Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3) Page 6
Sandor was waiting outside Havenfield when Sophie arrived, and his glare told her he was very aware she’d missed her curfew. But all he said as he sheathed his long black sword and motioned for her to follow him inside was, “I’m glad you’re safe.”
Sophie turned in the opposite direction.
She knew the Black Swan wanted her to sit back and wait—but the rebels had just changed the game.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sandor asked, keeping pace with her as she made her way through the pastures.
Her palms turned sweaty as she pressed her thumb against the sensor on the padlock to the Cliffside gates, and the green flash seemed especially bright as it clicked open—or maybe that was because the path beyond the gate looked so much darker than normal.
“I demand to know what’s going on,” Sandor said as he blocked her from heading down the stairs.
She tried to push past him, but it was like slamming into a rough-skinned mountain. “I just . . . need to leave a note.”
“A note,” Sandor repeated.
“Yeah.” She reached into her pocket, tracing her fingers around the tiny green bottle she’d unearthed earlier.
The Black Swan had sent her dozens of messages over the last few months.
It was time to send one of her own.
NINE
THE PLAN HAD SEEMED SO BRILLIANT, until Sophie reached the cold, sandy shore.
She’d never been to the cave at night, and now she understood why. The roar of the surf sounded like a snarl, and the shadowy rocks looked like faces and limbs. Even the moonlight—and the blue glowing sphere Sandor had pulled from one of his pockets—couldn’t convince her eyes that she wasn’t stumbling into the lair of giant beasts.
Sandor led the way, keeping his sword at the ready as he sniffed the air and tasted the wind. But as the icy waves crashed onto the shore, Sophie realized they had bigger problems than invisible enemies.
The cave she’d dreaded returning to—the place she and Dex had been drugged and dragged away from—sat half-drowned by the high evening tide.
“Looks like we’ll have to try again in the morning,” Sandor said, turning to head back.
“No, I have to get in touch with the Black Swan as soon as possible. It’s about Silveny,” she added, before Sandor could ask.
If he knew it was actually about the rebels, he’d drag her straight to her room—and probably barricade her inside.
Sandor breathed a squeaky sigh. “You’re positive you can reach them this way?”
“They left me a note here once before. And I’m pretty sure they’re still watching me.”
She hoped they were, anyway—which felt strange. Who knew she’d miss her Black Swan stalkers?
“Fine.” Sandor let the word stretch out like a groan as he held out his hand. “Give me the note. I’ll place it in there for you. A few piddly waves won’t stop me.”
Sophie doubted a rampaging T. rex could stop him. But as she reached into her pocket, she discovered another detail she hadn’t really thought all the way through.
“Do you, uh . . . happen to have a pen?”
The look Sandor gave her could’ve withered flowers, but he dug a wide pencil out of his ankle pocket and handed it to her. “Tell me you brought paper.”
“Of course.” It wasn’t necessarily paper she’d wanted to use, but it would do the job.
She slipped the Black Swan’s note from the green vial and flipped it over to the back.
“I assume you’ll be explaining where you found that once we’re done here—and why it reeks of humans?” Sandor asked.
Sophie kept her eyes focused on the paper as she nodded. Not only was she not looking forward to telling Sandor about teleporting to the Forbidden Cities, but she was realizing that she’d forgotten to explain it to Alden, as well. She’d have to find a chance to tell him, before he heard about it from Lord Cassius.
“Better hurry,” Sandor told her as a wave soaked them up to their ankles. “The tide is still rising.”
“I’m trying,” she said, hastily scribbling the only thing she could think of.
It wasn’t particularly clever, and it definitely didn’t rhyme. But she still made it clear that it was time for the Black Swan to come out of wherever they’d been hiding.
Things are happening, and I need your help. When and where can we meet?
Sandor scowled when he read what she’d written. But all he said was, “Wait here,” as he headed toward the cave. “And I expect you to sing the whole time I’m gone.”
Sophie laughed. “Oh wait—you’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. It’s how I’ll know you’re not in trouble.”
Sophie was about to argue that she could just scream if there were danger, but then she remembered the sweet-smelling cloth the kidnappers had pressed over her nose and mouth, knocking her out cold.
The only thing she could think to sing was a cheesy song her sister used to torment her with: a single verse repeated over and over, about how the song never actually ended. She was on the tenth repetition by the time Sandor was back at her side.
“That’s going to be stuck in my head for the rest of my life,” he grumbled.
“You’re the one who told me to sing.”
He didn’t return her smile.
“You tucked the note somewhere they’ll be able to see it, right?” she asked.
“The back of the cave has a small indent partway up the wall, well above the tide line but still low enough to see. If they’re watching, there’s no way they’ll miss it.”
The house was dark when Sophie and Sandor made it back to Havenfield, the only light a faint glow coming from the second floor. Sophie had a feeling she knew which room it was coming from, and as she made her way up the winding stairs, she braced for the worst.
Sixteen years ago, Grady and Edaline had lost their only daughter in a suspicious fire, and they’d left her room closed off ever since, only going in on their darkest, loneliest days. It felt like a shadow hung over that wing of the house, warning everyone to stay away.
