Lodestar Page 14
She shuddered just thinking about it.
After that, I figured things would get way worse between us, she continued. But somehow Bronte ended up becoming one of my only supporters on the Council. I didn’t know what caused the change until after the whole ability restrictor nightmare. Bronte sent me a message through Magnate Leto. He told me, “It takes a special person to see darkness inside of someone and not condemn them.” But the funny thing was, I had condemned him. I’d decided he was a traitor. I’d even asked Keefe to go all Empath-lie-detector on him to see if we could find proof that he was leaking confidential information from the Council. So . . . now I try to be the person Bronte thinks I am. Which is why I’m not ready to give up on Keefe. Not yet.
I guess that makes sense. But—
I’m not trying to change how you feel. In fact, maybe it’s better this way. I’ll be the believer and you can be the skeptic and we’ll keep each other in check—but that only works if you’re honest with me and actually talk about stuff.
He sighed. There you go being all practical and wise.
Hey, one of us has to be.
He laughed at that—and reached over to give her ponytail a playful tug.
She moved to block him and their rings snapped their hands together—which would’ve been startling enough without Mr. Forkle asking, “I take it the hand-holding means you’ve worked things out?”
“I think so,” Sophie mumbled, not looking at Fitz as she pulled her palm free.
“Very good, because we really do need to get going. The window of time that we can be away is closing by the minute.”
“And you have your Imparter in case you need me?” Grady asked Sophie as he strode in from the kitchen.
Sophie showed him the square silver gadget she’d tucked safely in her pocket. Imparters were the elves’ much sleeker voice-commanded version of a videophone.
“All will be fine,” Mr. Forkle assured Grady. “We’re going to a secure location.”
Grady strangled Sophie with a hug anyway. “I keep thinking it’s going to get easier, sitting back and letting you take risks,” he told her. “But every time, I want to drag you back upstairs and barricade you in your room.”
“That makes two of us,” Sandor said. “But I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on both of them,” Grizel said. “Show them how it’s done.”
Grizel tossed her long hair—which she’d let hang loose that day—as Mr. Forkle pulled a pink pathfinder out of his cloak, making Sophie wonder how many types of leaping crystals the elves actually used. Blue went to the Forbidden Cities. Green went to the ogres. Pale yellow to the Neutral Territories. And clear to the Lost Cities. She’d also seen the Black Swan use purple crystals. But this was the first time she’d seen pale pink—and its hundreds of facets sparkled with different colors, like a diamond.
“Please tell me this isn’t going to be like leaping with the unmapped stars,” Sophie begged. She’d experienced that particular misery several times, and really didn’t have the energy to endure it again.
“No, the hint of opalescence is simply an added security measure,” Mr. Forkle assured her. “Now everyone lock hands.”
Their group formed quite a chain, with Sophie, Fitz, Mr. Forkle, Sandor, and Grizel.
“You ready for this?” Fitz asked.
“Of course she is,” Mr. Forkle answered for her. “This is what she was made for.”
SIX
PRENTICE’S NORMALLY RICH brown skin had a grayish tint, and shiny streams of sweat trickled down his forehead and soaked his tangled dreadlocks.
But he was awake.
His cloudy blue eyes kept darting blankly around the room.
Even his mumble-gurgle sounds were a huge improvement from his previous deathly silence.
Still, Sophie understood Mr. Forkle’s reasons for keeping her away.
Watching the string of drool hanging from Prentice’s lips made her want to dive into his mind and call him back to reality. He deserved to be truly awake—not strapped to a bed so that his flailing limbs wouldn’t send him crashing to the cold silver floor.
All in good time, Mr. Forkle transmitted. And I’m not reading your mind, in case you’re worried. I know you well enough to know that your thoughts echo mine. But we must be strong.
“Everything okay?” Fitz asked as Sophie gave Mr. Forkle a reluctant nod.
She forced a smile and tried to look anywhere but at Prentice.
The house was exactly as she remembered it. Sleek and sterile and sparse—and small. Sandor and Grizel chose to patrol the moorish grounds to escape the low ceilings.
The only pieces of furniture were the neatly tucked cot Prentice was resting on and a medicine-strewn table next to it. The rest of the space was floor-to-ceiling apothecary shelves and one narrow counter under the room’s only window, covered in an elaborate alchemy setup.
“Isn’t someone watching him?” Sophie asked, studying the beakers on the burners, which were bubbling with some sort of smoky magenta liquid.
“Of course,” a ghostly voice said from the loft hidden above.
Seconds later, Wraith’s silver cloak came swishing down the narrow corner staircase. Just his cloak—though his invisible body was clearly moving underneath the slinky fabric. He used a trick called partial vanishing—hiding his body, but not his clothes—to keep his true identity secret.
All five members of the Black Swan’s Collective had crazy nicknames to match their even-crazier disguises. So far Sophie and her friends had only learned who two of them actually were. They knew Mr. Forkle was both Magnate Leto and Sir Astin—though he’d admitted that he still had other identities they’d yet to uncover. And they knew . . .
“Granite!” Sophie said as a bizarre figure struggled up the narrow staircase from the cramped basement below. He looked like a cracked, unfinished statue come to life, thanks to the chalky indurite powder he ingested for his disguise. Sophie knew him better as Tiergan, her telepathy mentor at Foxfire—and she still couldn’t believe she’d trained with him for more than a year and never guessed he was secretly involved with the Black Swan.
“Squall already left,” Granite told Mr. Forkle. “And she won’t be able to return for our evening meeting.”