Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8) Page 6

  Sandor flinched. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah. The Neverseen know everything Tam knows.”

  More muttered curses filled the air—a mix of ogre, goblin, and gnomish words this time. And Sophie definitely shared their sentiments.

  “Would you like me to notify the Black Swan?” Flori offered.

  “Probably smart.” Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that Flori knew how to contact the Collective—Flori’s great-great-grandaunt Calla had been part of the order, and part of Project Moonlark, before she sacrificed herself to become the cure for her species in the form of a Panakes tree.

  Calla had even been the one to choose Project Moonlark’s name.

  “I’m assuming the news we’re bringing Mr. Sencen is equally dire?” Sandor asked quietly.

  Sophie nodded.

  She was still trying to wrap her head around it—trying to understand what Lady Gisela could possibly be thinking with such a cruel, unexpected order. But Tam had seemed pretty desperate, so there was no way she was letting Keefe ignore the warning, no matter how much he whined or resisted.

  “Count on being there for a while,” she told Sandor.

  He heaved a squeaky sigh. “And you’re sure you’re up for teleporting?”

  “Teleporting will be the easy part.” She glanced at the ground far below, then closed her eyes, searching for the slight tug of gravity coursing through her cells. If she concentrated hard enough on the sensation, she could push against it with her mind and take control. “Okay. Here we go. One… two… three!”

  Their feet floated off the ground—slowly at first. Then much, much faster. So fast, they would’ve crashed into the Leapmaster if Sophie hadn’t done a whole lot of awkward flailing. That was the problem with levitating. There was no traction in the air, so she was stuck flapping her arms and kicking her legs like a fledgling flareadon until the momentum dragged them out of the window. And once they were clear of the cupola, the strong ocean winds took over, launching them up so fast, Sandor made several squealy sounds that Sophie couldn’t wait to tease him about later.

  “Please tell me we’re high enough now,” he begged over the roar of rushing air.

  Sophie peered down, trying to decide if it was the height or the conversation ahead that was making her dizzy.

  SOPHIE! FRIEND! FLY! Silveny transmitted, nearly breaking Sophie’s concentration.

  Not today! Sophie told her, wishing she had more time. Flying with Silveny was the best way to clear her head and let her biggest worries go. Right now, I have to talk to Keefe!

  Even that high up, she could hear Silveny’s giddy whinny. And as her mind filled with a whole lot of KEEFE! KEEFE! KEEFE! Sophie tried to share some of the mama alicorn’s enthusiasm.

  But all she felt was dread as she let gravity take back over, dropping them faster faster faster, until her concentration tore open the sky and they crashed into the black nothingness of the void.

  * * *

  “Miss Foster,” Lord Cassius said, offering one of his unsettling, oily smiles as he stepped aside to let Sophie and Sandor into his home.

  The Shores of Solace would’ve lived up to its name if Keefe’s dad weren’t such miserable company. The single sprawling level had glistening mother-of-pearl walls and vine-draped arches that formed a series of brightly lit rooms and sunbaked patios, all decorated in soothing tones of blue and gray to match the panoramic ocean views from every window. It truly was one of the most breathtaking estates that Sophie had visited in the Lost Cities. But she always wished she could leave the second she got there.

  “I’m assuming you’re here to visit my son?” Lord Cassius asked, smoothing his blond hair—which was already immaculate. As were his cream-colored jerkin and ruby-encrusted cape. “He’s in his room, where he’s supposed to be working through the empathy exercises I created for him this morning. But I think we can safely assume he’ll be doing anything but what I’ve asked.”

  That sounded like Keefe—not that Lord Cassius deserved Keefe’s cooperation.

  Father of the Year he most definitely was not.

  In fact, Sophie could barely look at him without wanting to fling something at his head for every hurtful word he’d ever said to his son. Much like how she despised every gorgeous room in that house, since Lord Cassius had hidden it for most of Keefe’s life in order to use it as an “escape” from his family. Keefe was only living there now because Lord Cassius had refused to provide crucial intel to find Sophie’s missing human parents unless Keefe agreed to move in—and not because he missed Keefe or was worried about Keefe living on his own. He’d simply wanted to put an end to the gossip about his runaway son after Keefe fled the Neverseen.

