Sophie nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. Which actually made it a little easier to tell him. “Yeah. And Wylie. And Stina. I guess the Council decided I’m way more successful when I have backup—and they’re not wrong. But I’m still trying not to be insulted that they built this whole team because I’m useless alone. Oh—and you’ll love this. They wanted to name us Team Prodigious.”
“Wow,” Ro said. “You guys shut that down, right?”
“First thing we did,” Sophie agreed, pulling on a blissfully boring gray tunic and wishing all clothes could be so unassuming. “The Council was not happy about it.”
She waited for Keefe to make his own team name suggestions, but he stayed noticeably silent. And when she made her way back to her bedroom, she found him turned away, fussing with the sleeves of his embroidered gray tunic as he stared out her wall of windows.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Pretty sure he’s pouting,” Ro told her.
“I’m not pouting,” Keefe argued—in a tone that definitely sounded pouty. “I just love how it took you less than a day after your little chat with Bangs Boy to cut me out of everything.”
“Hey, I had no say in this!” Sophie reminded him. “If I got to pick the team, do you really think Stina Heks would be on it?”
“Probably not—but that doesn’t mean you would’ve included me,” he countered.
Sophie sighed. “I won’t lie, if the Council had wanted you involved in all of this… yeah, I would’ve made Ro keep you away. Because this is exactly the kind of thing that Tam was warning us about. And I think it’s more important for you to be focusing on your memories, anyway. But, if it makes you feel any better, your name did come up. Dex actually pushed for you to be swapped in, instead of Stina—and even Grady agreed that you would’ve been the better choice for the ‘team’s Empath.’ ”
“He did?” Keefe asked, perking up a little as he glanced at her over his shoulder. But his smile faded just as fast. “The Council shot them down because of my mom, huh?”
There was no point denying it.
“Would you have honestly wanted to swear an oath to the Council?” she asked instead. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
“It’s not,” Keefe agreed. “I just didn’t realize it was your kind of thing either.”
“Honestly? Neither did I.” She made her way closer, watching the ocean shimmer with glints of pink and orange from the sunset. “But… it sounds like we’re going to need the Council’s help to deal with King Enki as we try to figure out what the Neverseen are planning in Loamnore. And if Mr. Forkle’s right that the Neverseen are also trying to turn the public against the Councillors, then it’s probably pretty important for us to be allies. So… I’m giving it a try. But it’s also good that they left some of our group out. That way you, Fitz, and Linh will have a clearer perspective and can let us know if it seems like we’re getting sucked into anything weird. And you can look into anything we don’t want the Council knowing about. Well… Fitz and Linh can do that last part. You can focus on your memories—and staying safe.”
“Great,” Keefe muttered.
“Hang on!” Ro said, stomping over to join them by the windows. “Did you just say that Pretty Boy’s not a part of this?” Her mouth fell open when Sophie nodded. “But… aren’t you two, like, a package deal? Team Obnoxious-Telepaths?”
“We usually are,” Sophie agreed, ignoring the “obnoxious” part of that nickname. “But the Council wants to separate us. They think I rely too much on my telepathy and am not taking full advantage of my other abilities. So they want me to work on stuff without Fitz and see if it helps me widen my focus.”
Ro blinked. “Wow! Okay—I officially take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about your Councillors! They’re my heroes! All hail the sparkle-fied twelve for breaking up the Great Fitzphie!”
“They didn’t break us up,” Sophie argued, her face burning when she realized how that sounded. “They just thought it was worth seeing what happens if we don’t work as closely as often—and they promised they’d let Fitz join the team if it turns out I need him.”
“You won’t,” Ro assured her. “Right, Hunkyhair?”
She elbowed Keefe, who’d gone back to staring at the ocean.
“Come on, Captain Sulky,” Ro said, elbowing him harder. “There’s really nothing you want to say?”
“Nope.” He scooted away before Ro could elbow him again, earning himself an epic ogre eye roll.
