“Are you sure that’s wise?” Lord Cassius called after them. “You need my help.”
“Ignore him,” Keefe whispered.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” his father warned. “Because I know what you’re looking for in Atlantis, Sophie. And I know where you can find it.”
Seventy
WHY SHOULD I believe you?” Sophie asked, refusing to turn back. She wouldn’t let Keefe’s father see how much his words had affected her.
But then he told her, “Because I brought this.”
She stole a glance over her shoulder and found Lord Cassius holding a small handmade sketch of the Nightfall symbol.
“That’s all I’ll say for now,” he said, grinning as Keefe wrapped an arm around Sophie to keep her steady. “This is not the place for this conversation. But if you’d like to know where to find that signature in Atlantis, you’ll come with me—now.”
“You know it’s a signature?” Sophie whispered.
“I know everything.” He reached under his jerkin and grabbed the glinting chain of a simple pendant. A home crystal. “Answers are this way.”
Sophie glanced at Keefe. “Is it a trick?”
He stalked closer and snatched his dad’s hand, brushing a finger across his skin. “It . . . doesn’t feel like he’s lying.”
“Your parents are waiting for you back in the cafeteria,” Sandor reminded her.
“Limited time offer,” Keefe’s father warned.
Sandor wheeled on him. “Sophie’s not going anywhere unless you tell me where that crystal leads!”
Lord Cassius’s smirk looked uncannily like his son’s. “Bodyguards are welcome, if it helps. Even the princess.”
“That doesn’t answer where we’re going,” Ro noted.
“Just think of it as my beach house,” Lord Cassius told her.
Something sparked in Keefe’s eyes—a seething kind of fury—but it was gone by the time he turned to Sophie. “I’ll go, and I’ll let you know what he says—”
“Not an option,” his father interrupted. “I’ll talk to both of you or none of you. And the time to decide is almost up.”
He held the crystal to the light, creating a shimmering path.
Sophie tugged out an eyelash. “I could leave my parents a note on my locker. That way they’ll know where I am.”
Sandor sighed, seeming to know there was no point arguing as he handed Sophie a notebook so she could scribble a vague message:
Gone to a beach house with Keefe and his father.
Be home soon—and don’t worry, I have Sandor.
“Grady is going to strangle me,” Sandor said as he tucked the note into the seam of her locker door.
“Glad to see you’ve made the right choice,” Lord Cassius said when Sophie grabbed Keefe’s hand. Sandor took her other hand, and Ro completed the chain.
“Don’t make us regret it,” Sophie warned.
Lord Cassius made no promises as he reached for his son and dragged their group into the light, letting the warmth whisk them away.
* * *
“I TAKE IT THIS ISN’T what you were expecting?” Lord Cassius asked, leaning against the wall as they surveyed their surroundings.
“It’s not nearly as pathetic as your desperate-for-attention tower,” Ro told him. “Less sparkly, too—I approve.”
So did Sophie—not that she’d admit it. Lord Cassius had kept his son away from this strange sliver of his life for some reason, and he certainly didn’t deserve praise for it.
But the house was beautiful. A single, sprawling level with mother-of-pearl walls and massive windows overlooking the turquoise ocean. The scattered rooms were connected by vine-wrapped arches and broken up with sun-baked inner courtyards. Everything was bright and airy. Elegant, but comfortable. Decorated in dove grays and soothing shades of blue.
He led them to the back patio, made of swirled abalone shell, and motioned for them to sit in the huge cushioned porch swings rocking back and forth in the crisp breeze. The beach itself spread before them, a shimmering cove of smooth black sand. Gulls cried overhead, mixed with the deeper, much more exotic song of some bird Sophie couldn’t see.
“Can I get anyone anything to drink?” Lord Cassius offered, lingering in the archway to the main house. “I think I have a few bottles of lushberry juice.”
Keefe snorted, kicking his legs to make his swing rock harder. “Can we stop pretending this is a dinner party and get back to why you have a drawing of the Nightfall symbol?”
