Lodestar Page 25

  Keefe nodded, but his eyes were focused on the way she was holding her hairpin—more like a dagger than a fashion accessory. It drew his attention to the fact that the pin had a long, twisted stem with a needle-sharp point.

  “Oh please,” she said as Keefe flinched back a step. “Did I raise you to be a coward?”

  “No,” Keefe mumbled.

  “Then give me your hand.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to ensure your legacy. And that kind of gift comes with a price. Now. Give. Me. Your. Hand.”

  “What if I don’t want a legacy?”

  “Everyone wants a legacy. Or would you rather prove that your father’s right about you?”

  The words lit a fire inside him, a burning need to meet the challenge.

  “Good boy,” she said as Keefe held out his shaky left hand. “Though clearly we’re going to have to work on toughening you up.”

  “I’m tough.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  The words echoed around Keefe’s mind as his mom uncurled his fingers. Sophie could see how much he wanted to pull away. But his mom’s insults had done their job. He wanted to please her more than he wanted to stop her. So he held perfectly still as she pressed the point of the hairpin against the soft pad of his thumb, lingering only a second before she sliced a thick cut from the joint to the tip.

  Keefe gritted his teeth through the pain as warm red pooled from the gash.

  “Let it bleed for a second,” she told him. “I want a pure sample.”

  All Keefe could do was nod. Wooziness was setting in—he’d never seen so much blood before. And the nerves around the cut stung like he’d touched acid.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” his mom said. “You’re wondering why I can’t just use your DNA, like we do for everything else.”

  The elves normally found anything that drew blood to be barbaric.

  “Blood is our life force,” Lady Gisela told him. “The deepest essence of our being. Without it, our bodies would grow still and cold. And therein lies the power. Anyone can offer up their DNA—it doesn’t take guts to lick a sensor. But to paint it with blood? Now that’s something special. Don’t you feel powerful?”

  All Keefe felt was hurt. And confused. And he couldn’t put a finger on the other emotion, but Sophie could.

  He felt betrayed.

  He didn’t say that, though. He nodded like the brave, obedient son he knew his mom wanted him to be, letting her pull him closer to the door.

  “Last step,” Lady Gisela said, stretching his hand toward a clear rectangle set into the metal, right next to the handle.

  Sophie expected the door to swing open as Keefe smeared his blood across the smooth panel. But a metallic click echoed through the dark instead.

  A lock clicking into place.

  Lady Gisela stepped back, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “Finally done.”

  The blood on the panel steamed, filling the air with the unsettling scent of barbeque as the red turned to ash and then crumbled away, leaving no trace.

  “This is your future, Keefe,” his mother told him, stretching her arms wide and gazing at the door with obvious awe. “Your legacy. Safe and secure. Until our world is ready to change.”

  “Change to what?” Keefe asked, cradling his wounded thumb, which was still streaming red down his wrist.

  Of course his mother hadn’t thought to bring him a bandage.

  She didn’t answer him either.

  She just grabbed his elbow and held her hairpin up to the midnight sky, leaping them both back to Keefe’s room.

  “Starstones,” she told him, twisting her hair back into its sleek style and pinning it in place, “always remember the path back to where they’ve been. You’ll need to know that someday.”

  Keefe didn’t care about someday.

  He cared about now.

  And now . . . his hand really hurt.

  And his limbs ached from the cold. And his stomach was queasy with fear and pain.

  All he wanted to do was curl up under the covers in a little ball and cry.

  “So ungrateful,” his mom said as she watched him stumble toward his bed. “And so melodramatic. But I suppose that’s to be expected, given your age. Give me that cloak before you sit.”

  Keefe tossed it to her, kicking off his boots, too. He left a bloody handprint on his blanket as he pulled the covers tightly around his neck.

  Lady Gisela crinkled her nose. “I’ll have to find an ointment to stop that—and something to clean up that stain before your father notices.”

