Flashback Page 4

  “Don’t worry—this will only work on Alvar,” Dex promised, his periwinkle eyes locking with hers as he removed a wide golden cuff from the box. “It’s keyed to his DNA. I call it the Warden, because I got the idea from a human movie I saw, where the criminal had to wear a tracker around his ankle. The Warden will report every move Alvar makes, and every word he says. It’ll also monitor his heart rate, so we’ll be able to tell if he’s nervous or lying. And it’ll make sure he can’t go anywhere without permission.” He turned to Alvar and pointed to a silver circle in the center of the cuff. “This piece is like a reverse nexus. If you try to leap without the Council’s approval, you’ll scatter and fade, no matter how strong your concentration is.”

  Alvar blanched. “Is that safe?”

  “As long as you don’t try to escape.” Dex unhinged the cuff and crouched. “Take off your left boot.”

  Alvar did as he was told, and Dex snapped the cuff around his ankle with a loud click.

  “That’s . . . a little tight,” Alvar told him.

  Dex nodded. “It has to fit under your boot. Plus, it’s not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to remind you that we’re tracking every single thing you do. I wouldn’t recommend trying to take it off, either. It’ll shock you if it senses you tampering with the latch—and I don’t mean a little sting. You’ll need a physician to treat the burns with a gross balm made out of yeti pee. And if you try to leave Everglen any way besides leaping, I’ve programmed it to zap you harder than a melder. It’ll knock you out for a couple of days.”

  Keefe whistled. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Dizznee.”

  Dex didn’t smile. His eyes narrowed on Alvar. “I know you don’t remember me. But I remember every single thing you did—and I have a scar to prove it. That’s why I have this.”

  He held out his wrist, pointing to a narrow gold cuff with a black jewel set into the center. “The Warden sends alerts to me if you do anything suspicious. All I have to do is press this button, and you’ll wish you were back in that stinky cell. Got it?”

  Alvar swallowed hard as he nodded—and Dex looked pretty proud of himself. But his dimpled grin faded when Biana said, “So . . . if you had time to make the Warden, then you knew this was happening—and didn’t tell us.”

  “I didn’t know for sure,” Dex mumbled. “The Council told me they were considering it and wanted to know if I could make something, just in case. But it wasn’t a done deal.”

  “How long ago was that?” Fitz demanded.

  “A week,” Councillor Emery jumped in. “And we made it clear that the project was classified, so do not blame Mr. Dizznee for his silence. He was following our orders—and we expect you to as well.” He turned back to Dex. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

  “I was just trying to help,” Dex told Fitz and Biana as his platform lowered back to ground level. “I figured this way we’d have some control, you know?”

  Neither of them nodded.

  Dex’s eyes shifted to Sophie, and she gave him as much of a smile as she could. She knew he’d been in an impossible position. But he was still going to have to give Fitz and Biana time to cool off.

  “Before we’re interrupted by any further outbursts,” Emery said as Dex slunk toward the exit, “I want to make it clear that this decision is final. As soon as the security at Everglen is ready, Alvar will be moved to his new apartment, where he’ll remain for the next six months—unless he gives us any reason to remove him earlier. And while he’s there, we’ll be providing weekly lists of tasks to test his behavior. All observations will be taken into account during his final sentencing.”

  “I won’t disappoint you,” Alvar promised, dipping his shakiest bow yet before bending to put his boot back on.

  “I hope you don’t,” Terik told him. “I also hope you realize how lucky you are to have this opportunity.”

  “I do,” Alvar said, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to Alden and Della. “I’m . . . looking forward to getting to know you.”

  “So are we,” Della whispered, wiping her cheeks.

  “This is your last chance,” Alden warned.

  Fitz shook his head, his face twisted with disgust, and Sophie noticed similar expressions among many in the crowd.

  “Wait!” Ro said as Emery ordered the guards to take Alvar back to his cell. “That’s it?”

  “What more were you expecting?” Emery asked.