And he looked so miserable—so un-Keefe—that Sophie decided she was willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of humiliation if it got him out of his funk.
“You know what Dex has everyone calling me now?” she asked. “I’m sure you’d be proud of him.”
“The Mysterious Lady F?” Ro guessed.
“Ugh, I wish. Nope, it’s… Lady Fos-Boss.”
The confession was almost worth it when Keefe couldn’t help giving her a quick smirk.
“I knew I liked that boy,” Ro announced. “In fact, I even tried out one of his little tricks—see?”
She pointed to Sophie’s desk, and it took Sophie a second to figure out what she meant.
“You changed Iggy’s color?” she asked, heading over to his cage, where, sure enough, the tiny imp had yet another new look. His neatly trimmed, gold, sparkly fur was now a much poofier ice blue with tiny crimps.
“Huh, I figured he’d be pink and purple,” Sophie admitted, pointing to Ro’s colorful pigtails.
Ro tossed her head, swishing her hair in the process. “Uh, no, I’m not sharing my fabulous style with anyone—much less a creature who spent the last hour eating his own toenails. But I thought it was only right to save your imp from being sparkle-fied—and I was going to be nice and turn him your favorite color. But apparently your favorite color is teal—and yeah, yeah, we all know why. But, um, do you realize how many of the nastiest little microbes are that color?” She shuddered. “I couldn’t do that to you—or the little dude. So I went with a nice ice blue. The kind of color you can’t help but love. Classic. Reliable—”
“We get it,” Keefe interrupted. “Iggy’s blue. Good job. Can we please talk about anything else?”
“Okay,” Sophie said, slipping her fingers through the bars of Iggy’s cage and scratching his fuzzy cheeks until the room was filled with the sound of his squeaky purr. “How about you tell us what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Keefe insisted.
“Then why are you being Lord Grumpypants?” She’d hoped the tease would snap him out of it, but he just went back to fidgeting with his sleeves. “Come on, Keefe. Something’s clearly up. You haven’t even made any Lady Fos-Boss jokes yet.”
“Or Team Prodigious jokes,” Ro added.
He shrugged. “They’re not my jokes to make. I’m not part of the team.”
“And that bothers you?” Sophie guessed. “No, don’t shrug again—I’m serious.” She stepped closer, forcing him to look at her. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”
“Well, I mean, it kinda does,” he corrected. “You’re in the nobility now. You have a crown! And Councillors to report to! And I have… a bunch of mostly empty notebooks.”
“They won’t stay empty,” Sophie assured him. “And the more you fill them, the more valuable they’re going to be.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“So you never told us,” Ro said, filling the tense silence. “What team name did you go with? Team Awesomesauce?”
“Dex campaigned pretty hard for that,” Sophie admitted. “And Biana tried for Team Sparkles a couple of different times. But I sold them on Team Valiant—and I know it’s not super clever or exciting. But the Council said they’d only approve something respectable.”
“Respectable,” Ro scoffed. “That’s always the problem with you elves. You like to be so dignified and diplomatic. This is war! If you want to send a message to your enemies, you form Team Ruthless. Or
Team Bloodbath—though I guess you also don’t put a bunch of scrawny kids in Team Bloodbath.”
“No, you don’t,” Sophie agreed.
She honestly would’ve rather been Team Prodigious.
“But then what’s the story behind the wolf patch?” Ro asked. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m hoping it’s because Team Valiant has a howl-y battle cry.”
Sophie had to disappoint her again.
And as she explained the Council’s reasons for choosing her new mascot, she couldn’t remember why the dire wolf had felt so cool or empowering.
“Hey,” Keefe said, fanning the air as her mood plummeted, “don’t let us ruin this for you, Foster. It’s a big deal. I’m sorry I’ve been grumpy. I was just surprised, is all. And I was up way too late, so I think I’m tired.”
