He pulled a tiny glass vial from his pocket and showed them the label:
ONE WHIRLWIND—RELEASE WITH CAUTION.
“Please tell me you’re not launching us out of a tornado,” Sophie begged.
Tiergan smiled. “No. The wind is to give us clarity for the climb.”
He hurled the vial toward his feet, and the sound of shattering glass was quickly drowned out by the roar of wind as a cold breeze whipped around them, growing faster with each rotation.
Sophie’s hair swatted her cheeks, but otherwise the wind was gentle, whisking away the worst of the heat as it swelled into a wide funnel and stretched skyward. The centrifugal force drew all of the mist to the edge, clearing the air inside the vortex to reveal . . .
. . . The kind of staircase that screamed This will be the death of everyone.
The narrow blue stones hovered in the sky with nothing to anchor them. No railing to hold on to. Just open air, and plenty of space to fall.
“Should we take bets on how many stairs Foster makes it up before she trips?” Keefe asked. “I say she’ll lose it on the sixth step.”
“Nah, she’ll make it at least ten,” Fitz countered.
Sophie glared at both of them—but didn’t argue. The Black Swan had given her many gifts, but they’d completely neglected the grace department.
“I won’t let you fall,” Sandor promised.
“Actually, you, Grizel, Woltzer, and Lovise should stay here,” Tiergan told him. “This staircase is the only way in or out of Brumevale, so if you keep a steady guard, you’ll be able to ensure that no danger reaches us.”
“Is there a reason you don’t want us in your little hideout?” Grizel asked as she played rather menacingly with a goblin throwing-star.
“It’s simple logic,” Tiergan assured her. “Where can you best engage a threat? On solid, steady ground where you can see them coming and block them from reaching the only path? Or hundreds of feet in the air, on narrow steps?”
The four goblins exchanged a look.
“And what of any dangers above?” Lovise asked. “How do you know there isn’t an ambush waiting for you at the top?”
Tiergan smiled. “No one has set so much as a toe in Brumevale without our permission for millennia.”
“Besides, if someone was waiting for us up there, with all this moisture in the air, all I’d need to do is take off my glove, grab Linh’s hand, and let her go wild,” Sophie added.
Linh paled as she nodded.
She’d practically shoved Sophie away when she’d first heard that Sophie had manifested as an Enhancer, terrified of what might happen if she turned even more powerful.
“I have no doubt the seven of you could find all kinds of impressive ways to create havoc should you need to defend yourselves,” Tiergan assured them. “So, is everyone agreed?”
The goblins shared another look before Sandor begrudgingly instructed them to move to sentinel positions along the edge of the funnel.
“When should we expect you back?” Woltzer asked.
Tiergan glanced at the sky, smoothing the strands of his hair that had broken free from his ponytail. “I suspect they’ll need several hours—so we should get moving.”
He headed for the first floating step, and Sophie half expected the stone to crumble under his weight. But it held steady, somehow not even shifting.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked when none of them followed.
Everyone looked to Sophie to go first—the wimps.
“Right behind you,” Fitz told her as she carefully climbed onto the bottom stair. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
He placed a hand on the small of her back, probably to steady her—but the soft contact gave Sophie another rush of flutters.
“I think this is a two-person job,” Keefe said, nudging Fitz over so he could place a hand on her opposite side. “This is Foster, after all.”
Sophie sighed. But on the sixth step, her ankle wobbled, and she would’ve toppled to the left if Keefe hadn’t been ready to nudge her back to the right.
“Not a word,” she told him, realizing his prediction about when she’d trip had come true.
He snickered. “At least this proves I know you better than the Fitzster.”
“No, it’s that I have more faith in her,” Fitz corrected. “That’s what being Cognates means.”
“And yet, I seem to remember Foster hiding some sort of important secret from you during your trust exercises. Did something change while I was gone, or . . . ?”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder to glare at him.