“It’s a drawing of Vespera’s signature,” Lord Cassius corrected, pulling the sketch from his pocket to study it again.
“How do you know about her?” Sophie asked.
“The Black Swan told me.” He smiled when her eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know why that surprises you. You both know I’ve offered to swear fealty several times.”
“I still don’t understand why,” Sophie admitted.
He crossed to the railing, watching the orangey orb of sun slowly slipping beneath the horizon. “Our world is fracturing. And I’d like to be on the right side of the divide.”
“Pretty sure you just want revenge on Mom,” Keefe said, kicking his swing even harder.
“I won’t deny that’d be a welcome bonus. But believe it or not, I do respect much of the Black Swan’s cause. And I could be a valuable asset for them—and they know it. But for some reason”—he turned to face his son—“my admission continues to be denied. Which has cost you dearly. All these days you’ve wasted wandering aimlessly around Atlantis—”
“Were you following us?” Keefe interrupted.
“Shockingly, Keefe, I have far better ways to use my time. But I have been staying in my apartment in the city—”
“Why?” Sophie asked.
Lord Cassius’s eyes darkened. “I’m not a fan of living in the house where my wife lied to me. My marriage was far from perfect—my need for other residences is proof enough of that. But since I had these built-in escapes, I figured, why not put them to use? And when I saw you two in Atlantis, despite how casual you pretended to be, I knew you had to be looking for something—and since very few know the city as intimately as I do, I reached out to the Black Swan and offered my assistance. But my offer was refused. And your search was far too aimless for me to figure out what you were looking for. So I put it out of my mind—let it be your problem—until the Black Swan came crawling back. Apparently, they’ve grown quite concerned about the mental state of their moonlark, and now that I’ve seen you, Sophie, I can’t say I blame them.”
Sophie shrank back into the cushions of her swing, pulling her hair around her cheeks to hide.
“They finally told me what they were looking for,” he continued, “and it really is a pity they didn’t let me start sooner. It only took me a week to find it.”
Sophie refused to think about how much time that could’ve saved—refused to ask him where he found it.
This was a game for him. And she wasn’t going to play—even if it was killing her.
“So stubborn,” he murmured. “I can’t decide if that makes you two perfect for each other or heading for utter disaster.”
“Just tell us where it is,” Keefe snapped.
“I’d be happy to. But my help comes with conditions.”
“Of course it does,” Keefe muttered. “Just like Mom.”
“Yes. We were matched for a reason. But unlike your mother, my demands are fair. Honestly, they’re things I shouldn’t even have to demand. But since you insist on shoving me out of your life, I have two simple conditions. First, you go to the Collective and tell them to admit me to the order. And second, you move in here. With me.”
Keefe dropped his legs to stop the motion of his swing. “You want me to live in your precious secret beach house?”
“Unless you’d rather we live in my apartment in Atlantis,” Lord Cassius told him. “It’s far less convenient to access, so I’m assuming you’d prefer the ease of here. But if you’
re looking for somewhere more luxurious, we can go there.”
Sophie rarely saw Keefe at a loss for words.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lord Cassius grumbled. “It’s bad enough that I have to deal with constant slander because of your mother. I’m sick of the additional gossip about my runaway son.”
“Awww, there’s the father I remember.”
There was a smirk on Keefe’s lips as he went back to swinging, but Sophie could see the lie behind it—see the way his shoulders drooped and his chin tucked tight, as if he was shrinking away.
“Forget it,” she told Lord Cassius. “You can’t force Keefe to live with you.”
“Do you even know where he’s staying right now?” Lord Cassius countered. “Because I do.”
“So you were following me,” Keefe noted.
“Forgive me for wanting to make sure my son wasn’t squatting in the street—not that you’ve chosen much better.”
“Where are you staying?” Sophie asked Keefe.
He cleared his throat. “Don’t freak out.”
