“Why does that matter?” Sophie asked.

“Because telepathy is generally considered to be our most vital ability. We’d never have known the humans were plotting to betray us all those millennia ago if our Telepaths hadn’t overheard their schemes. That’s why there are more Telepaths in the nobility than any other talent. So either the Neverseen have failed to recruit any others—which could tell us something about their method of operating. Or there’s a reason they’re avoiding the talent. Either way, it means I should press the Council about allowing a visit to Gethen.”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been saying that for weeks!”

“I know. And I’ve been stalling—partially because I promised to bring you with me, and I still believe Gethen intends to harm you if you try to search his mind. But mostly because I wanted to see exactly what role Mr. Sencen was going to play before choosing our next step.”

“Well, now we know,” Grady muttered, holding up the shard of glass again.

“I know you look at that and see violence and destruction,” Magnate Leto told him. “But I see a boy willing to do anything to tear the Neverseen’s organization apart. And I for one am going to believe in him—especially since he may have unwittingly given us another advantage. May I have that cloak, Miss Foster?”

“I’m sure there’s a hidden tracker,” Sandor warned as Sophie handed it over.

“That’s what I’m hoping for. Perhaps if we move it somewhere interesting, we can lure them out of their little hiding places.”

“You want to meet with them?” Grady asked.

“I want to send a message. Can I borrow a dagger?”

Brielle whipped a jagged silver knife from her boot and handed it to Magnate Leto. He sliced open the cloak’s hem along the bottom edge, revealing two disks—one gold and one black—sewn between the folds of thick fabric.

Sandor frowned. “The gold one’s the tracker—but I’ve never seen anything like the black. It’s not even made of metal.”

“Indeed it’s not,” Magnate Leto said, severing the threads securing the black disk to the lining. “And it’s not magsidian, either.”

The rare dwarven mineral changed properties depending on how someone carved it, and it was often used as a form of security authorization.

“Careful,” Sophie warned as he held the disk up to the grayish light. “I’m sure that’s covered in aromark.”

The powerful ogre enzyme wouldn’t hurt him. But it could only be removed through an unpleasant process.

“I’ve only seen aromark on metal,” Magnate Leto murmured. “And this symbol . . .”

He traced his finger over the thin white etchings across the top—a line decorated with dashes, sandwiched between two different-size circles.

“Do you know what it means?” Sophie asked.

“Sadly, no,” Magnate Leto admitted. “But I’ve seen it before—along with other similar markings—on a shard of memory I recently recovered.”

“From who?” Sophie asked.

Magnate Leto sighed, letting several seconds crawl by before he told her, “From Prentice.”

FOUR

PRENTICE,” SOPHIE REPEATED, not sure if she felt relieved or furious. “The same Prentice you’ve been telling me isn’t strong enough to have me search his mind?”

“That would be him,” Magnate Leto agreed, and with that, Sophie’s fury won.

Prentice used to be a Keeper for the Black Swan, in charge of protecting their most crucial secrets. And he’d allowed his sanity to be broken to prevent the Council from discovering Sophie’s existence. He’d spent years locked away in the elves’ underground prison, needing her abilities to grow strong enough to heal him. But when Sophie was finally ready—and the Council had freed him from Exile—his consciousness disappeared, leaving him an empty shell.

Nothing had seemed capable of bringing him back—until a few weeks earlier, when Prentice woke up. Sophie had assumed the news meant he’d made a major recovery, but sadly, his mind was still badly broken. She’d been begging the Black Swan to let her heal him, and each time she’d been told that Prentice’s mind was too weak, too fragile, too unstable.

“Why would you lie to me?” she snapped as Edaline placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t,” Magnate Leto promised. “I told you he wasn’t ready to be healed—not searched.”

“And I thought my enhanced abilities made me the only one strong enough to search a broken mind,” Sophie argued.

“You are. I paid dearly for my attempt. But I had to see if I could figure out why he called swan song.”

The Black Swan used the words as a code, to warn each other when they were in extreme danger. Prentice had given the signal right before the Council arrested him, almost like he’d known it was coming.

“Why didn’t you let me help you search his mind, then?” Sophie asked.

“Because . . . I didn’t trust myself not to beg you to heal him. You have no idea how much it pains me to leave him in darkness. But his mind needs to grow stronger before we bring him back to full consciousness. He has far too much to bear—and if his sanity collapses again, I fear there won’t be enough left for you to attempt another repair.”

The crack in his voice deflated a bit of Sophie’s anger.

The rest faded when she admitted she shared the same worries.

A lot had changed in Prentice’s life since he’d sacrificed his sanity. His wife, Cyrah, had died in some sort of light leaping accident. And his son, Wylie, had grown up barely knowing his father. That was a tremendous amount of grief for a weakened mind to process.

“You could’ve at least told me what was going on,” Sophie grumbled.

“I know. When it comes to Prentice, I never seem to follow the course of wisdom. I suppose I feel too responsible.”

“How do you think I feel? He’s broken because of me!”

“Careful, Sophie,” Grady warned. “You saw what thoughts like that did to Alden.”

Alden’s guilt over his role in Prentice’s capture—even though he hadn’t known Prentice was one of the good guys at the time—had shattered his sanity. If Sophie hadn’t found the strength to heal him, he’d still be lost to the madness.