“Were you drawing more of your memories?” she asked, grateful for the subject change—and the apology.
“I did a few. Nothing important. But… I was mostly working on something else. That’s why I stopped by—but… maybe it’s not a good time. You’ve had a crazy day and—”
“It’s about my biological parents, isn’t it?” Sophie interrupted.
Her heart felt like someone tied it to a massive anchor as he reached into a pocket hidden in his tunic and pulled out the blue notebook they’d started their planning in the day before.
“Wow, that’s even more dread than I felt yesterday,” he mumbled, fanning her emotions away. “Are you sure you want to keep looking into this?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what to do,” she admitted. “Bronte gave me this whole long lecture on why I shouldn’t find out who my genetic parents are, and it kinda got in my head.”
Keefe stood up straighter. “Does that mean you told the Council you’re unmatchable?”
“Only Bronte and Oralie.” She made her way over to her bed and sank onto the edge. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything. But I kinda freaked out when they were crowning me—started imagining giant crowds of elves chasing me through the Lost Cities with torches and pitchforks, shouting, ‘Burn the unmatchable girl!’ And I figured it’d be less humiliating to risk losing the title now, before anyone even knows it was an option.”
“And Bronte freaked out?” Keefe assumed.
“Of course he did—but… not the way I’m sure you’re thinking. He was actually strangely awesome about the unmatchable part.”
Ro snorted.
“No, really. I mean, he didn’t offer to order the matchmakers to make my lists even without having my genetic parents’ info or anything—and of course he brought up the whole ‘it’s not a problem if you just stay single forever’ argument. But… he also said the Council would stand by me if people made a fuss about it. And it kinda sounded like he meant it.” She picked up the circlet she’d tossed aside earlier, tracing her fingers over the symbol for her new team. “It’s a little hard to believe him, but… I don’t know. I kinda do.”
“I can feel that,” Keefe said, sitting down beside her. “So why all the extra dread?”
“Because he also brought up something I hadn’t thought of before, and now I’m not sure what to do about it.” She stared at her reflection in her circlet’s ruby, feeling just as fragmented as she repeated Bronte’s warnings about what the Black Swan might do to protect their secrets.
And she’d expected Keefe to agree that they truly were valid concerns—or to at least need some time to think about it.
But he was already shaking his head before she’d even finished. “Nah, I don’t buy it. For one thing, it’s not like the Black Swan did the memory break on Prentice. That was all on the Council. They kept pushing and pushing and pushing, no matter the consequences—and that’s totally different than the kind of digging you’re doing. I’m pretty sure you’d never shatter anyone’s sanity to find out what you want to know.”
“I wouldn’t. But it doesn’t have to be as drastic as a memory break for someone to get hurt. And that’s what makes this so hard. Because if you really think about it, I’m the only one who’ll get any benefit out of finding my biological parents. Everyone else gets a ton of drama. And there really is a chance that the Black Swan might try to stop me, so who knows what kinds of problems that might cause? And if I’m aware of all of those risks, and I still search out my genetic parents anyway, I’m… being selfish, aren’t I?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But… you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes. And it’s not like you aren’t making huge sacrifices too.”
“I know. But if something really bad happens because of this, that’s gonna be pretty hard to live with.” She set her circlet gently on her nightstand and tugged out an itchy eyelash. “I just wish I knew why the Black Swan won’t tell me who my genetic parents are, you know? I’m not trying to gamble with people’s lives, but I’d like to not have mine get totally messed up either—especially without even understanding what’s really at stake.”
“I get that,” Keefe said quietly, “and… I actually have a theory about why the Black Swan won’t tell you—and it might even explain why Bronte got so pushy with you today.”
“Okay,” Sophie said when he didn’t continue. “Are you going to tell me?”
“I can. But… you’re not going to like it.”
“What else is new?” Sophie scooted back farther on her bed, deciding she might as well be surrounded by fluffy pillows if she had to get hit with bad news. She grabbed Ella, too, burying her face between her floppy ears. “Okay, what is it?”