The fact that she was holding something back was a touchy subject with Fitz—especially since she couldn’t tell him why. Cognates were supposed to share everything. But there was absolutely no way she was going to tell Fitz she’d had a major crush on him since the day they met—even after their sort-of “moment” under the Panakes tree.
Fitz could’ve meant dozens of things when he’d leaned in and suggested they “skip the talking.”
Keefe raised one eyebrow. “You okay there, Foster? Your mood seems to be making some sudden shifts.”
“Yeah, because I’m trying to decide if I can shove you off the stairs without knocking Biana down.”
“I can jump out of the way,” Biana offered.
“And I can give him an extra shove as he tumbles by,” Tam added. “I’d come up there and do it myself, but I’m trying to be a good brother and wait for my slothlike sister.”
“I’d like to see you try climbing in heels,” Linh told him.
“Here,” Dex said, placing his hands on her shoulders to help her keep her balance.
“Are you getting handsy with my sister, Dizznee?” Tam asked, cracking up when Dex jerked his arms away. “Only kidding, dude.”
“Anyone want to trade brothers?” Linh asked.
“You can have both of mine,” Dex offered, “but you have to take my sister too. And keep in mind that last week they snuck into my closet and cut out the backsides of all of my pants.”
Keefe snickered. “I think the triplets just became my new heroes.”
“So here’s a question,” Tam said as the climb stretched on. “Wouldn’t it be easier to levitate to the top?”
“I doubt even the Exillium Coaches could navigate air this thin,” Tiergan warned.
Dex huffed a weary breath. “Maybe we should try it anyway.”
“I’d be game for that,” Biana agreed.
“My goodness—clearly we need to have the lot of you get more exercise if you’d rather risk your safety than climb a few stairs,” Tiergan scolded—though he was huffing as hard as any of them.
The stairs were steep.
And the air was definitely getting thinner.
Sophie had to force herself to breathe slower to keep her head from getting woozy.
“I’m sure I speak for everyone,” Keefe grunted, “when I say: Are we there yet?”
“Almost,” Tiergan promised. “Everyone dig deep—and don’t look down.”
“Steaming sasquatch poop—that’s a long way to fall!” Keefe announced.
Fitz moved closer to Sophie, his new cologne tickling her nose as he whispered, “I almost forgot. I brought you a present.”
Her heart skipped at least five beats when he slipped an orange velvet satchel into her palm. He’d been bringing her lots of tiny gifts lately—and she’d been trying hard not to read too much into it.
“Ugh, anyone else ready to vomit from the Fitzphie?” Keefe asked.
“I am,” Dex said, as Linh asked, “Did Fitzphie become an actual thing?”
“I don’t even know what ‘Fitzphie’ is supposed to mean,” Tiergan noted.
“Want me to explain it?” Tam offered.
“No,” Sophie said, opening the satchel and pulling out a fist-size crystal prism. It was heavy like a paperweight, and when she held it up to the light, rainbow sparkles flashed across her fingers, highlighting words carved across the base, a
long with the Foxfire seal.
Alvar Soren Vacker
“That’s called a Radiant,” Fitz explained. “It’s the highest honor any prodigy can receive when they complete the basic levels at Foxfire. Alvar was so disgustingly smug about earning one that he told my mom she should keep it on the mantel in our main sitting room, so it could inspire Biana and me to work harder.”
“Ugh, I forgot about that,” Biana grumbled. “I can’t believe Mom did it.”
“I know. So I think it’s time to destroy it. And considering where we are, maybe it’d be fun to let it take a really nasty fall.”
“Gotta give you credit,” Tam told Fitz. “That’s pretty much a perfect gift.”
It was. Though Sophie felt bad taking it.
“Shouldn’t you or Biana do the honors?”
“Nope. Alvar was there when they took your parents,” Biana argued. “And when you were kidnapped.”
“Just throw it extra hard, for us,” Fitz added.
