“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lady Cadence rasped from her newly made stretcher. “None of these were members of his personal guard—and none of them wore Markchains.”

“So he distanced himself from the attack,” Sandor snarled. “That’s not proof of innocence, only foresight. His next attack will come swiftly. Ogres are expert trackers. We need to move you somewhere even Dimitar would never dare go.”

“Where are you suggesting?” Edaline asked.

Sandor’s voice seemed to deepen as he said, “The best option is Gildingham. The ogres know that entering our capital city would be a declaration of war.”

“Would Hylda approve our visit?” Grady asked as he rejoined them. “I thought she preferred to keep outsiders to a minimum.”

“She would never turn away an elvin family in need—especially one as important as yours. I’ll contact her now and make the arrangements.” Sandor pulled a triangular gadget from his pocket and moved to the edge of the clearing to speak with his queen.

Sophie, meanwhile, was wondering why no one seemed to be addressing the much scarier question.

Now that the ogres had sent ten soldiers to directly attack an elvin family within the boundaries of the Lost Cities—did that mean the ogres and the elves were at war?

SIXTY

LEAVE THE DIPLOMACY to the Council,” Mr. Forkle ordered when Sophie hailed him on her Imparter and explained the afternoon’s tragedies.

“I think we’re well beyond diplomacy,” she mumbled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Given what Lady Cadence noted about her attackers, I have no doubt King Dimitar will claim that anyone involved acted without his permission—which may even be true.”

“You’re serious?”

“Are the Neverseen acting with the Council’s permission?” he countered. “I know you’re angry and afraid—and justifiably so. But we cannot let ourselves be controlled by fear or fury, or rush into any actions that will only cause further death and destruction. Not without gathering evidence. So let the Councillors investigate. And try not to be surprised if they opt to proceed with the Peace Summit.”

Sophie’s grip on her Imparter tightened. “You really think a treaty is going to stop the ogres from killing innocent people? Or coming after my family again?”

“It depends on who’s giving the orders. It’s also important to keep in mind that if Dimitar was behind this incident, in some ways that’s an advantage. We’ve been working to prevent the ogres and Neverseen from aligning, and this guarantees it. Fintan will be livid that the ogres failed. And King Dimitar will be furious over losing so many warriors.”

The words would’ve been much more comforting if Sophie weren’t picturing Brielle’s bloody, broken body.

“Right now, the most important thing is to get you and your family to safety,” Mr. Forkle added gently. “I agree with Sandor that Gildingham is the wisest option. Do you need me to bring you a crystal to leap there?”

“Queen Hylda has already sent her chariot,” Sandor said over Sophie’s shoulder. She’d forgotten he was eavesdropping. “The drivers will be here as soon as they retrieve Brielle.”

His voice faltered on the name.

“My deepest sympathies,” Mr. Forkle told him. “Brielle was an incredible warrior.”

“One of the best,” Sandor agreed, looking desperate to punch something again.

“When will she be presented in the Hall of Heroes?” Mr. Forkle asked.

“Aurification will begin as soon as she’s brought to Gildingham. The presentation should be tomorrow.”

“I’ll let the Council know to release their goblin regiments for the ceremony,” Mr. Forkle promised.

“Actually, Queen Hylda will be ordering them to remain with their assignments,” Sandor told him. “She believes it would be unwise to leave the Lost Cities vulnerable. Dimitar could take advantage.”

Mr. Forkle blinked. “That’s incredibly generous of her.”

“It is,” Sandor said. “But now more than ever, we must work as allies.”

Sophie wasn’t familiar with some of the terms they’d been using, but she assumed they’d been talking about the goblin’s version of a funeral.

“Can I go to the presentation?” she asked. “Or is it a goblins-only thing?”

“Presentations are generally only attended by our people,” Sandor told her. “But Brielle is the first in the elvin regiments to be lost in a battle, so it might be good to show the public that the elves do not take her sacrifice for granted. I’ll raise the matter with the queen.”

“We’d like to go as well,” Grady called from across the clearing, where he sat with Edaline, both of them so weary they could barely move.

“I’ll ask Della to include something gold for each of you to wear when she packs up the satchels we’ll be sending,” Mr. Forkle told them. “Would you like us to send your imp to keep you company, Miss Foster?”

“No, I think it’d be easier for Iggy to stay with Biana.”

Sophie doubted the goblins wanted a tiny purple poof causing havoc in their city.

“Please let me know once you’re settled in Gildingham,” Mr. Forkle told her. “And I’ll keep you updated on any developments. And Miss Foster?” He touched the screen of his Imparter, like he was trying to reach across the distance between them. “I’m so relieved that you and your parents are well. Please keep it that way.”

His image flashed away, and Sophie stared at the blank screen, trying to figure out what to feel—what to do.

She was on her way to sit with Grady and Edaline when the ground started to rumble.

“Don’t be nervous,” Sandor said as she jumped back, preparing for another ogre attack. “It’s just Twinkle.”

With a name like Twinkle, Sophie definitely wasn’t prepared for a fifty-foot snake to burst out of the ground—especially a fifty-foot snake strapped to some sort of golden harness lined with hundreds of golden wheels. The contraption ended in a carriage that looked like a giant golden egg, covered in intricate patterns and symbols.

The snake’s scales shimmered with flecks of gold, silver, and pink as it slithered into a tight coil, coming to rest with the egg carriage right in front of them.