  “Whatever,” Keefe mumbled, keeping his wounded hand tight to his chest.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as his mom pulled out a silver Imparter.

  The last thing he remembered was her brushing his hair off his forehead and whispering, “Don’t worry, Keefe. The Washer will be here soon.”

  FORTY-TWO

  SOPHIE DROPPED HER hands from Keefe’s temples, severing their mental connection. But the horrible scenes kept replaying in her mind.

  “Keefe, I . . .”

  There were no words.

  She threw her arms around his shoulders, hugging him as tight as she could. Maybe if she never let go, she could hold the broken pieces together.

  “I’m pretty sure you just ruined your shoes in a huge puddle of selkie skin,” Keefe told her.

  “I don’t care. And you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to make this into a joke.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The crack in his voice splintered through her heart, and she buried her face against his shoulder, feeling tears leak onto his cloak.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m not supposed to be the one crying.”

  “Neither of us should. It was just a stupid cut. It didn’t even leave a scar.”

  She leaned back to look at him. “We both know it did.”

  Keefe turned away, watching the waves crash onto the beach. “I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.”

  “I can’t help it. But it’s not pity. It’s . . . I don’t know what the word for it is. I’m too conflicted.”

  Keefe sighed. “You always are when it comes to me.”

  “Well, right now I mostly want to blast my way into that ogre prison and punch your mom as hard as I can in her snobby face. And then, when the blood’s streaming from her nose, I want to give her some stupid speech about our life force and ask her if she feels powerful.”

  “Wow, who knew you had such a dark side?”

  “Certain things bring it out. And this?” Her whole body trembled as her knotted emotions stirred—a monster ready to burst from her chest.

  Keefe held her steady. “I appreciate the fury, Foster. But seriously. It’s not worth it.”

  She knew he really meant I’m not worth it.

  She hated that most of all.

  “Someday I’m going to make you see how wrong you are,” she promised.

  “I’m just glad you’re not shoving me away.”

  “You really thought I would?”

  “Sometimes I think you’d be better off.”

  He tried to pull back but she refused to let go.

  “I’ll only be better off when you come home and I know you’re safe,” she whispered.

  He didn’t agree. But he didn’t argue, either, both of them deciding to leave it at that.

  “What made you remember this?” she asked.

  “I didn’t find her hairpin, if that’s what you’re thinking—and believe me, I tried. The memory flashed back while I was looking for that beaded necklace I gave you. She had a bunch of hairpins in her jewelry box, and one of them pricked my finger and the whole thing rushed back. After that I searched everywhere I could think of, but she either hid the pin really well, or got rid of it—or took it with her. I even endured a conversation with my dad to ask if he remembered it, but he called starstones ‘plain’ and said he’d never give my mom something so drab. I
’m guessing that means she bought it herself.”

  “She probably had it custom-made. In the memory she called it a ‘rare starstone.’ And I’m guessing you don’t know where that door she brought you to is, or what’s behind it?”

  “Nope. The weird thing is, I don’t think the Neverseen do either. I’d figured they’d drag me there the second I joined and make me open that door. But they’ve never even asked me about it. So either my mom didn’t tell them, or they don’t realize my blood is the key.”

  “Or they’re waiting for the right time,” Sophie said.

  “Why do you think I’m still with them? You get that now, right? Whatever’s on the other side of that door—whatever my mom planned—she made me a part of it. And I have to believe that means I can stop it.”

  “What do you think is in there?”

  “No idea. But nothing good ever comes from my mom.”

  “One thing did,” she said. “One of my favorite things.”

  The cold, stinky wind rushed between them as he pulled away. “I hate to break it to you, Foster, but you have terrible taste in friends. You saw how I acted in that memory. What kind of loser goes along with something like that without demanding answers?”

  “A boy who’s been bullied and manipulated his entire life. That’s how verbal abuse works. It drains you bit by bit, until there’s not enough energy left to keep fighting.”