“Not the best way to start it off,” Ro warned him.
Keefe rolled his eyes. “It sounds bad when I say it—but it’s fine. I’m . . . staying at Alvar’s old place—and I know what you’re going to say. But it’s actually really smart if you think about it. Alvar was always grumbling about how he could never go back because the Council had to be watching the place. And it gave me a chance to snoop around. That’s how I found all those updates on the ogres that he intercepted from Lady Cadence.”
“That feeling you have right now?” Lord Cassius said to Sophie. “I’ve lived with it every time I’ve had to watch him jump from one poor decision to the next.”
“Whatever,” Keefe muttered, kicking his swing higher again. “It’s been fine.”
“Just because you didn’t face any consequences doesn’t mean you made the right decision,” his father argued. “I know you love to think you’re so brilliantly independent, but you’re only fourteen years old—”
“Fifteen,” Keefe corrected. “But you were close. They both start with f.”
Lord Cassius sighed. “You know, if you were capable of having a snark-free conversation, we might actually get along.”
“Maybe,” Keefe said. “But that’s always been the problem, isn’t it? I’m not some boring mini-you—and you can’t stand it.”
“What I can’t stand is watching my son throw away his life. Especially when you have so much potential. You’re made for greatness, Keefe. But you always settle for ‘good enough.’ I’m trying to help you be more.”
“Yeah, well, sorry—the role of ‘manipulative parent’ has already been filled by Mom. And if you have some sort of grand plan for me, the word ‘legacy’ is also taken.”
Lord Cassius pinched the bridge of his nose. “The only plan I have is to push you to try—and to keep you safe.”
“Safe is my job,” Ro told him, grabbing the chain of Keefe’s swing and jerking it to a halt. “But I’m all for moving here. I can watch you guys fight all day!”
“Does that mean we have a deal?” Lord Cassius asked.
“No,” Sophie said, standing to face him fully. “I’m done with bargains. If you want your son to live with you, try begging for his forgiveness. And if you want to join the Black Swan, maybe you shouldn’t hold vital information hostage—especially after they came to you for help.”
“And here I thought you were desperate to find Nightfall.”
“I am. And I can drag anything I need out of your mind.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Lord Cassius told her. “I have rather creative ways of keeping my thoughts to myself.”
“I’ll get past them,” Sophie promised.
“After how long?” Lord Cassius countered. “Do you really want to waste more time?”
“Hey,” Keefe said, jumping off his swing and wheeling Sophie around by her shoulders. “Much as I’m enjoying this sudden overflow of adorable Foster-rage—it’s not worth it. He’s good at dodging Telepaths—and this is way too important.” He turned to his dad. “I’ll tell Forkle I don’t care if you swear fealty, as long as he keeps you on different assignments from me. And I’ll move here—but I won’t be following your rules. Plan on some epic pranking, too.”
“Keefe,” Sophie warned.
“It’s going to be fine, Foster. I know you probably think I’m trying to take over again—”
“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “It’s . . . can you really handle this? I see what he does to you.”
“I don’t do anything,” Lord Cassius snapped.
“The fact that you can’t even see it is the worst part,” Sophie told him.
Keefe leaned closer to her. “I can handle him. What I can’t handle is any more of the Sophie Shell who’s been wandering around for the last few weeks, scaring the snot out of all of us. I need my Foster back—the real one, who bosses me around and is way too much fun to tease.”
“Awwwwww, is anyone else chanting Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! in their heads right now?” Ro asked.
“Just you,” Sandor said through a sigh.
Keefe stepped back, scowling at both bodyguards before telling his dad. “Deal. Now spill it. Where’s Nightfall?”
Lord Cassius’s lips twitched. “Right where it’s been for thousands of years. You’ve probably walked by it a hundred times without realizing. And I’ll give Vespera credit, it took some major audacity to hide it where she did.”
“Which is where?” Sophie asked.
“Right in the heart of Atlantis. In the Unity Fountain. On the statue of the human.”
