“I guess that’s true,” Sophie said, heading for the door.

Edaline grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Actually, I’d prefer you wait here. If Fintan’s planning something, there’s a good chance it includes you. I saw the way he watched you during the negotiations—like a prize he’d so desperately love to collect. Which means you should stay behind a locked door, where he can’t get anywhere near you. Please, Sophie. Use the time to brainstorm backup plans. Or chat with Keefe. Or both.”

“Fine,” Sophie reluctantly agreed. “But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m coming after you.”

She kissed Sophie’s cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind Sophie’s ear. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for trusting me.”

SEVENTY-NINE

EVERY SECOND FELT like an hour—and by the time eight minutes had passed, Sophie was ready to bang her head against the marble walls.

She’d used two of those minutes to ditch her stupid dress and change into the simple black clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived. The rest she’d spent pacing and thinking.

Whenever there were this many unanswered questions, it always meant they were missing something. And the one that bothered her the most was: How were the Neverseen planning to get out of their cells?

She’d seen the sturdy locks.

The heavy metal doors.

And lumenite didn’t burn, so Fintan’s power was useless.

She tried to figure out what she would do if she were trapped, and her mind kept circling back to her recent skill training.

The splotchers she’d exploded.

The stone she’d shattered.

She traced her hand across the cold stones around her door

Coach Rohana had told her, I suspect you could bring down a mountain if you sat in solitude long enough. Was that why Gethen had seemed so content in his cell? Had he been taking the time to rest and build his reserves to break through the doors?

A faint tremor shook the floor, and Sophie tried to tell herself her mind was playing tricks on her. But then she realized the crystals on the chandeliers were swaying.

The motion was so subtle, she wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been paying attention.

But she was paying attention.

And as she watched, a tiny rustle made the crystals quiver again.

Someone could be walking on the floor above her. Or the wind could be strong enough to shake the castle. Or . . .

Four dangerous prisoners could be breaking out of their dungeon cells.

But why now?

If this was just about embarrassing the Council in front of the other leaders, why not escape the second the summit began?

This is what they want, Lady Gisela had told her—but she’d also told her something else. Something Sophie had thought was just metaphor or hyperbole. But maybe it had been another warning.

Get my son back before it all comes crashing down.

Keefe had told her that Fintan wanted to take out the Council. And here they were all under one roof—the same roof as Gethen. And Gethen had had months to build his reserves.

Gethen is where he belongs.

The perfect inside man, hidden in the one place they wouldn’t have been able to access any other way. Maybe the person they’d been counting on to deliver.

But . . . if Gethen brought down the castle—wouldn’t they all be crushed in the rubble?

Fintan had known the Council would arrest him—he’d said as much to Oralie. He’d also stalled the proceedings, making sure it all happened on his timeline. And he wasn’t suicidal, so why would he want to be down in the dungeon when it happened? Why would he order Brant and Ruy to get themselves captured?

Ruy.

A powerful Psionipath could shield them under a force field. Keep them alive. Make sure they survived.

It was sickening how perfectly they’d planned everything—and even worse how many clues she’d missed. The warning signs had been there all along, and she hadn’t paid close enough attention.

The floor shook again, telling her the time to wonder was over.

This was happening.

And the tremors were only beginning.

KEEFE! she transmitted. If you can hear me, make sure you stay away from the castle. Gethen is going to knock it down. THAT’s Fintan’s vision.

She sent the same transmission to Mr. Forkle, begging him to start evacuating. Then she pounded on her door, demanding her guards let her out.

When no one answered, she gathered her mental strength and imagined singing the energy into the lock and the stones around it. Deeper and deeper the power sank, coiling so tight it felt like a wound-up spring. All she had to do was let go.

The explosion knocked her back, but she caught herself on a nearby table, her whole body shaking as she stared at the rubble around her now-open door.

If she could cause that much destruction with so little practice or energy . . .

This is what they want.

She bolted down the hallway as the floor rumbled again, trying to figure out the best plan. She could fight her way to the dungeon—but it would be four against one. And she might not get there in time.

The next tremor was sharper, sending dust swirling through the air. Too strong to be ignored, but too weak to be felt by anyone else—especially a bunch of people higher up at a party, nibbling treats and admiring the splendor and congratulating themselves on the day’s victory.

And somewhere among them was Edaline.

Sophie changed direction, her goal clear as she doubled her speed, ducking down halls at random. The maze felt alive, stretching and spreading and shifting, anything to prevent her from getting where she needed to be.

A staircase looked familiar, but most of the doors it led to were locked. She finally chose a path through a hall lined with blue flames, hoping the light was a good sign.

The longer she ran, the more the tremors grew, until she could see cracks fissuring through the stones. The dust made her chest throb and her eyes water—or maybe that was the panic—as she started screaming Edaline’s name.

More doorways. More stairs. More halls. More quakes gaining momentum—like distant thunder rolling in with the storm.

She tried to track Edaline with her mind, but her fear shattered her concentration. She’d nearly broken down when she recognized a new sound.

Footsteps.

“EDALINE?”

“SOPHIE?” Mr. Forkle shouted.