEN

  SEVEN DAYS AGO, our world suffered an attack,” Councillor Emery said as he strode to the center of the silver stage. “Though I suppose it would be more accurate for us to say ‘another attack.’ Such events are supposed to be unheard of. And yet this was the third incident in as many weeks. And it comes on the heels of the disgusting plague unleashed upon the innocent gnomes. Surely you also remember the inferno of Everblaze that stole the life of our beloved Councillor Kenric and destroyed much of our beautiful capital. In fact, over the last year, our world has experienced evils we can hardly begin to process. And as a result, we’ve been forced to add goblin police to our cities and armed guards to our schools.”

  He paused there, his sapphire blue eyes shining against his dark skin while he studied the crowd shuffling nervously around him.

  Councillor Emery served as the spokesperson for the Council primarily because of his ability as a Telepath. He mentally mediated all of the other Councillors’ internal discussions to ensure that—out loud—they always presented a united front. But there was also something in the way he carried himself that demanded attention. Maybe it was the rigid line of his posture. Or the dramatic sweep of his shoulder-length black hair. Whatever it was, the longer Sophie watched him, the more she found herself holding her breath.

  Eventually she glanced away, focusing her attention on the other Councillors, who’d formed two neat lines on either side of the stage. They each wore a different color, with matching jewels glinting across their capes and circlets. Their posture was stiff and regal—heads held high. Shoulders squared.

  But there were thin creases in their brows and cheeks, and their lips were pressed tightly together. Sophie had faced the Council many times—more than she ever would’ve chosen—and it was rare to see them looking so nervous.

  She concentrated on her three most loyal supporters—Bronte, Oralie, and Terik—searching their faces for clues to what news might be coming. But Bronte was his usual scowling, pointy-eared, ancient self. Oralie was equally hard to read. Her pink cheeks and soft blond ringlets always gave her a serene, ethereal air about her. And Terik was . . .

  . . . staring right at Sophie.

  His cobalt blue eyes held hers, almost like he was taking another stab at her reading. He was the elves’ only Descryer, which meant he could sense people’s potential. He’d tried to read Sophie once already, and had been unable to understand what he was feeling. The best he could tell her was that he’d felt “something strong.”

  “Our world has changed,” Councillor Emery continued. “The safety and peace we’ve enjoyed for millennia is fading. But we will not let it disappear! The rebels’ strength is an illusion. Soon all of this will be nothing more than a brief chapter in our long history—a chapter that will testify to our adaptability and reinvention—but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, we want to assure you that anything damaged during these growing pains will be rebuilt. Councillor Darek, if you please . . .”

  One of the Councillors Sophie didn’t know moved toward the back of the stage. His skin had a warm brown tone and his shiny black hair curled at the ends. He reminded Sophie of a bullfighter, probably because of his bright red cape, which made a dramatic swish as he raised his arms toward the pyramid.

  Sophie thought he might be a Guster as the tarp fluttered and rippled—but the air remained perfectly still as the thick fabric slowly rose from the center, almost as though a giant invisible hand were lifting it like a handkerchief.

  The tarp hovered above the pyramid, casting the structure in deep shadow—which was why it took Sophie a second to notice the more important reveal.

  The glass pyramid had been repaired.

  Each pane had an opalescent sheen, reflecting swirls of color across the courtyard. And when Darek dropped the tarp and let the sunlight hit the glass, it shimmered and twinkled in every color of the spectrum, as though the pyramid were built from fireworks.

  “Yes,” Councillor Emery said as the crowd erupted with applause. “Thanks to the tireless—and generous—efforts of our gnomish and dwarven allies, we have brought our illustrious academy to a new level of magnificence. Even the interior of the pyramid has been completely redone with remarkable improvements.”

  “You’d think they might have consulted the principal before redecorating his office,” Sir Astin muttered under his breath.

  “Did you not know the pyramid had been fixed?” Sophie whispered.

  “I knew they were working on it. Not that they were finished. And I’d heard nothing of the interior being altered.”

  “Let this be a lesson to those afraid,” Councillor Emery said, “as well as to those who might view our world as vulnerable. Any efforts to make us weak will only make us stronger. Our resilience and resourcefulness are what have made our kind what we are. We are elves. We live to dream and inspire. And when we need to, we regroup. We rebuild. At times, we even change—but only when such changes are for the better of our people. And the time has come for one of those changes. Perhaps you’ve already noticed.”

  He paused, and the crowd started calling out suggestions.

  “Yes, Timkin,” Councillor Emery said, pointing to his left. “That’s exactly it.”

  All heads swiveled toward the Heks family, who stood several inches taller than the other families around them. Stina and her mother were practically glowing as Councillor Emery asked Timkin, “Can you repeat that for everyone to hear?”

  Timkin’s puffed-out chest made Sophie wish she could tell everyone that when he helped the Black Swan, he spent his days as Coiffe, swathed in head-to-toe white curls like a giant two-legged poodle.

  “Councillor Darek raised the tarp using telekinesis,” Timkin shouted.