  “That way,” Lord Cassius told her, pointing to a polished driftwood door at the end of a long, shimmering hallway.

  It took Sophie a second to realize the words were an invitation.

  The few other times she’d visited Keefe, they’d sat outside on the cushioned swings dangling from the cover over the back patio. She’d never been in his room. And for some reason the idea of going there made her cheeks warm.

  But she could feel Lord Cassius watching her, so she tilted her chin up and motioned for Sandor to follow her down the hall, which was dotted with shards of green, blue, and clear sea glass arranged in swirling patterns.

  Her knock was wimpier than she meant it to be—so wimpy that there was a second where she wasn’t sure if Keefe had actually heard her. But then he called out, “Back to nag me already? You seriously need to get yourself a hobby. I hear spelunking’s fun. Oooh, or you could try swimming with the krakens! I doubt they’d eat you—but maybe we’ll get lucky!”

  Which wasn’t exactly a “come in.” But Sophie still grabbed the silver handle and turned it—realizing only as she was yanking the door open that she should’ve made sure Keefe was dressed before she barged in.

  Thankfully, he was.

  Mostly…

  He lay sprawled across a huge bed that rested on a pedestal made of lacy bleached coral, wearing fuzzy blue pajama bottoms covered in tiny black gremlins, with his head propped against a familiar green gulon stuffed animal.

  “Foster?” he asked, jolting upright—which only drew more attention to the fact that he was currently shirtless. He crossed his arms, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink when his ice blue eyes focused on her. “I… um… what are you doing here?”

  Ro snickered from the corner, where she lounged on a cushioned chaise, painting her claws the same purple she must have recently dyed the ends of her choppy pink pigtails. “Smooth, Lord Hunkyhair. Smooooooooooooooooooth.”

  The nickname was a remnant from one of Keefe and Ro’s many bets—though it seemed especially fitting at the moment. Keefe’s hair was always artfully mussed, but there was something wilder about it than usual, as if he’d spent the morning swimming in the salty waves and let it dry in the sun—and the beachy look really worked for him.

  Not that Keefe needed improvement.

  All elves were jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but there was something particularly handsome about Keefe Sencen—and the boy was well aware of it. Though he seemed a little off his game at the moment. His smug smirk was noticeably absent as he scrounged around his blankets, searching for something.

  “Here,” Ro said, tossing Keefe a wrinkled black tunic from the floor. “Bet you’re wishing it didn’t smell so much like sweaty boy in here, huh?”

  “It’s fine,” Sophie promised, even if the room could definitely use some airing out.

  A good cleaning would work wonders too. Everywhere she looked were piles of crumpled clothes and scattered shoes and stacks of papers and plates of half-eaten food. And all the thick curtains were drawn tight, leaving the space dim and stuffy. The room was clearly designed to be beautiful, with marble floors broken up by rugs woven to look like pristine sand, and seafoam walls inlaid with starfish and anemone shells. But under Keefe’s care, it was a disaster zo
ne. Even the furniture had a strange randomness to the arrangement that made Sophie wonder if he’d moved it all just to bug his dad.

  “Let this be a lesson to you,” Lord Cassius said as Keefe wrestled with the tunic, which was refusing to turn right side out. “You should always keep your room—and yourself—at your best, since you never know when you’ll need to make an impression.”

  Keefe rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Foster’s used to me.”

  Sophie was.

  But she was also wishing he’d get that tunic on. Her gaze kept straying to the long thin scar just below his rib cage—a gift from King Dimitar after Keefe challenged the ogre king to a brutal sparring match. Even though Keefe had pulled off a desperate victory, Sophie had still been ready to strangle him for risking his life so recklessly. They’d had one of their worst fights afterward—which did not bode well for the conversation ahead.

  Lord Cassius cleared his throat. “Well. My son may like to pretend he’s above everything. But I hope you won’t hold his laziness against him, Miss Foster. Or his sloppiness. I know how much he values your friendship.”