  “I don’t know. Some of you didn’t even talk. Like you, red guy!” She pointed to the rubies in Councillor Darek’s circlet. “Don’t you have anything you want to add to the conversation? Or you, with the weird animal faces all over your throne. Anything you want to say?”

  “We had our say earlier,” Councillor Clarette told her.

  “Just like I told you they would,” Keefe said, folding his hands behind his head and giving Ro an unbearably smug smirk.

  “And that concludes our proceedings,” Emery told the crowd as the rest of the Council stood. “We’ll notify you when the date is set for the final sentencing. For now, you’re dismissed.”

  Fanfare shook the walls as the Councillors glittered away, followed by steady stomping as their goblin bodyguards marched out of the hall.

  The rest of the Vackers followed, their voices echoing as they argued among themselves. Sophie couldn’t understand much, but she was pretty sure she heard several say, “They’re ruining our family.” And no one so much as glanced Alden and Della’s way.

  Keefe tried to break the tension, pumping his fist and shouting, “LORD HUNKYHAIR LIVES! Say it now, Ro. Say it!”

  Ro said it, all right. Along with several ogre words that weren’t very nice.

  Sophie wanted to laugh, but Biana was clutching her stomach like she was going to throw up—and Fitz’s fists were squeezed so tight, his knuckles looked bloodless.

  Alden cleared his throat. “I know we have lots more to discuss. But—”

  “Don’t pretend like you actually care how we feel about this,” Fitz interrupted.

  “We do,” Della promised.

  “Then why didn’t you talk to us before you gave the Council permission?” Biana asked. “We have to live with him too.”

  “And we have to deal with the drama,” Fitz added. “If you think this is bad”—he pointed to the last few Vackers grumbling their way out of the hall—“wait until we’re back at school. You should hear the things people are saying about us.”

  Sadly, he wasn’t exaggerating. Foxfire had been back in session for a couple of weeks, and everywhere Fitz and Biana went, Sophie heard very unpleasant whispers.

  “It’ll quiet down soon,” Della promised.

  “I doubt it,” Biana mumbled.

  “Well, even if you’re right,” Alden said, “this is hardly the first time we’ve had anyone gossip about our family. You didn’t care when Fitz was sneaking off to the Forbidden Cities to find Sophie and people were wondering where he was disappearing to. And neither of you thought twice about running off to join the Black Swan, even though you knew you’d be banished.”

  “But this time the people gossiping about us are right!” Fitz snapped. “You’re making us live with a murderer!”

  “You won’t be living with him,” Alden corrected. “You’ll be living near him. And you’ll be able to control whether you have any contact.”

  “Like that makes a difference,” Fitz muttered.

  “It does a little,” Biana conceded. “But you should’ve warned us about this before we got here.”

  Della wrung her hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “We thought it’d be easier for you to hear it from the Council,” Alden explained.

  “No, you thought it’d be easier for you,” Fitz argued. “You didn’t want us to know that it was happening until it was too late to stop it.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped it,” Alden assured him. “The Council had already made up their minds. If we didn’t let them use Everglen, they w
ould’ve found somewhere else.”

  “Fine by me!” Fitz shouted.

  “I dunno,” Keefe jumped in. “Wouldn’t you rather be able to keep an eye on Alvar?”

  Fitz reeled on him. “You’re on their side? Is that why you just sat there and talked about your stupid hair?”

  “Okay, first? We both know my hair is awesome,” Keefe said with his hugest smirk yet. “And second: It’s not like they’re setting your brother free. Were you listening to Dizznee? I’m pretty sure if Alvar breathes too hard, Dex’ll zap him.”

  “Don’t even get me started on Dex,” Fitz muttered.

  “I know,” Biana said quietly. “I can’t believe he knew for a week and didn’t tell us.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to defend Dex but swallowed back the words. She could tell Fitz and Biana weren’t ready to hear them.

  Fitz must’ve noticed, though, because he reeled toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

  “ ‘Okay’ isn’t the right word,” she mumbled. “I think . . . it’s a hard call.”

