WHERE IS MY SON?”
Of course Lord Cassius greeted them with the question that Sophie had been hoping to avoid.
She’d realized as they were teleporting to the Shores of Solace that Keefe’s father had no idea his son was missing—and it’d probably be better to keep it that way. But Lord Cassius would never answer questions about his pathfinder without knowing why she was asking. And lying to Empaths was annoyingly challenging.
So she cut straight to the brutal truth: “Keefe ran away.”
Normal parents would’ve cried—panicked—pummeled Sophie with questions.
Lord Cassius simply smoothed his already perfect blond hair and stepped aside to let Sophie, Ro, and Sandor into his fancy beach house.
He led them to the farthest corner of the property, to a bougainvillea-lined patio facing the ocean, and settled onto the only chair—a chaise covered in worn turquoise pillows.
“I assumed this would happen,” he said as he flicked a speck of lint off his pristine gray cape. “If Keefe had come home with me—”
“He would’ve run off even faster,” Ro finished for him. “Probably left a Keefe-shaped hole in one of the walls.”
Lord Cassius’s lips curled into a smile—but it was a dark, twisted thing. “Such bravado coming from the one whose job was to prevent something like this from happening.”
“Yeah, well, wasn’t it your job to make sure no one did creepy experiments on your son, instead of signing him up for them before he was born?” Ro snapped back. “And while we’re discussing failed responsibilities, shall we acknowledge the fact that it’s also a father’s job to make sure their child feels happy and secure and loved?”
“Is that what your scar displays?” Lord Cassius said, referencing the jagged mark that ran the length of Ro’s spine. “Your father’s love?”
Ro reached behind her, trailing her fingers gently along the rough, raised skin. “You’re right. My father did make this mark. He’s done the same thing to all his most trusted warriors. And when he cut it, I felt his pride, and respect—and yes, I actually did feel his love. Can Keefe say the same about anything you’ve done for him?” She waited for Lord Cassius’s smile to fade before she added, “You elves like to talk about ogres as if we’re these cold, brutal creatures. But I’ve never seen anything as cold and brutal as the way you treat your son.”
Sophie wanted to hoist Ro on her shoulders and parade her around the room—but that would probably get them kicked out of the Shores of Solace.
Still, she hoped Lord Cassius could feel her disgust slashing through the air.
He looked away, staring at the darkening horizon. “How long has Keefe been gone?”
“A few hours,” Sophie told him. “And we’re pretty sure he used your pathfinder when he left, so I need a list of all the places that pathfinder goes.”
“That will be a very long list.”
“How long?” Sandor asked.
“Long. The Council granted me their highest level of clearance. I was one of their top Emissaries—”
“I don’t care if it’s a long list,” Sophie interrupted before he could launch into a speech about the wonder that was him.
“You should. It’s over a hundred cities. And I suspect my son plans to visit each and every one.” He folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Keefe has likely realized by now that his mother surely borrowed my pathfinder over the years without my knowledge, and is hoping he’ll find one of her secret hideouts. He hasn’t accepted the futility of such endeavors. Just as you won’t accept the futility of leaping all over the planet, trying to hunt down a boy who obviously doesn’t want to be found.”
“A scared boy with no idea how to survive in the Forbidden Cities,” Sophie argued. “I can’t believe you don’t—”
She cut her sentence short.
Lord Cassius’s lack of concern wasn’t a surprise.
“So much judgment,” he murmured, trailing his fingers through the air, testing her emotions. “It’s as if you’ve forgotten what you found in my mind.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
She had unearthed memories that proved he actually did love his son—but they didn’t count. He’d buried the feelings too deep, claiming that love convoluted things.
Lord Cassius sighed. “Affection comes in many forms. Even surrender. Which is why I’m willing to admit that I never have been and never will be able to control my son. No one can. Not even you—though I’m certain you’ll continue to try. You’re even more stubborn than he is. The good news, though, is that my wife might be the most stubborn out of all of you—and she foolishly made Keefe integral to her plan. I suspect it will be her downfall—which would be rather poetic, wouldn’t it?”
It would.
But Sophie wasn’t in the mood to agree with him.
“Do you need me to get you some paper?” she asked. “Or should I just pull the list of cities from your mind?”
She’d meant the second option as a threat. But Lord Cassius flashed another twisted smile and said, “Pulling it from my mind will be much more convenient.”
Sophie glanced at Ro and Sandor.
“Hey, if Lord Creepypants wants to let you dig through his head, I say go for it,” Ro told her. “You can dredge up all his embarrassing secrets!”
“Or it could be a trick,” Sandor warned.
Lord Cassius clicked his tongue. “Need I remind you that we’re on the same side?” He reached under his tunic and showed them the swan-neck monocle he’d received after swearing fealty to the Black Swan. “Your Collective trusts me. Surely you can do the—”
“What assignment did they give you?” Sophie interrupted.
The last time she’d seen Lord Cassius, he’d mentioned an assignment for the Black Swan. But he hadn’t told her what it was.
“If you want me to trust you,” she added, “you should tell me what you’re working on.”
He flicked away more invisible lint. “My assignment is classified.”
“But if you’re inviting Blondie into your head, her super-brain can find out anything she wants,” Ro reminded him. “So there’s no point keeping it secret.”
“Perhaps not from her. But she’s not the only one here, is she?” He bent his knees and slid his feet back toward himself, then motioned to the now-empty portion of his chaise. “You prefer to sit when using your telepathy, don’t you, Miss Foster?”
Sophie stared at the lumpy cushions.
“If you want answers,” he snapped, “and that list—you have permission to enter my mind. Otherwise, you may see yourself out.”