  “Keep it up, Dad, and Foster’s going to get jealous of all the sweet things you say about me. Not everyone gets to be so lucky, after all!”

  “You are lucky,” Lord Cassius informed him. “Far more than you know.”

  “Yep, everyone wishes they had my family.” Keefe yanked his tunic over his head a little harder than necessary. “And, uh, you can go now.”

  “Oh, I can, can I?” Lord Cassius’s mouth twitched in a way that almost looked like he might be teasing—and it made the resemblance between father and son much stronger. “Perhaps I should stay. We all know the princess rarely serves as a proper chaperone.”

  “I don’t need to,” Ro said, adjusting her metal breastplate as she sat up straighter. “Gigantor does enough fun-killing for everybody. Plus, our girl’s still rocking the ‘adorably oblivious’ thing—which, I gotta say, gets less adorable by the day.” Her eyes narrowed at Sophie. “I’d be happy to spell it all out for you if you want. We could make a pros and cons list together!”

  “Pros and cons of what?” Sophie asked.

  Ro sighed dramatically, glancing at Keefe as she said, “See what I mean?”

  Keefe threw Mrs. Stinkbottom at her head, but Ro swatted the stuffed green gulon right back at him—and when he ducked, it knocked into one of the lanterns lining Keefe’s bedside table, sending it crashing to the floor.

  Sandor rubbed the center of his forehead. “It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

  “It is,” Lord Cassius agreed, “and I think I’ve endured all I can manage. But I expect to be kept informed—assuming Miss Foster is here to discuss something of importance. If this visit is personal”—he raised his eyebrows in a way that had Sophie fidgeting and Keefe glowering—“then I suppose the less I know, the better. But if it pertains to the Black Swan, don’t forget that I, too, am a member.”

  He was.

  And Sophie hated it.

  Joining the order had been another one of his conditions before he’d shared the information Sophie needed to rescue her human parents. Leave it to Lord Cassius to barter with innocent lives in order to further his own agenda.

  “Then you can ask the Black Swan for an update,” Ro told him, plucking one of the daggers from the holsters strapped to her thighs and aiming it at Lord Cassius’s head. “Right now, it’s time to go, Daddio.”

  Lord Cassius narrowed his eyes. But he left without another word, closing the door behind him.

  “Sooo…,” Sophie said, dragging out the word as she stared at the way her boots sank into the rug, which looked uncannily like stepping on real sand. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I—”

  “Hang on,” Keefe interrupted, sliding off his bed and tiptoeing across his room. He paused near the door, pressing his finger to his lips in the universal shhhhh sign before he grabbed the handle and shoved his shoulder against the wood as hard as he could.

  A startled yelp echoed from the hallway, followed by a thud that could only be the sound of a body hitting the floor.

  “You have ten seconds before I let Ro unleash some of her new little bacteria buddies on you,” Keefe warned as he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the wall. “I hear they leave a gnarly rash!” He waited until the sound of footsteps had retreated down the hall before he turned back to Sophie and lowered his voice. “That won’t keep him away for long, so better spill it quick, Foster. Tell me why you have that cute little crease between your eyebrows. And why I’m feeling”—he waved his hands through the air—“hmm. Feels like the usual mix of worry, anger, and panic—though there’s something underneath that’s a little… I can’t figure out how to describe it. Fluttery?”

  “Oooh, let’s focus on that one!” Ro jumped in. “It’ll be much more interesting than all the blah-blah-blah-the-Neverseen-are-trying-to-kill-everybody-blah-blah.”

  “It’s not everybody this time,” Sophie corrected, trying to keep the conversation on track. “I mean… I’m sure that’s still their plan for the long run. But at the moment…”

  Her voice trailed off as she locked eyes with Keefe.

  How in the world was she supposed to tell him this?

  She couldn’t just blurt out, Your mom ordered Tam to murder you—could she?

  But… was there a delicate way of putting that?

  “Aaaaaaaaaand the worry reaches the so-queasy-I-might-vomit level,” Keefe said, clutching his stomach and dropping back onto his bed. “Gotta say, it’s not my favorite emotion to share with you, Foster. Seriously—how do you ever eat?”