  “A hard call,” Fitz repeated. “That’s it? I thought for this, of all things, we’d be on the same side.”

  “We are,” Sophie promised, reaching for him.

  He jerked away. “No, we’re—”

  Keefe stepped between them, placing a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Okay, as your best friend I have to stop you right there. Otherwise you’re going to go all rage-monster like you always do and say a bunch of things it’s going to be super hard to take back. And we both know you don’t want to do that again. Especially to Foster.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure what to make of the last part—or of the glance Keefe and Alden exchanged—but she was relieved when it seemed to work. She hadn’t seen Fitz that angry since the dark days when Alden’s mind had shattered, and it’d taken their friendship a while to recover.

  “I think . . . we all need to cool off,” Della said to break the silence. “Why don’t we go home and—”

  “No.”

  Fitz’s voice was so cold, it made Sophie’s skin prickle.

  Alden sighed. “Fine. Take some time to process. We’ll be waiting at Everglen whenever you’re ready.”

  “Well, you’ll be waiting a while.” Fitz straightened up until he was nearly as tall as his father and reached under the neckline of his tunic.

  “Uh . . . whatever you’re doing,” Keefe said as Fitz pulled out his home crystal, “I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea. Like, epic-level bad. Me-running-off-to-join-the-Neverseen bad.”

  “I don’t care.” Fitz yanked the chain and snapped one of the links before he tossed the crystal to Alden. “You guys made your decision. Now I’m making mine. If Alvar’s moving back to Everglen, I’m moving out.”

  THREE

  I HAD A FEELING I’D FIND you out here,” Sophie said, striding up behind Fitz as he hurled a goblin throwing star toward a wooden dummy about a hundred feet away.

  SHHHHHHHICK!

  The sliver weapon blurred through the air and splintered into the dummy’s arm.

  Awkward silence followed, until Sophie told him, “Nice shot.”

  “Not really,” Grizel jumped in. “He was supposed to hit it between the eyes.”

  She grabbed Fitz’s wrist and swung his arm through the throw’s range of motion. “You let go here”—she lined Fitz’s palm up with his shoulder—“and you need to let go here.” She adjusted his arm. “Feel the difference?”

  “Not really,” he grumbled.

  In his defense, both positions did look really similar.

  “Then you’re not concentrating hard enough,” Grizel said, dragging his arm through both positions again. “Now do you feel it?”

  “Maybe?” Fitz hedged.

  Grizel sighed and rotated his arm through the throw again.

  Then again.

  And again.

  “Practice is about building muscle memory,” she told him. “But it won’t do you any good if you’re building the wrong muscle memory. You need to learn precision. Every throw should go like this.”

  She pulled three throwing stars from the pockets of her sleek black jumpsuit and hurled them one after another.

  SHHHHHHHICK!

  SHHHHHHHICK!

  SHHHHHHHICK!

  All three struck side by side in the center of the dummy’s forehead.

  “See?” Grizel sauntered over to the target to retrieve the weapons, somehow managing not to leave a single footprint in the reddish sand. She wasn’t as burly as other goblins, but she made up for it with an uncanny grace that allowed her to sneak up on pretty much anyone. And she’d been putting Fitz through goblin military training for the last few weeks to help him work off his Alvar frustrations. That was how Sophie knew where to look after Fitz had stormed out of Tribunal Hall—and why she’d taken a few minutes to stop by her house and change from her gown and heels into slouchy boots, black leggings, and a loose white tunic. Grizel had set up their secret training arena in the middle of a rust-colored desert surrounded by rocky caverns. Apparently, the dusty landscape was the ideal place to train for strength, skill, and stealth—and also far enough out of the way that no one would find them.

  All Sophie knew was that it was hot.

  She’d only been there a couple of minutes and could already feel sweat trickling down her back—though that might’ve also been from the scowl Fitz was giving her.

  She smiled back, refusing to let him chase her away.

