TWENTY-THREE

SOPHIE COULD HEAR the screaming and shouting the second she glittered into the otherwise quiet valley, where puffy white clouds hung low around the snow-capped mountains.

“THAT’S MY BOX OF PRATTLES!”

“NOT ANYMORE!”

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—REX STOLE MY CANDY!”

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD—BEX SMELLS LIKE DRAGON POOP!”

“SO DOES REX!” another voice added.

“STAY OUT OF THIS, LEX!”

“NO WAY—THOSE PRATTLES ARE MINE!”

A whole lot of squealing and crashing—plus a “KNOCK IT OFF!” from Dex—followed the declaration.

“Welcome to Rimeshire,” Kesler said, and Sophie spun around to find him standing next to Juline on a wide silver-stoned path. The smile he flashed looked exactly like his son’s.

Kesler and Dex both shared the same dimples and strawberry-blond hair and periwinkle eyes. The only difference was time—and several inches of height.

“You’ll get used to the noise,” he promised as another shriek echoed across the valley.

“No you won’t,” Juline warned.

Juline was Edaline’s sister—which technically made Sophie and Dex cousins by adoption—and they both had the same turquoise eyes and amber-toned hair. But Juline always looked rumpled and exhausted.

“Don’t worry,” she told Sophie, wrapping a flyaway hair back into her messy bun and securing it with a chewed-on pencil. “I have a trick to keep them under control this afternoon.”

“We say that every day,” Kesler teased. “I’m still waiting for it to be true.”

Lots more squealing and stomping filled the air, along with an “OW—THAT’S MY ARM, YOU JERK!”

“It’s okay,” Sophie told them. Growing up a Telepath around humans had given her a high tolerance for noise. Plus, her main plans for the day involved obsessively checking her Imparter as she waited for news from her family. She could do that with or without screaming kids in the background.

“Bet you’re glad you’re wearing long sleeves, huh?” Juline asked as an icy breeze whipped through Sophie’s hair.

Rimeshire was definitely the chilliest place Sophie had visited in the Lost Cities—aside from the entrance to the Sanctuary in the Himalayas. Even the architecture of the Dizznee’s house reminded Sophie of an ice castle. All the walls were built from blue cut glass and fitted together into sharp, dramatic angles. And the five swirling towers looked like upside-down icicles. But there was still something inherently warm about the place. Maybe it was the bright light glowing through the walls. Or the curls of white smoke coming from the spiral chimneys.

The house was also massive—probably bigger than Everglen. And the grounds were just as expansive. The landscaping was simpler, but it matched the stark valley: twisted evergreen trees lining each of the silver-stoned paths, and wide plains of jade green grass leading into the rolling foothills.

“You can say it,” Kesler told her. “I’m guessing this isn’t what you’d been imagining?”

“Well . . . no,” she admitted.

She’d been in the Lost Cities long enough to know that social standing didn’t affect wealth. Everyone was given the exact same birth fund—which contained more than enough money to live lavishly for the whole of their long existence. But she’d pictured Dex’s house looking like Slurps and Burps, with topsy-turvy architecture and colorful walls that belonged in a Dr. Seuss book.

Rimeshire was . . . understated.

Elegant.

Impressive.

“We’re only quirky in public,” Kesler told her, “because it’s fun to mess with the snobby nobles. Deep down, we’re disappointingly normal.”

“Not disappointing at all,” Sophie insisted.

Juline beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. Dex was terrified to have everyone come over. He’s in there right now, desperately cleaning his room, even though you’ll be camping out in the solarium tonight.”

“And don’t worry,” Kesler said. “The triplets have offered up their sleeping bags—and the gnomes already gave them a good wash.”

“Sounds perfect,” Sophie told him, even though she’d never considered that Dex, Fitz, and Biana might all be sleeping in the same room. Talk about potential for awkward . . .

But sleep was probably going to be a lost cause anyway.

She checked her Imparter for news from her family.

Nothing.

Not surprising—but it didn’t help her antsy-ness.

“Are Fitz and Biana already here?” she asked, having to raise her voice over the triplets’ latest shouting match. It sounded like Bex had stolen Rex’s favorite jackalope toy and was threatening to tear off its antlers.

“No,” Kesler said. “So you’re welcome to wait in the house if you want.”

Inside, something crashed and shattered into a million pieces.

“Waiting out here sounds good,” Sophie decided.

Kesler laughed. “Probably a good call. And let’s hope that sound means they finally destroyed the horrendous crystal yeti statue my brother gave us as for a wedding present. I moved it to the entryway a few years ago, since the triplets love tearing through there like a pack of dire wolves. But I swear they spare it just to spite me.”

“You have a brother?” Sophie asked.

“Actually, I have three. And two sisters.”

“Wow, your mom had six children?”

Even for humans that was a ton of kids—and for elves it was practically unheard of.

“I see my son talks about his family a lot,” Kesler said.

“No he—”

“I’m just kidding,” he promised. “You guys have had way more important things to talk about than Dex’s estranged relatives.”

They definitely had. But Sophie still felt like the world’s worst best friend. Sometimes she didn’t pay as much attention to Dex as she should.

“Anyway,” Kesler said, “my parents were definitely not concerned about the whole ‘optimal genetic purity’ nonsense.”

“That’s another recommendation from the matchmakers,” Juline explained. “They believe our strongest, purest genetics go to our first child, and after that, our genes grow increasingly diluted. That’s why so many families stop after one kid.”