  Emery nodded. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you were the one to notice, given your background. And yes, Darek moved the tarp with his mind. It turns out, he has the greatest telekinetic strength out of all of us on the Council. We had our own Splotching match of sorts to test it out before we came here today—but that’s a story for another time. The point is: Instead of having Councillor Liora snap her fingers and conjure the tarp away, or having Councillor Zarina disintegrate it with one of her electric charges, or even having Councillor Clarette call a flock of birds to carry it away in their talons—we chose to let Councillor Darek use telekinesis—a skill, not an ability. And we did so to remind you of the underutilized arsenal that each and every one of us possesses. That’s the beauty of skills. There are no haves and have-nots.”

  “Are you trying to tell us that skills are better than abilities?” someone in the crowd shouted.

  “It’s not a matter of better. It’s a matter of missed opportunities,” Emery told them. “We’ve been neglecting our skills for far too long. Somehow we’ve let ourselves become complacent about such opportunities and limited our focus to academics and abilities.”

  “But you just told us they could’ve done the same thing with their abilities,” another voice yelled.

  “Yes, but what would an Empath or a Telepath or a Vanisher do?” Emery asked. “I do not mean to devalue any talent—we all know the vital role that each special ability plays. But they also are limited to only a specific purpose, whereas our skills cast a much wider advantage—far wider than I suspect any of you realize. We brush on some of them in our physical education sessions at Foxf
ire, but it’s a far cry from the proper training such gifts should be given. So from now on, we’ll be correcting this—and before any of you protest”—he raised his arms to silence the fresh wave of murmurs—“keep in mind the precarious position we’re currently in. It’s no secret that elves are not warriors. Our minds shatter from the violence and gore. And that has led some to the mistaken conclusion that we’re also defenseless. There are even those who believe that if we were to be separated from our goblin protectors, our world would crumble—and while that’s obviously not the case, it does still raise a concern. How many of us could truly protect ourselves if the need ever arose? I’d wager only a small portion, which is unacceptable! And fortunately, we already have a system in place to help us train.”

  “Oh,” Sophie breathed.

  Sir Astin smiled. “I believe you’re beginning to guess the shift that’s coming.”

  That didn’t make Councillor Emery’s next words any less shocking.

  “All of this is why, starting next week, the Exillium campus will be stationing itself right where we’re standing, and we’ll all begin a program of specialized skill training with their Coaches.”

  TWENTY

  THEY’RE SENDING EVERYONE to Exillium?” Sophie asked, turning to the rest of her friends. “As in everyone?”

  The crowd around them seemed to be shouting the same question.

  “Yes, I do mean all of us,” Councillor Emery called over the din. “Young, old, and Ancient—all will participate in this new program, because all of us possess these vital skills. We’re in the process of designing a schedule to accommodate this rather large undertaking. But those of you here—and your families—will be the first wave. We’ll be dividing you into groups that will then be assigned to a specific day and time for training each week. The schedules will be finished by the weekend and sent out to each household. Training will begin on Monday.”

  Biana grinned. “I wonder if they’ll make everyone wear the crazy uniforms.”

  “Or go through a dividing,” Dex added.

  When Sophie and her friends had first arrived at the Exillium campus they’d found themselves snared by thick ropes and left dangling upside down from a high metal arch while all the other Waywards watched. The method they found to escape was analyzed to determine which of the three Exillium Hemispheres they belonged to—the Left Hemisphere for those who favored logic and reason, the Right Hemisphere for those who were impulsive and creative, and the Ambi Hemisphere for those who used elements of both approaches.

  “Let’s just hope no one starts any fires,” Biana said. “Right, Sophie?”

  “Hey, if I hadn’t started that fire, we might not have become friends with Tam and Linh,” Sophie reminded her.

  “Plus, a school isn’t a school until Sophie tries to destroy it,” Fitz teased.

  “Uh, I think Keefe has taken over that role,” Biana whispered. “I can’t decide if that means she’s the bad influence—or he is.”

  “I think they’re mutually troublesome.” Sir Astin gave Sophie a papery smile. “And much as it would delight me to see some of our particularly sheltered elves endure the kind of creative initiations Exillium specializes in, the Coaches have arranged a much faster, much less invasive dividing process. Everyone will also be provided with simple capes to wear with their tunics, pants, and boots. And in case you’re wondering, you will be participating as well. So will all of the Exillium Waywards.”

  “Is this what you meant when you told Tam and Linh that you were working on something to keep them less isolated?” Sophie asked.

  Sir Astin nodded. “They will now be coming to Foxfire twice a week—and should the experiment go well, I’ve been in talks with the Council about establishing a permanent connection between the schools. I envision an exchange program once a week, to allow both schools to interact and benefit from the other. But the first focus will be on self-defense training.”

  Dex pointed toward the grumbling crowd. “Doesn’t sound like everyone’s excited by the idea.”

  Sophie wasn’t surprised. Most of the elves were snobs about Exillium—believing the school existed only for the hopeless cases. All the Waywards had been banished from the Lost Cities, and very few had done what Timkin Heks did and earned their way back.