  “Let’s try this again,” Grizel said, tossing her long braid over her shoulder as she handed Fitz one of the throwing stars she’d retrieved. “Aim for the center of the forehead—and make sure you let go at the point I just showed you.”

  Fitz squinted at the target as he raised his arm, then let the star fly.

  SHHHHHHHICK!

  “The chest is closer,” Grizel told him. “But we’re not stopping until you hit the mark.”

  His next throw struck the dummy’s ear, and the one after that hit the chest again.

  Grizel sighed. “You’re not concentrating.”

  “Yes I am—why does it matter if I hit the forehead? Any of those throws would’ve taken someone down.”

  “Down isn’t the same as dead,” Grizel argued as she handed him another weapon. “And that’s the kind of distinction that could cost you your life—just like your sloppy throws could cost someone theirs. What if your enemy’s holding a hostage?”

  She spun around and pulled Sophie into a headlock. “If the Neverseen had Sophie pinned like this, what happens if your aim goes low?”

  Sandor drew his sword. “Something we’ll never need to worry about, because I will be there. And anyone who touches my charge will end up dead.”

  “Not if they’re faster than you.” Grizel kept her stranglehold on Sophie as she drew her own weapon and knocked his away.

  “If this were a real threat, I would’ve cut down your knees already,” Sandor growled.

  “Yes, but I would’ve sliced off your sword hand before you could,” Grizel corrected.

  “Is that so?” Sandor tossed his sword to his left hand and swung, striking Grizel’s blade with a clang! “Good thing I can fight just as skillfully with either.”

  Grizel laughed and released Sophie, then spun around with a move that managed to look both elegant and lethal, and ended with the edge of her sword pressed against Sandor’s throat. “You’re so cute when you think you can beat me.”

  “I can beat you,” Sandor insisted.

  “No, you can’t.” Grizel spun away, blocking his next swipe with a clash so loud it made Sophie’s teeth sing. “But we are an even match. So you can keep wasting time trying to prove you’re better than me—or you can admit that no matter how good either of us is, we’ve been assigned charges that have a gift for sneaking away to do really dangerous things. Which is why they should be training—and I mean seriously training,” she added, turning to Sophie and Fitz, “not just working off a few frustrations. I
n fact, all of your friends should complete our full military regimen. And you”—she pointed at Sandor—“should be helping me guide them through the program.”

  It wasn’t the first time Grizel had made the suggestion, and it wasn’t a horrible idea, considering how many attacks Sophie and her friends had barely survived. Even Ro agreed—though of course she’d argued that the focus should be ogre training.

  But . . . the thought of all the slicing and slashing turned Sophie’s stomach squirmy. She was stunned Fitz could handle it—though maybe he got that from his mom.

  Della had a flair for physical defense, blending her ability as a Vanisher with clever sneak attacks. She’d even taught Sophie and her friends some basic moves back when they were living with the Black Swan in Alluveterre.

  But defending and attacking were two different things—especially when weapons were involved. And these weren’t weapons that stunned, like the melders they’d occasionally carried for protection. These were cold metal blades with sharp points and even sharper edges. And yes, there’d been times when Sophie had been given goblin throwing stars to carry in case of emergency—but she hadn’t necessarily been thrilled about that. Plus, Grizel and Ro wanted them to master swords and knives and all kinds of other stabby things. And they wanted them to study hand-to-hand combat, with moves that went way beyond punching and kicking.

  And the thing was: Elves weren’t naturally violent creatures.

  Killing could shatter their sanity, stirring up too much guilt for their sensitive minds to process. That was why the Ancients had secured peace treaties with the other intelligent species and relied on them for protection. And even when the Council ordered everyone to attend special lessons with the Exillium Coaches to hone their mental defensive skills, no one had excelled, and eventually the program had petered out.

  Plus, Sophie was an Inflictor, and that was where she’d been focusing her training—trying to learn how to constrain her power and target exactly who she wanted to take down, instead of causing everyone around her to writhe in pain.

  But so far, she hadn’t made any progress.