Keefe stood up to pace, passing her enough times to seriously ramp up her anxiety.
“You’re making me wonder if suspense can actually kill me,” she warned.
“Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out how to do this without freaking you out like I did yesterday. Actually, wait.”
He hurried back to her bed and nestled into the pillows beside her, setting the blue notebook in his lap and pointing to her hand. “Turn your enhancing restrictors off. That way I can calm you down if you need me to.”
“It’s really that bad?” Sophie asked, tapping her thumbs and forefingers the way Tinker had shown her.
“I guess we’ll find out.” Keefe placed one of his hands near hers—without touching—and drummed his fingers against the front of the blue notebook with the other. “So… yesterday, I said I didn’t think your genetic parents would be people you know, because it would be too hard for them to pretend around you—and I might still be right about that. But. As I started trying to make lists of possible DNA donors, I realized the biggest clues we have are your abilities. I mean, yeah, it’s not always that telepathic parents have telepathic kids or whatever. Sometimes genetics decide to get funky and do their own thing. But it also happens consistently enough that it’s safe to assume your biological parents have at least some of your abilities. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Sorta,” Sophie said. “I’ve always assumed one of my parents must be a Telepath.”
“That’s where I started out focusing too, since your telepathy is so strong, and it seemed fundamental to the Black Swan’s plans for you. But then I remembered that one of the few things we know for sure is that Mr. Forkle wanted you to be able to heal broken minds, since he knew there was a chance that could happen to some of the order. And to be able to do that, you need two abilities, right? Telepathy and…”
“Inflicting,” Sophie finished slowly.
He tapped the notebook harder. “Yeah… so I started thinking about how rare inflicting is.”
Sophie’s insides scrunched together.
He was right—she wasn’t going to like this.
“There’s only one other registered Inflictor,” she mumbled.
“I know.” Keefe scooted his hand even closer to hers—but still not quite touching. “And it’s someone whose whole life would be turned upside down if people found out he had a child. In fact, the news would pretty much turn everything upside down—at least for a little while. And it happens
to be the same person who just gave you a big speech trying to convince you not to look into your genetic parents—even promising that the Council would stand beside you being unmatchable if it came to that. He basically said anything he could to get you to leave it alone.”
He stopped there, giving her a chance to leave the rest unspoken.
But there was no point hiding from it.
She reached for his hand, focusing on the soft blue breeze that rushed into her mind as she whispered, “You think Councillor Bronte is my biological father.”
ELEVEN
WE DON’T KNOW ANYTHING FOR certain,” Keefe reminded Sophie as she tightened her grip on his hand.
And she tried to believe him—tried to focus on the soothing colorful breezes he kept sending into her mind.
But her head was spinning in fifteen different directions. And the only thought that seemed to stick through all the chaos was: Seriously?
Out of all the people the Black Swan could’ve picked to be her biological father, they chose Councillor Bronte?
“It’s just a theory,” Keefe insisted.
“But it makes sense!” She honestly couldn’t believe she’d never suspected him before—and not just because of the Inflictor thing.
Maybe this was why Bronte had been so hard on her when she’d first met him.
Mr. Forkle had already admitted that the Black Swan had been forced to bring her to the Lost Cities earlier than they’d originally planned, because the Neverseen were getting too close to finding her. So what if Bronte had been trying to get her exiled because he wasn’t ready to deal with the fallout if people figured out that she was his daughter?
And what if he’d stepped up the meanness even more after she’d manifested as an Inflictor, because he thought it would keep people from suspecting any connection between them?
And maybe the reason he’d been so cruel when her abilities were “malfunctioning” was because he’d taken such a huge risk in order to make her an Inflictor—and then it was looking like it had all been for nothing.
None of that excused the awful things he’d said and done to her, of course—but she wasn’t trying to decide if Bronte was a good guy.
Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8) Page 19