Sophie glanced at Dex. “Alvar helped kidnap you, too.”
“So boost your throw with the Sucker Punch I made you,” he suggested.
They seemed pretty sure, so Sophie gathered whatever mental energy she could muster and channeled it into her arm muscles. A burst of force from the Sucker Punch gave her throw extra oomph as she hurled the Radiant down the center of the curving stairs, where none of the bodyguards would be standing. A satisfying CRACK! filled the air with when the crystal shattered against the ground.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Sandor demanded.
“Sorry!” Sophie called down as the bodyguards shouted battle preparations. “Don’t worry—everything’s fine!”
Grizel shouted something back, and Sophie was glad she couldn’t make out the words.
Fitz laughed. “I’m going to pay for that later. But how’d it feel?”
“Really good. Thank you.”
“Ugh, score one for Fitzphie,” Keefe mumbled. “Shouldn’t we be climbing?”
“Yes,” Tiergan called from above. “You’ve all made this climb far more interesting than it usually is. But it’s time to focus. We’re about to step through the shroud.”
Seventeen
COLD AIR MADE Sophie shiver as she passed through a thick veil of moisture, and as soon as her head was clear, she sucked in a shallow breath.
A narrow white lighthouse sprouted straight out of the clouds, standing alone in a silent pocket of sky. And even though Sophie couldn’t see any water, her ears prickled with the faint swish of waves slapping against a shore.
She waited for a beam of light to flash, but the tower stayed dark, as if it were a remnant from another time, long since forgotten.
“Welcome to Brumevale,” Tiergan said, his voice hushed as he took Sophie’s hand to help her navigate some sort of platform before descending down a few steps onto solid ground.
The swirling white mist climbed to her waist, obscuring whatever terrain lay under her feet, and goose bumps pebbled Sophie’s skin as their group moved toward the lighthouse. A deep, soulful hum, almost like a melody, seemed to radiate from the structure, but Sophie couldn’t find the source.
“How old is this place?” she whispered.
“Ancient,” Tiergan told her. “The Black Swan didn’t build this tower. We simply reclaimed it.”
“Did the lighthouse ever work?” Dex asked.
“Long ago. This area has a rather complicated history. But I shouldn’t be the one to tell you that story.”
“Who should?” Biana asked.
“The person who was affected.” Tiergan led them around to the other side of the lighthouse, where a narrow silver door had been nestled into the stones.
“What do you guys use this place for?” Fitz asked as Tiergan uncovered a hidden DNA panel.
“It’s always been a place for reflection,” Tiergan told him. “Project Moonlark was actually conceived here—though most of the genetic work was done at our High Seas facility. That’s the hideout where we healed your abilities, in case you were wondering,” he added for Sophie, “which has since been abandoned, thanks to the Neverseen’s assault.”
“Why was only ‘most’ of the work done there?” Dex asked.
“To ensure that the two elves who donated their DNA for the project never met. Anonymity was essential to protect their identities.”
“But you know who they are?” Sophie had to ask.
“Actually, Mr. Forkle kept your genetic father’s and mother’s identities entirely to himself—though that information hasn’t been lost.”
“Because of that gadget he gave me before he died?” Sophie guessed. “Does that mean you haven’t gone through it?”
“It wasn’t intended for me. You’ll see why soon enough.” He licked the DNA panel, triggering a creaky click as the door unlocked. “I’m afraid our group must split for the moment. Mr. Forkle’s instructions were explicit that Sophie be brought in alone.”
“Do you really want to go up there by yourself?” Keefe asked.
“No,” Sophie admitted. “But . . . it’s what Mr. Forkle wanted.” And she owed him that much.
Call me telepathically, if you need to, Fitz transmitted. I’ll keep my mind clear.
She gave him as much of a smile as she could. Thanks.
Tiergan offered her his arm. “Ready?”
He wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, so the gesture felt especially unnerving as he pulled her closer to his side.
