“Does that mean you know what’s coming?” Fitz asked.

“Most of it. Lately the Council has been full of surprises.”

“Is the rest of the Collective here too?” Biana asked, turning to study the crowd.

“You’re wasting your time trying to find them,” Sir Astin warned. “If you haven’t guessed their identities already, I daresay you never will.”

“So that means we know them,” Sophie said.

“Some of them, yes. Now please act normal—we do not need to create a spectacle. And dare I ask what you all were planning as I approached?”

He seemed relieved to hear they were only making plans to study Alvar’s records together—though that didn’t stop him from giving a lecture on how anything they uncovered was not to be investigated without checking in first.

“Any update on Gethen?” Sophie whispered.

“Not the news I was hoping for,” he admitted. “They’re saying Lumenaria is closed for visits of any kind, which is . . . surprising. I’m in the process of seeing if they’ll reconsider.”

“Is the Council late?” Fitz asked, pointing to the still-empty stage. “It feels like we’ve been standing here for a really long time.”

Sir Astin glanced at the sky. “I was expecting them a few minutes ago. But I’m sure they’ll be here any second.”

“Did you guys notice that the scrolls the Council sent out said sending one representative from each family today was mandatory?” Biana asked. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Neither have I,” Fitz said. “I asked my dad about it, and he said the last time was when the Council canceled the human assistance program.”

“Seriously?” Sophie asked, turning to survey the crowd. It did seem larger than normal—easily several thousand people. But could it really represent every elvin family?

Sir Astin must’ve known what she was thinking. “The first wave of the announcement applies to those with family members attending Foxfire,” he explained. “From there, it will ripple through the rest of our society as the new program progresses.”

“So this is a big change,” Sophie confirmed.

“It is. The Council is taking a very brave step. But, as Magnate Leto reminded you, change can be a powerful, inspiring thing.”

He’d made his voice sound like his alter ego, and Sophie was still trying to wrap her head around the weirdness of hearing Sir Astin sound like Magnate Leto when two lines of heavily armed goblins marched through the crowd and formed a perimeter of swords and muscle.

“Brace yourselves,” Sir Astin said as fanfare rang across the field and all twelve Councillors glittered onto the stage. “This should be very interesting.”

NINETEEN

SEVEN DAYS AGO, our world suffered an attack,” Councillor Emery said as he strode to the center of the silver stage. “Though I suppose it would be more accurate for us to say ‘another attack.’ Such events are supposed to be unheard of. And yet this was the third incident in as many weeks. And it comes on the heels of the disgusting plague unleashed upon the innocent gnomes. Surely you also remember the inferno of Everblaze that stole the life of our beloved Councillor Kenric and destroyed much of our beautiful capital. In fact, over the last year, our world has experienced evils we can hardly begin to process. And as a result, we’ve been forced to add goblin police to our cities and armed guards to our schools.”

He paused there, his sapphire blue eyes shining against his dark skin while he studied the crowd shuffling nervously around him.

Councillor Emery served as the spokesperson for the Council primarily because of his ability as a Telepath. He mentally mediated all of the other Councillors’ internal discussions to ensure that—out loud—they always presented a united front. But there was also something in the way he carried himself that demanded attention. Maybe it was the rigid line of his posture. Or the dramatic sweep of his shoulder-length black hair. Whatever it was, the longer Sophie watched him, the more she found herself holding her breath.

Eventually she glanced away, focusing her attention on the other Councillors, who’d formed two neat lines on either side of the stage. They each wore a different color, with matching jewels glinting across their capes and circlets. Their posture was stiff and regal—heads held high. Shoulders squared.

But there were thin creases in their brows and cheeks, and their lips were pressed tightly together. Sophie had faced the Council many times—more than she ever would’ve chosen—and it was rare to see them looking so nervous.

She concentrated on her three most loyal supporters—Bronte, Oralie, and Terik—searching their faces for clues to what news might be coming. But Bronte was his usual scowling, pointy-eared, ancient self. Oralie was equally hard to read. Her pink cheeks and soft blond ringlets always gave her a serene, ethereal air about her. And Terik was . . .

. . . staring right at Sophie.

His cobalt blue eyes held hers, almost like he was taking another stab at her reading. He was the elves’ only Descryer, which meant he could sense people’s potential. He’d tried to read Sophie once already, and had been unable to understand what he was feeling. The best he could tell her was that he’d felt “something strong.”

“Our world has changed,” Councillor Emery continued. “The safety and peace we’ve enjoyed for millennia is fading. But we will not let it disappear! The rebels’ strength is an illusion. Soon all of this will be nothing more than a brief chapter in our long history—a chapter that will testify to our adaptability and reinvention—but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, we want to assure you that anything damaged during these growing pains will be rebuilt. Councillor Darek, if you please . . .”

One of the Councillors Sophie didn’t know moved toward the back of the stage. His skin had a warm brown tone and his shiny black hair curled at the ends. He reminded Sophie of a bullfighter, probably because of his bright red cape, which made a dramatic swish as he raised his arms toward the pyramid.

Sophie thought he might be a Guster as the tarp fluttered and rippled—but the air remained perfectly still as the thick fabric slowly rose from the center, almost as though a giant invisible hand were lifting it like a handkerchief.