  “Yeah, well, I also knew she was erasing the memory—did you catch that at the end? I was nine when that happened. I definitely knew what Washers were by then. I knew what was going to happen. And I didn’t stop it because I wanted to forget. I chose to be oblivious.”

  “I would’ve done the same thing,” a crisp, accented voice said behind them.

  Sophie’s cheeks burned. She’d gotten so lost in the memories, she’d forgotten Fitz was watching them.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to butt in. But seriously, Keefe. You make it sound like nine years old is so grown up. You were just a kid. And you know what kids do? They trust their parents—even when part of them knows that something feels off—because our parents are our world. And what do you think would’ve happened if you’d told your mom no? Do you think you would’ve gotten out of there without giving up some of your blood?”

  “I take it this means you were eavesdropping on Foster’s thoughts this whole time?” Keefe asked.

  “Not at first. But then Sophie gasped—and when I asked if you guys were okay, you didn’t respond. So I slipped past her blocking just to make sure nothing weird was happening, and . . . I couldn’t stop watching. The whole time I kept asking myself how I’d feel if I’d remembered something like that—what I’d do if I knew I was part of something that feels so ominous. And I’m pretty sure the answer is, I’d do whatever I had to do to stop it.”

  Keefe blinked hard, and Sophie didn’t think it was from the sandy wind.

  “Joining the Neverseen was the only thing I could think of that might help,” he whispered. “I know I’ve made some mistakes—and I know it’s going to get messier and messier. But this is working. I am learning things. That’s why I had you meet me here. I won’t be able to talk tonight, and I didn’t want to lose a whole day. Your parents are still in danger—don’t let them drop their guard. I don’t know when Fintan will make his move, but I know he still has plans for them. And I found out something else this morning—something big. Fintan’s been trying for weeks to get the ogres to meet with him to reconcile. And last night, King Dimitar finally agreed.”

  FORTY-THREE

  ARE YOU SURE Dimitar’s not agreeing to the meeting so he’ll have the perfect chance to slice off Fintan’s head with his extra-scary, extra-spikey sword?” Fitz asked. “Because if I were him, that’s what I’d want to do after the way the Neverseen’s plague plan backfired on him. And I’d be good with that. They’re welcome to take out Alvar, too.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if the ogres finished off Brant, either,” Sophie added, trying to scrape the selkie slime off her shoe. “Same goes for anyone else that helped attack Wylie.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll be in huge trouble for letting him get away,” Keefe promised.

  “Do you know how they’ll be punished?” Fitz asked.

  “I know it won’t be fun. Alvar told me that when Brant realized Sophie actually was the girl they’d been looking for—and that Alvar messed up the day she saw him disappear—he locked Alvar in a room and set everything on fire except one square of floor in the middle. He left him roasting in there for a whole day.”

  “Good,” Fitz said. “I hope they do even worse for this.”

  “That’s . . . pretty dark, dude.”

  “So is what he let them do to Wylie.”

  Sophie reached for Fitz’s shaky hand, wishing she knew how to peel back some of his building anger. Fury was always his mask, but if he hid too far behind it, he might lose himself.

  She also couldn’t stop imagining Keefe trapped in a room, surrounded by smoke and flames. “If they find out you came here . . .”

  “They know I’m here,” Keefe told her. “There’s an ogre enzyme that stinks like the entire world is rotting, and I may have accidentally knocked a vial of it into the laundry basin while I was washing Fintan’s favorite cloaks. It can only be removed with selkie skin, so they sent me to get what I need to clean up my mess.”

  “He’s making you do his laundry?” Sophie asked.

  “It’s one of my chores. That’s what happens when you join an organization that attacks the gnomes. We’re stuck doing everything ourselves.”

  “And he won’t be able to tell you went to Havenfield before you came here?” Fitz asked.

  “Nope. I found a way to hide five seconds from my tracker. I’m pretty sure Dex would think it’s the stupidest trick ever. But it works. And I used those five seconds to drop off the bead before I headed here. It was perfect.”