Seventy-one
THERE WAS A tremendous debate that night over who would go to Atlantis with Lord Cassius in the morning to try to figure out how the fountain actually led into Nightfall. And in the end, they chose Linh, Tam, Fitz, and Grizel.
Linh, because water would likely play a role. Tam, because he refused to let his sister go under the ocean without him—and because he promised to find creative new ways to annoy Keefe’s father. And Fitz, so it wouldn’t seem suspicious for Grizel to be there for protection.
Everyone else was stuck at Havenfield, pacing and waiting—waiting and pacing—until Sophie decided she owed everyone an apology for her zombie-girl days.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Nothing.”
“Well . . . you did ditch us yesterday,” Grady corrected, pulling Sophie into a hug. “But we’re letting you off the hook this time, because it’s way too good to see you smile.”
“It really is,” Edaline whispered, wiping her misty eyes.
All of her friends nodded.
So did the Collective.
And Alden and Della.
Even Ro and the goblins.
“Hang on—does anyone else think Foster should have to apologize for ignoring her finals presents?” Keefe asked. “I’m pretty sure I saw half the school crying about it.”
“No one was crying,” Edaline said, snapping her fingers and conjuring up the hefty stack of packages Sophie had left behind when she went to pack up her locker. “But it’s not too late to open them.”
“But . . . I didn’t get you guys anything,” Sophie mumbled.
Biana shrugged. “Just promise you won’t try to stop us from going with you to Nightfall, and we’re good.”
“Hey, speak for yourself,” Keefe told her. “I also demand a hug! And public declaration that my gift wins for Best Gift in the History of the Universe!”
“Uh, Fitz showed me what he got her, and it’s pretty hard to top,” Biana warned him.
“Please,” Keefe scoffed, grabbing a flat package from the pile—wrapped in blue paper covered in tiny green gulons. “Go on, Foster. Show them who’s the Gift Master.”
“It’s not a competition,” she told him as she tore through the thin paper, peeled it back, and . . .
“Told you,” Keefe said when she sucked in a breath.
“I . . .”
He smirked. “Look at that. The Mysterious Miss F. is speechless.”
She was.
She’d known he was an incredible artist—had often marveled at the detail in his sketches.
But these?
The first painting was a close-up of her with Grady and Edaline, the three of them leaning on each other and looking so . . . natural. As if they’d always been together.
The other was a wider scene—Sophie with all of her friends, standing near Calla’s Panakes tree. It was the kind of incredible group Sophie had never dreamed she’d someday be a part of. But there she was. Right in the center.
“Smooth move painting yourself next to her,” Ro told Keefe, peeking over Sophie’s shoulder.
“Uh, we all know Foster can’t bear to be away from me—and art is about honesty. That’s why I made sure I have the best hair.”
“I don’t know,” Biana argued, “you made mine pretty awesome. I should braid my hair more often.”
“Are those runes on the back?” Dex asked as Biana started weaving her hair.
Sophie flipped the paintings over. “Hey—I can actually read them.”
Both paintings had the same word: Family.
“Forkle helped me spell it out with their cipher,” Keefe explained. “Because the Black Swan is part of your family too—but who wants a painting of those weirdos?”
Sophie laughed, even as her eyes welled up at the enormity of what he’d given her.
Grady and Edaline were sniffling too.
As were all the members of the Collective.
And Alden and Della.
Even Sandor.
“Fine,” Dex mumbled. “You really are the Gift Master.”
“Only for some people,” Biana noted. “He gave the rest of us mood candy. Again.”
“And you loved every bite of it,” Keefe insisted. “Besides, you’ve seen Foster’s room. She was in desperate need of personal stuff. And she’s been bugging me for a drawing, so I kinda had to—”
The rest of his sentence was choked off by Sophie’s tackle-hug.
He laughed as he flailed to keep both of them from toppling over. “Don’t worry,” he grunted. “Breathing is overrated.”
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