  “Sometimes it’s not easy,” she admitted, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth. “And sorry.”

  She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them. Most Empaths had to make physical contact in order to pick up what someone was feeling. But Keefe was different—with her, at least. At first she’d thought it meant something about the strength of her emotions, but Keefe’s father was able to do the same thing—and other Empaths couldn’t. So the Sencens also seemed to have extra-powerful empathy.

  Keefe patted the empty side of the bed. “I’m fine, Foster. And clearly you’re going to need to sit down for this.” When she didn’t move toward him, he raised one eyebrow. “Uh, it’s not like we’ve never done the News of Doom thing before.”

  They had.

  Way too many times.

  But one of these days, they were going to hit his breaking point—and this could easily be the moment.

  “Need me to calm you down?” he offered, holding out his hand.

  They’d discovered that if she enhanced him, he could use his ability to fill her mind with softly colored breezes and soothe her emotions. But the last thing he should be doing right then was comforting her. So she kept her gloves on as she made her way closer and sank onto the edge of the bed, keeping as much space between them as possible.

  “Okay,” she said, fussing with the frilly sleeves on her tunic. “I… talked to Tam today.”

  “Ugh, I should’ve known Bangs Boy was going to be a part of this,” Keefe grumbled. “And I’m assuming by ‘talked,’ you mean one of your Look-at-my-fancy-Telepath-tricks! kind of chats, right? Mommy Dearest didn’t send him to deliver a special message, did she?” He sat up straighter. “Wait. He didn’t blow up anything, did he?”

  “No, so far only you’ve destroyed anything for the Neverseen,” Sandor growled.

  He was, of course, referring to the time that Keefe exploded the glass pyramid at Foxfire—while Sophie was in it—in order to prove his loyalty to the Neverseen’s cause. It… hadn’t been one of his better life choices, even if he had given Sophie his cloak to make sure she’d be safe.

  Keefe bent down and snatched Mrs. Stinkbottom off the floor, tossing the stuffed gulon from hand to hand like a furry basketball. “So what did good old Tammy have to say? Let me guess—he has no idea where they’re keeping him, and everyone’s wearing cloaks
and using code names and ignoring his questions, so he’s pretty much useless to us.”

  “Sorta,” Sophie admitted. “He managed to learn one thing.”

  “And I’m assuming it has to do with me—and it’s the reason for all the vomit vibes floating around in here?” Keefe guessed.

  She nodded.

  He set Mrs. Stinkbottom on the bed between them. “Then let’s get this over with, shall we? I’m not sure my stomach can hold on much longer. Just blurt it all out when I count to three—it’ll be fun!”

  It wouldn’t. But he was trying so hard to make this easier for her that she made herself agree. And when Keefe got to her cue, she held his stare and told him everything, starting with the map in Mr. Forkle’s office and his theories about the dwarves, straight on to Tam’s horrible warning.

  Her throat felt raw by the time she’d finished. And Keefe…

  Keefe was silent.

  So was Sandor—though he was scanning the room like he expected Tam to jump out of the shadows any second.

  Ro was doing the same, but she was muttering a whole lot of creative words under her breath.

  And Keefe just kept sitting there.

  Not talking.

  Or moving.

  Or blinking.

  Sophie grabbed Mrs. Stinkbottom and scooted closer, placing the gulon in Keefe’s lap in a pose where the shiny eyes seemed to look right at him. She’d had Elwin buy Keefe the so-ugly-it’s-cute stuffed animal back when he was struggling with the possibility that his mom might’ve been killed in an ogre prison, hoping it would help Keefe feel a little less alone. And at the time, she’d thought there couldn’t be anything harder than having to figure out how to mourn a mother who’d proven to be so terrible.

  But this was awful on a whole other level.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, reaching for his hand.

  Keefe watched her gloved fingers cover his palm, and for a second, he turned his hand and held on as tight as he could. Then he sighed and let go, scooting away from her. “I’m fine, Foster. We all knew this was coming.”