But when Sophie entered the dusty bedroom, she found Edaline deep in discussion with two of the gnomes that lived in a grove of tree houses on the property. Edaline’s simple turquoise gown was the exact same shade as her eyes—which weren’t the least bit red or puffy—and her whole face lit up with a smile when she spotted Sophie.
“I was wondering when you’d be home,” Edaline said, her smile fading as she got a closer look at Sophie’s clothes. “Do I want to know why you’re wet?”
“Nothing dangerous,” Sophie promised, wishing her shoes didn’t squish quite so loudly as she crossed the room to examine a row of trunks on the floor. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, we were just trying to decide what to do with this room once it’s all cleaned out. I was thinking maybe a conservatory, since Jolie always loved gardens. But Gerda’s not sure if the lighting’s really right.”
A gnome in an earth-toned smock smiled at Sophie with bright green teeth. “It can be done if you truly desire it,” she told Edaline in a dry, scratchy voice, “but we’ll be limited in what we can grow.”
Gnomes were expert gardeners, probably because they were almost plantlike themselves. They drew all their nourishment from the sun and needed very little sleep, which was why they’d chosen to live with the elves. They exchanged their unneeded produce for protection, and filled their long, waking hours by helping with any other tasks the elves needed.
“You’re really getting rid of everything?” Sophie asked.
Edaline had mentioned this plan once before, but Sophie hadn’t expected her to actually go through with it. Jolie’s room had been a shrine, completely unchanged since her death, right down to the page markers in the dusty books and the pots of lip gloss on the dressing table.
“We should have it all packed up tonight,” the other gnome—wearing what looked like overalls woven out of grass—told her. “Where do you want us to put the trunks when we’re done?”
“In my office. If you can find room.”
Sophie doubted they would. She’d been in Edaline’s office once, and it was the Place Where Stuff Goes to Die. But she was glad Edaline wasn’t planning to actually get rid of Jolie’s things.
Still, as Sophie watched Gerda grab the first trunk and head to Jolie’s closet, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Wait—maybe I should do it!”
Prentice had shown Sophie a strange, almost visionlike memory when she’d tried to read his shattered mind, and ever since, she’d wondered if Jolie had somehow been connected to the Black Swan. She hadn’t mentioned it to Grady or Edaline, wanting to wait until she understood Jolie’s involvement. And her best chance of finding out the truth was to search Jolie’s things.
“Are you sure?” Edaline asked. “This is a huge project. The only reason the gnomes can take it out in a night is because they’ll have dozens of them.”
“I know. I just . . . thought it would give me a chance to get to know Jolie a little better.”
Edaline smiled, but sadness seemed to leak out of the corners. “You want to know Jolie?”
“Is that okay?” Sophie asked.
“Of course it’s okay. In fact”—she dabbed her eyes—“I think it’s wonderful. And I know Jolie would’ve wanted to know you, too. You remind me so much of her.”
Sophie never knew what to do with that compliment. She had no doubt that Grady and Edaline loved her. She just hoped they were really seeing her for who she was, not for who they wanted her to be.
“Okay,” Edaline said, clearing the thickness from her throat and turning to the gnomes. “I guess I won’t be needing your help tonight after all. Thank you so much for offering.”
They both nodded and shuffled away.
“And you should get out of those soggy clothes,” she told Sophie, nudging her toward the door. “I’ll send your dinner up when it’s ready.”
Sophie’s bedroom took up the entire third floor, and was bigger than every room in her old San Diego house—combined. Star-shaped crystals dangled from the ceiling, and they glowed to life when Sophie snapped her fingers, illuminating a crushed trail in the fragile flowers woven into her carpet.
“Someone was here,” Sophie whispered, freezing in the doorway.
But her worry quickly melted into a giggle when she spotted the neon orange poof in the cage on her desk. “Dex dyed Iggy again!”
Sandor nodded. “He asked if he could stop by your room before he went home. Said he’d made the poor creature suffer with pink ringlets long enough.”
Actually, Sophie’s pet imp had quite enjoyed chewing on the hot pink curls Dex had given him a few weeks before. But he seemed to be having just as much fun chomping on his bright orange dreads.
“I don’t think Dex is ever going to let you go back to your normal gray,” Sophie warned the tiny creature as she let him out of his cage.
Iggy flitted to her shoulder with his black batlike wings and squeaked, making her gag from the toxic Iggy breath.
“So,” Sandor said as a tray of food appeared out of nowhere on Sophie’s bed—courtesy of Edaline’s conjuring. “Ready to tell me where you really went today? And before you consider leaving out any details, need I remind you that your trackers will tell me the whole story when I check them.”
“Is that the only thing the trackers do?” she asked, still trying to figure out why the rebels would bother tracking Silveny. “You can’t use them to like . . . stun me or something, right?”
Sandor snorted—though it sounded more like a laugh. “Believe me, Miss Foster. If I were capable of incapacitating you, I would do it every time you and Keefe got one of your crazy schemes. Trackers simply gather information, and help me find you should I need to. Why do you ask?”
“And that’s for all trackers?” she pressed, avoiding his question. “The silver ones aren’t different?”
“What do you mean ‘silver ones’? Did you find a silver tracker?”