  “But all it takes is one mistake,” Sophie told him. “Especially now that the ogres are back in the picture. King Dimitar will remember you from Ravagog, and I’m sure he’ll try to convince Fintan that you’re a traitor.”

  Keefe had been their distraction during the mission in the ogres’ capital, pestering the king with questions and misleading information while Sophie and Fitz searched his memories.

  Keefe shrugged. “I won’t be getting anywhere near King Dimitar—and not just because I sometimes have nightmares about that metal underwear he walks around in. He demanded to meet with Fintan alone.”

  “That sounds like a really good way for Fintan to get killed by an angry ogre,” Fitz noted.

  “I dunno. If the meeting unravels, I think we’d have fire-roasted ogre long before we’d have a headless Fintan,” Keefe told him. “But, I also think this is one of those ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ kind of deals. Or is it ‘my enemy isn’t my enemy if they’re also my enemy’s enemy’?”

  “You lost me,” Sophie admitted.

  “Yeah, the logic’s kinda wonky. What I mean is, the Neverseen and the ogres both want the Council gone. And now that King Dimitar’s being forced into treaty negotiations, he must be feeling pretty desperate. He has to know his only chance of beating the Council is with help from the Neverseen. I’m sure the Councillors have all kinds of secret defenses that Fintan knows about, since he used to be one. And Fintan has also realized that he needs the ogres’ help to pull off his plans. So my guess is, he’s going to offer to share his secrets with the ogres—and provide elvin backup—if King Dimitar works with him to overthrow the Council. I’m sure they’ll turn on each other afterward, and there’s no telling who would win. But it won’t matter because by then everything would already be ruined.”

  “But didn’t the ogres and the Neverseen already try teaming up for the plague?” Fitz asked. “It didn’t go well.”

  “Right, but they didn’t really commit, either,” Keefe reminded him. “The Neverseen sat back and let the ogres do all the dirty work, and the og
res thought the plague would be enough. If they teamed up for a real attack, I think it would be a whole other story.”

  “You really think the Council could fall?” Sophie whispered.

  “Yeah, I do,” Keefe said. “Don’t get me wrong—the Councillors are freakishly powerful. I was a little stunned at how prepared they were to stomp us when we broke in to Exile. But they’re also too slow. Too blind to a lot of our problems. Too reluctant to make the hard choices. Look at how they handled the plague. They investigated a bit, called a few assemblies, and . . . that was it. We had to stop it—and Calla had to give up her life.”

  Sophie locked her arms at her sides so she wouldn’t pull on her eyelashes as the Councillors’ faces filled her mind. Some good. Some cruel. Some annoying. Some she didn’t even know.

  None of them deserved to die.

  And Oralie . . .

  Imagining the ethereal Councillor in the hands of the ogres—or the Neverseen—made her want to leap back to Eternalia and beg the Council to go into hiding.

  But would that really keep them safe?

  And what message would that send the rest of the world?

  Then again, what would happen if the Council fell?

  “We have to stop it,” Sophie said.

  She didn’t know how. But . . . they never knew what they were doing, and somehow they always made it work.

  “There’s the confident Foster we all know and love!” Keefe cheered. “I bet your head is already filling up with brilliant plans.”

  “Not yet,” she admitted. “Warning the Council seems pointless. They’ll just tell us they can handle themselves.”

  Or worse—they’d use it as an excuse to enact some of those restrictions that Oralie had been worried about.

  “Maybe the Black Swan will have some ideas,” Fitz said.

  “Because they had so many awesome ideas for what to do about Wylie?” Sophie countered.

  “Any chance you’ve manifested some new abilities that could solve all of our problems in one fell swoop?” Keefe asked Sophie.

  “No—and I don’t know why you keep thinking I’m going to. Wouldn’t the Black Swan have triggered it when they triggered my other ones?”