He raised one eyebrow in challenge, and the expression made him look much more like his son—if Keefe was also harsh and cold and…
Sad.
“Fine,” she said, lowering herself onto the farthest edge of the chaise. “But you’re not going to like this.”
“Oh, I’m quite certain of that. And yet, here we are.” He waved one hand in a sweeping, circular gesture, inviting her into his mind.
Sophie closed her eyes and let her consciousness harden into steel—into armor—with just enough edge to slice through his flimsy mental barriers in one quick shove.
Let’s make this quick, she transmitted. I need…
Her words trailed off as she took in the disarray.
Lord Cassius’s mind used to be meticulous—everything carefully sorted and rigidly arranged, as if his head were a stuffy library where no one was allowed to touch any of the books.
Now it looked like an earthquake had crashed through, knocking all the memories to the floor and leaving a sea of jumbled piles, flashing and blaring in full color and volume, like mounds of broken televisions.
You’ll get used to the noise, Lord Cassius thought as she reached up to rub her temples.
Sophie doubted that.
And if it’d been anyone else, she would’ve checked to make sure he was okay.
Instead, she transmitted, What are you working on for the Black Swan?
Nothing that caused the mental disruption you’re seeing, if that’s what you’re wondering. Nor is it anything that merits the level of frustration I felt when I told you the assignment was classified. You truly despise secrets, don’t you?
I do, Sophie agreed.
And yet, you’re keeping more of them than anyone, aren’t you? Our fearless moonlark, with her impenetrable mind. The leader of Team Valiant, doing the Council’s bidding—
You didn’t answer my question, Sophie reminded him.
A low rumble shook the mounds of memories as he struggled to keep his temper. I wasn’t lying when I said the assignment is classified. But before you throw a tantrum—
I don’t throw tantrums!
Yes, and you aren’t gripping one of my pillows right now, tempted to hurl it at my face.
Sophie relaxed her grip on the cushion. So this is where Keefe gets his obnoxious side from.
I suppose that’s possible. His mind brightened slightly with the thought. But as I was trying to say before your unnecessary interruption, I’m sure you can guess enough to satisfy your curiosity if I tell you that my assignment involves stalled treaty negotiations.
Sophie needed several seconds to piece together a theory. Do you mean the negotiations with the trolls?
I can’t think of any other negotiations in progress, can you?
She couldn’t. But she also hadn’t realized that things with the trolls weren’t already settled—though she probably should have, since Tarina still hadn’t returned to her post as one of Sophie’s bodyguards.
Why are the negotiations stalled? she asked.
Why do you think? You and your friends uncovered an illegal hive hidden within our borders, filled with bloodthirsty, genetically manipulated newborns that were clearly part of an ongoing experiment.
Flashbacks of shredding claws and bloody teeth tore through Sophie’s brain, so it took her a second to catch the key word in that sentence.
Ongoing? Does that mean there are more hives?
That’s what the Council would like to find out. Particularly since Empress Pernille has now closed the borders to Marintrylla and requested a treaty similar to what King Dimitar demanded after the destruction at Ravagog. She wants to sever ties with the Lost Cites and keep the trolls isolated from everyone.
And just like that, Sophie was back in Mr. Forkle’s strange egg-shaped office, staring at a 3-D map of the world and listening to him explain how he believed that the Neverseen were trying to keep the other intelligent species fragmented and distracted, so they’d be too weak or busy to cause trouble when the Neverseen overthrew the Council.
She couldn’t decide if this proved their plan was working—or if they were creating an even bigger mess.
Probably both.
Do you think the Council will agree to the terms of Empress Pernille’s treaty? she asked.
Possibly. If she proves she’s not amassing a mutant newborn army.
Sophie shuddered. So THAT’S why you said we should talk telepathically. You didn’t want Ro and Sandor to know about this.
Actually, I’m sure their leaders are monitoring the situation just as closely as we are—if not more so. I suggested a mental conversation, because… there’s something else I need to share with you—and it will be far easier to show you than to try to explain it out loud. Particularly given your annoying propensity to interrupt.
Sophie wanted to argue with his insult, but she was too focused on what his offer meant.
You remembered something.
I did. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already asked me about it, since you were the one to trigger the memory. The last time we spoke, when you mentioned “merged abilities.”
Goose bumps erupted across Sophie’s skin—mostly from irritation. You told me those words DIDN’T trigger any memories.
No, I said I wished they had—and that I needed time to process. Both of which were true. I knew something felt uncomfortably familiar, but I couldn’t connect it to anything—until this morning, when I woke up from a nightmare and realized it was actually a moment I’d lived.
His mind rumbled again—louder and longer this time—and the piles of memories shifted, clearing a narrow, winding path.
Sophie couldn’t tell where it led—only that it disappeared into the shadowy depths of his consciousness.
Nervous? he asked as Sophie studied the sludgy black. Or curious? Funny how those two emotions feel similar, isn’t it?
Actually, I’m mostly wondering why you’re suddenly so eager to share your secrets with me.
“EAGER” is the wrong word. But I’m WILLING to, because—as I keep assuring you—we’re on the same side. I want to protect my son any way I can. And I want to stop my wife every bit as much as you do—maybe more so, now that I know how far she’s willing to go.
How far is that?
See for yourself.
The path widened with the invitation—but his mind also sharpened.
With impatience, maybe?
Or something more ominous?
There was no way to tell—and Sophie was sure that if Keefe were there, he’d beg her not to follow his dad’s eerie path into the deep mental gloom.
But Keefe wasn’t there.
And Sophie needed answers. She didn’t get to choose who gave them to her.
So she took a long, steadying breath and gathered as much mental energy as she could muster.
Then she let her consciousness sink into the darkness.