“I’ll see you soon,” she told her friends before he pushed on the door, making the hinges creak as the door slowly swung inward to reveal . . .
“Oh good—more stairs,” she grumbled.
Keefe snorted. “Stay snarky, Foster. It’ll help.”
She stole one last glance at her friends and let Tiergan lead her into the lighthouse. The door clicked closed behind them, and the silence of the tower was nearly overwhelming. She hadn’t realized how loud the wind was—or that strange, soulful humming—until the heavy stones sealed away the noise.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she whispered as they started up the corkscrew staircase, “how bad is this going to be?”
“Quite honestly, Sophie, I have no idea how you’re going to react. But I’m here for whatever you need, whether it’s a shoulder to cry on or someone to scream at.”
If she hadn’t been verging on panic before, the words definitely pushed her closer to the edge. But she focused on counting her steps, making it to three hundred and eighty-seven before they reached another weathered door, this time carved from a rich, cherry-colored wood.
The round chamber beyond was small, and decorated with shabby armchairs and faded rugs. But that gave the room a lived-in feel that had Sophie’s shoulders relaxing. It was a room where she could imagine people sipping mugs of tea as they gazed out the huge, curved windows at the calm, endless blue.
But her worries rushed back when the ceiling creaked with a series of soft thuds.
Footsteps.
She noticed the narrow staircase tucked in the shadows the same moment she realized the footsteps were heading toward it—and she tried to prepare herself for whoever would be coming down those stairs. If Keefe was right—if Timkin Heks was about to stride into the room and declare himself her leader—she was going to have to find a way to deal with it.
But that wasn’t who appeared.
She screamed and stumbled back, shaking her head so hard it felt like her brain was slamming against her skull—because the bloated, wrinkly figure standing in front of her couldn’t possibly be there.
He couldn’t.
And yet, Mr. Forkle offered a nervous smile as he took the last steps into the room and filled the air with the dirty-feet stench of ruckleberries.
His piercing blue eyes locked with hers, flickering with a dozen unreadable emotions as he mumbled, “You kids are going to have a very hard time understanding this.”
Eighteen
YOU’RE ALIVE?” SOPHIE asked as she tried to process wha
t she was seeing. If her brain were a computer, it would be flashing error messages and smoke would be coming out of her ears.
“Perhaps we should sit down for this conversation?” Mr. Forkle suggested, taking a careful step toward her.
“No!” Sophie backed farther away, nearly toppling down the stairs.
She should be happy to see him alive—and part of her was.
But a vicious rage was crystallizing under her skin.
“You lied to me!”
Actually, it was much crueler than that.
“I watched you die! I was covered in your blood!” She’d never, ever forget how warm and sticky it felt. Or the choking iron smell that didn’t wash off for days. “And now you just walk in here and ask me to sit and talk about it, like that’s not a big deal?”
Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back. He didn’t deserve them. Not anymore.
“Quite the contrary, Miss Foster. This is a very big deal. Why do you think I insisted you be brought in alone? I wanted to give you the time to process this privately. But I also knew you wouldn’t want to be the one to explain any of this to your friends. So, I had Tiergan bring them along so I can tell them—and I will. As soon as you’re ready for me to have that conversation.”
“And that’s supposed to make up for the fact that you let me believe you were dead for weeks?” She reeled on Tiergan. “You knew?”
“Don’t blame him,” Mr. Forkle told her. “I was the one who insisted the rest of the Collective wait to tell you.”
“What kind of sick game—”
“No games,” Mr. Forkle interrupted. “Only a desperate, half-formed plan. I thought I was prepared for this, but it’s been . . . incredibly difficult.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Poor Mr. Forkle—faking your death must’ve been so hard.”
More pieces fell into place, each more disgusting than the last.
“Is this why you asked Oralie to take your body away and make sure no one saw it? And why you told me not to plant your stupid Wanderling?” She ripped the locket off her neck. “Is this even a real seed?”
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