“Not on me. I found one on Silveny.”
Sandor reached for his sword as Sophie explained about Greyfell and the rebels and the unidentified footprints outside the Sanctuary. Each new detail made him grip the hilt tighter, until his skin was stretched so thin, she was sure it would tear.
“What?” she asked, taking a deep breath to brace for the bad news she could tell was coming. “Are the silver trackers more dangerous?”
“Trackers can’t be made from silver,” Sandor whispered, “because of the way the metal tarnishes. The tracker you found could only have been made from stalkenteene—a metal that isn’t sold and isn’t shared. The only creatures who use it are those who mine it, and it can only be mined in the deepest caves of an underground mountain in the heart of Ravagog, the ogres’ largest and most powerful city.”
TEN
BUT ALDEN DIDN’T THINK THE ogres were involved—and neither did Alvar or Lady Cadence,” Sophie argued, replaying her earlier conversation in her mind. “And why didn’t he say anything about stalkenteene when I showed him the tracker?”
Sandor started a second sweep of her room, checking every shadow, like he expected an ogre to jump out any second. “I doubt Alden would’ve known. The ogres work hard to keep their technology secret, especially from elves. It’s something my court has had many arguments with your Council about—though this tracker changes things. I need to ensure nothing prevents Alden from showing it to the Councillors.”
“What—you think he’s going to hide it?”
“No. I think the ogres might try to steal it. This tracker could finally prove they’ve been violating their treaty and carrying on a silent war.”
A silent war.
The words felt cold, making Sophie shiver as she dug out her Imparter—a silver square that worked like a videophone—to call Alden and warn him. But when she said his name, the screen declared him “out of range.” Same thing happened when she tried to reach Grady.
The only areas “out of range” were dark, dangerous places.
“I’m calling for reinforcements,” Sandor said, taking out a black triangular gadget he’d never used before. “They’ll make sure Alden is safe. Meanwhile, you are going to shower and go to bed.”
Sophie knew better than to argue, so she ran to her bathroom and rushed through her shower. She raced back with soggy, dripping hair, and found Edaline sitting on the edge of her giant canopy bed.
“Where’s Sandor?” Sophie asked, glancing around her room to make sure she wasn’t missing him—not that it was easy to miss a seven-foot-tall goblin.
“In the hall, talking to Alden.”
“Alden called? He’s safe?”
“Yes, perfectly safe. And Grady is as well. He’s off on a completely unrelated assignment.”
Edaline’s hands were twisting the fabric on her skirt back and forth.
Back and forth.
“Sandor told me about the tracker,” she said after a second, “and your surprise trip to your old home.”
“Oh.” Sophie tugged on her pajamas, which were sticking to her still-damp skin. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not trouble. But I wish—”
Sandor stalked back into the room, stomping so hard he sent petals from her carpet flying with every step.
“Everything okay?” Edaline asked.
“Everything’s fine, apparently. I have no reason to worry.” Sandor kicked the carpet, scattering more petals. “What’s it going to take for your Council to see what’s really going on? An army of ogres marching across your capital?”
> Sophie shuddered, hoping she’d never see a mob of lumpy-faced ogres parading through the glittering streets of Eternalia.
“What exactly did Alden say?” Edaline asked quietly.
“That all we know for the moment is that whoever planted the tracker got their hands on ogre technology—not that ogres are involved. And that he’ll be conducting a full investigation into the matter.”
Clearly Sandor was not in the mood to wait for an investigation, and Sophie couldn’t blame him. She knew better than anyone how hard it was to be patient. But . . . Alden did have a point. The rebels could’ve stolen the tracker from the ogres without their knowledge.
Sandor sighed, rubbing the sides of his head like he had a migraine. “Forgive my outburst. I shall return to my post.”
“If you’d like to take the night off—” Edaline started to offer.
“Thank you, Ms. Ruewen. But I fear Sophie needs my protection now more than ever.”
He stalked out the door without another word.
Sophie leaned back on her bed, staring at the star-shaped crystals dangling above her.
“You okay?” Edaline asked, scooting closer.
“Yeah, just . . . worried about Silveny.”
“I know.” Edaline swept a soggy strand of hair off Sophie’s forehead. “But I’m sure the Council’s already adding extra security to keep her safe.”
And hopefully it would actually work this time—though Sophie doubted it.
The rebels always find a way.
“You look tired, Sophie. Have you slept at all since Silveny moved to the Sanctuary?”
“Not much,” Sophie admitted.
Silveny used to fill her mind at night with sweet, alicorn-ish dreams. It was the only thing that ever chased away her nightmares.
“Want to try slumberberry tea? Even a small cup—”
“No sedatives,” Sophie interrupted. She’d lost enough hours in a drugged daze during her kidnapping.
“Well, if you change your mind, just call for me.” Edaline kissed her goodnight and handed her Ella—the bright blue, Hawaiian-shirt-wearing stuffed elephant Sophie hadn’t been able to sleep without since she was a kid. But she hesitated before turning out the lights. “I . . . wish you would’ve come to me about all of this tracker business, Sophie. Please don’t feel like you have to wait for Alden or Grady.”