  Councillor Emery held out his hands, demanding silence. “Clearly this idea will take some getting used to,” he told them. “But it is a necessary change.”

  A fresh round of shouts disagreed, and Bronte stepped from his place at Emery’s side.

  “Would you honestly rather risk your lives than train to use your skills?” he shouted.

  “No, we’d rather you do your job and exile these black-robed idiots,” someone yelled back, triggering an eruption of cheers.

  Sophie couldn’t hear what Bronte said in response, but the set of his jaw was pure disgust.

  “If you don’t calm yourselves,” Councillor Emery shouted, “I will let Noland call for silence. And you all know the headache a Vociferator can trigger.”

  Most of the crowd obeyed—though Sophie caught a few grumblings about the hypocrisy of threatening them with someone’s special ability.

  “Regardless of how you may feel about this decision,” Emery told them, “keep in mind that this arrangement is not optional. Anyone who refuses training will face a number of consequences.”

  “Like what?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin. “They wouldn’t exile people, would they?”

  “Honestly, I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But there is never a shortage of manure to shovel at the Sanctuary.”

  “And what about the ogres?” a female shouted from somewhere off to the side.

  Sophie recognized the voice even before the crowd parted to let her linguistics Mentor march toward the stage. Lady Cadence’s dark gray gown looked as tight as the twisted bun in her dark hair and paired well with her stormy glare.

  “Why am I not surprised you’ve decided to interrupt these proceedings?” Emery asked.

  “Probably because you’ve ignored all my requests for a private meeting,” Lady Cadence said smoothly. “And I’m hardly the only dissenter. I’d wager you could hear the shouting all the way in the Forbidden Cities. And while most of their arguments are weak and biased, that doesn’t change the fact that your plan is deeply flawed. Improving our skills won’t do a drop of good in the face of an ogre warrior—and we cannot afford to make them our enemy. When it comes to pure, brute strength, nothing can best them.”

  Every goblin in the audience snorted.

  “Laugh all you want,” she told them. “Goblins are powerful in your own way—and you have held your own in many battles. But you survive primarily because of clever battle tactics—tactics that can’t rival the ruthless rage I’ve seen ogres manifest in the heat of a fight.”

  “The ogres are formidable adversaries,” Councillor Emery agreed. “But King Dimitar is wise enough to avoid starting a war that he knows he would lose.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Lady Cadence asked. “Hasn’t he ignored all of your requests for a Peace Summit?”

  Councillor Emery glanced at the rest of the Councillors. Several seconds passed as he rubbed his temples, before he nodded and raised his eyes to the crowd.

  “We’d been planning to deliver this announcement through coordinated scrolls, that way everyone would be notified at once. But . . . in light of these apprehensions, it seems prudent to set your minds at ease now, and we’ll notify the rest of the populace this evening. King Dimitar has agreed to meet for a Peace Summit. We’re in the process of arranging the gathering in Lumenaria now. The exact date will not be shared—for obvious security reasons. But we expect to reach a satisfying resolution in the very near future.”

  The cheer that followed sounded mostly like a collective sigh of relief.

  “Did you know about that?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin.

  “No,” he admitted. “But it explains why I’ve received such pushback for our visit to
Gethen. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get anywhere near Lumenaria until the summit is over. They’ll have everything on lockdown to prepare their security.”

  “And there’s no way to sneak in?” Fitz asked.

  “Definitely not. Lumenaria—in many ways—is more secure than Exile.”

  “So then . . . it probably would’ve been good if we’d met with Gethen before the ogres agreed to the summit,” Sophie said.

  “Yes, Miss Foster. The power of hindsight strikes again. Though in all fairness, we wouldn’t have known to ask him about the symbol, so there’s no telling how useful that meeting would’ve been.”

  “I still wish we’d done it,” Sophie mumbled.

  “As do I. But I wish for many things. . . .” He stared into the distance, tempting her to violate the rules of telepathy and see what he was thinking.

  “Does that satisfy your concern?” Councillor Emery asked Lady Cadence, snapping Sophie back to the present.

  “Actually, I find it even more concerning,” Lady Cadence told him. “King Dimitar is many things—but a fool is not one of them. He will not enter into a treaty lightly. I have no doubt he’s monitoring our world very closely. And when he hears that every elf is being given special combat training? He’ll assume we’re forming an army.”

  “An army with children?” Councillor Alina asked, not bothering to wait for Councillor Emery to speak for her.

  “Ogres begin military training from the moment their children can walk,” Lady Cadence explained. “Their entire culture is built around defense and strategy. And I guarantee that if King Dimitar believes we’re preparing for battle, it will alter any plans for a peaceful resolution.”

  “And how is it safer for them to see us as an easy target?” Alina countered.

  “When dealing with a daunting opponent, it’s far better to be underestimated than overestimated,” Lady Cadence retorted. “The more the ogres doubt our strength, the less prepared they’ll be should they choose the foolish course in the end.”