Instead, they seemed even more intent on killing each other.

“The last verse I heard Keefe working on had a lot of Bo-Ro snuggling,” Sophie added when Bo didn’t let go. “Pretty sure there was some kissing, too.”

Bo muttered an impressive string of ogre curses as he released her arm. “Fine. I’ll remain behind—but tell Romhilda she needs to get better control of her charge!”

“Oh sure, I’ll get right on that.” She said it with enough sarcasm to make it clear that he didn’t exactly have a lot of control over his charge either. “Ready?” she asked Sandor.

He reluctantly took her hand. “I can’t decide how I feel about the strong-willed teenager you’re becoming.”

“Neither can I,” Sophie admitted. Sometimes she felt so much braver than the wide-eyed girl she’d been when Fitz first brought her to the Lost Cities. But deep down, she was just as terrified. Maybe more so, now that she understood what she was up against.

“I trust you’ll begin the evening patrols while we’re gone?” Sandor asked Bo—though it was more of an order than a request.

Bo nodded. “I expect a full report when you return.”

“Of course.” Sandor turned to Flori. “And will you let Lady Ruewen know where we’ve gone, so she doesn’t worry?”

Flori dipped into a quick bow and turned to head down the stairs.

“Wait!” Sophie called after her as the much more pressing worry hit her, and she wanted to smack herself for letting the echoes and Tam’s warning distract her. “I need you to give her an urgent message. Tell her that Gethen probed Tam’s memories the first day they took him.”

Sandor flinched. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. The Neverseen know everything Tam knows.”

More muttered curses filled the air—a mix of ogre, goblin, and gnomish words this time. And Sophie definitely shared their sentiments.

“Would you like me to notify the Black Swan?” Flori offered.

“Probably smart.” Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that Flori knew how to contact the Collective—Flori’s great-great-grandaunt Calla had been part of the order, and part of Project Moonlark, before she sacrificed herself to become the cure for her species in the form of a Panakes tree.

Calla had even been the one to choose Project Moonlark’s name.

“I’m assuming the news we’re bringing Mr. Sencen is equally dire?” Sandor asked quietly.

Sophie nodded.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it—trying to understand what Lady Gisela could possibly be thinking with such a cruel, unexpected order. But Tam had seemed pretty desperate, so there was no way she was letting Keefe ignore the warning, no matter how much he whined or resisted.

“Count on being there for a while,” she told Sandor.

He heaved a squeaky sigh. “And you’re sure you’re up for teleporting?”

“Teleporting will be the easy part.” She glanced at the ground far below, then closed her eyes, searching for the slight tug of gravity coursing through her cells. If she concentrated hard enough on the sensation, she could push against it with her mind and take control. “Okay. Here we go. One… two… three!”

Their feet floated off the ground—slowly at first. Then much, much faster. So fast, they would’ve crashed into the Leapmaster if Sophie hadn’t done a whole lot of awkward flailing. That was the problem with levitating. There was no traction in the air, so she was stuck flapping her arms and kicking her legs like a fledgling flareadon until the momentum dragged them out of the window. And once they were clear of the cupola, the strong ocean winds took over, launching them up so fast, Sandor made several squealy sounds that Sophie couldn’t wait to tease him about later.

“Please tell me we’re high enough now,” he begged over the roar of rushing air.

Sophie peered down, trying to decide if it was the height or the conversation ahead that was making her dizzy.

SOPHIE! FRIEND! FLY! Silveny transmitted, nearly breaking Sophie’s concentration.

Not today! Sophie told her, wishing she had more time. Flying with Silveny was the best way to clear her head and let her biggest worries go. Right now, I have to talk to Keefe!

Even that high up, she could hear Silveny’s giddy whinny. And as her mind filled with a whole lot of KEEFE! KEEFE! KEEFE! Sophie tried to share some of the mama alicorn’s enthusiasm.

But all she felt was dread as she let gravity take back over, dropping them faster faster faster, until her concentration tore open the sky and they crashed into the black nothingness of the void.

 

* * *

 

“Miss Foster,” Lord Cassius said, offering one of his unsettling, oily smiles as he stepped aside to let Sophie and Sandor into his home.

The Shores of Solace would’ve lived up to its name if Keefe’s dad weren’t such miserable company. The single sprawling level had glistening mother-of-pearl walls and vine-draped arches that formed a series of brightly lit rooms and sunbaked patios, all decorated in soothing tones of blue and gray to match the panoramic ocean views from every window. It truly was one of the most breathtaking estates that Sophie had visited in the Lost Cities. But she always wished she could leave the second she got there.

“I’m assuming you’re here to visit my son?” Lord Cassius asked, smoothing his blond hair—which was already immaculate. As were his cream-colored jerkin and ruby-encrusted cape. “He’s in his room, where he’s supposed to be working through the empathy exercises I created for him this morning. But I think we can safely assume he’ll be doing anything but what I’ve asked.”

That sounded like Keefe—not that Lord Cassius deserved Keefe’s cooperation.

Father of the Year he most definitely was not.

In fact, Sophie could barely look at him without wanting to fling something at his head for every hurtful word he’d ever said to his son. Much like how she despised every gorgeous room in that house, since Lord Cassius had hidden it for most of Keefe’s life in order to use it as an “escape” from his family. Keefe was only living there now because Lord Cassius had refused to provide crucial intel to find Sophie’s missing human parents unless Keefe agreed to move in—and not because he missed Keefe or was worried about Keefe living on his own. He’d simply wanted to put an end to the gossip about his runaway son after Keefe fled the Neverseen.

“That way,” Lord Cassius told her, pointing to a polished driftwood door at the end of a long, shimmering hallway.

It took Sophie a second to realize the words were an invitation.

The few other times she’d visited Keefe, they’d sat outside on the cushioned swings dangling from the cover over the back patio. She’d never been in his room. And for some reason the idea of going there made her cheeks warm.

But she could feel Lord Cassius watching her, so she tilted her chin up and motioned for Sandor to follow her down the hall, which was dotted with shards of green, blue, and clear sea glass arranged in swirling patterns.

Her knock was wimpier than she meant it to be—so wimpy that there was a second where she wasn’t sure if Keefe had actually heard her. But then he called out, “Back to nag me already? You seriously need to get yourself a hobby. I hear spelunking’s fun. Oooh, or you could try swimming with the krakens! I doubt they’d eat you—but maybe we’ll get lucky!”