Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8)

by Shannon Messenger

  He shrugged. “Eh, don’t go giving me too much credit, Foster. Thanks to you and Ro—and Bangs Boy—it’s not like I have a very busy or exciting schedule these days. It’s either this, or sit at home while Dad of the Year complains about how I should be studying or honing my empathy instead of drawing—which does at least give me an excuse to doodle some very unflattering cartoons of him and hide them around the Shores of Solace for him to find.”

  He flashed a particularly smug smirk, but Sophie could see the sadness behind it.

  And it had her pulling him back into a hug.

  Keefe had so many huge family problems of his own, and yet here he was, spending all this time helping her deal with hers—after staying up late figuring all of this out.

  “Thank you,” she repeated, wishing he didn’t feel so tense in her arms. “I mean it, Keefe. I don’t know if I’d be able to get through this without you.”

  “Yes you could,” he argued, finally relaxing as he leaned into the hug to whisper, “You’re Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancypants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown.”

  Heat burned from the top of her head to the tips of her toes—and even though she knew he was teasing, she was sure her cheeks were blushing.

  “And I know I keep saying this,” he added quietly, “but I want to make sure you don’t forget it. No matter what happens with Bronte, or whatever else we learn about your biological parents, or whether you stay unmatchable or not, it’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

  And the funny thing was, in that moment, she actually believed him—or she did right up until someone cleared their throat very loudly.

  She dropped her arms and scrambled back, bracing for a particularly humiliating conversation with Grady. But all the blood seemed to leave her body when she glanced toward her bedroom door.

  Because it wasn’t Grady.

  And it wasn’t Sandor or Bo—who she was definitely going to murder later for not warning her that she had another visitor.

  And not just any visitor.

  Fitz.

  Her heart officially shut down on her.

  And her brain was still struggling to process how he could look so handsome and so furious when his teal eyes met hers and his lips parted to ask something she couldn’t hear over the roaring in her head.

  It took one, two, three breaths before he repeated the question.

  “You’re unmatchable?”

  TWELVE

  HIYA, FITZY,” KEEFE SAID, LOOKING and sounding infinitely calmer than Sophie was feeling as he gave Fitz a quick chin nod and stood up to greet him—though he also shot Ro a look that said, Your punishment for not warning us will be LEGENDARY. “Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”

  Fitz snorted. “Clearly.”

  Keefe smirked. “Wow, someone’s grumpy. Did Biana kick your butt in bramble again? He haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaates to lose,” he stage-whispered to Sophie. “But I guess you probably already know that about your boyfriend.”

  Sophie had a feeling he’d used the last word intentionally—and she chose to not correct him for the same reason, even though the label felt especially tenuous at the moment.

  “Or is it because Biana’s making you call her ‘Lady Biana’ now?” Keefe asked. “Your girlfriend’s totally been doing the same thing, in case you were wondering. Isn’t that right, Lady Fos-Boss?”

  Sophie scowled. But she knew what Keefe was doing—both with the girlfriend comment and the nickname. And even though both made her fidgety for completely different reasons, she had to give him credit for how casually he was changing the subject. He’d almost made her believe that nothing had happened.

  Then again… nothing had happened.

  It wasn’t like she couldn’t be friends with Keefe—or wasn’t allowed to let him help her through a hard time.

  She didn’t understand why she felt so… “caught”—until Fitz went back to the question that her overwhelmed brain had managed to bury.

  “Seriously, Sophie.” His accent sounded sharper than usual. “What did Keefe mean about you being unmatchable?”

  “I…”

  She knew she needed to add a lot more words to that sentence. But the only other sounds she seemed to be capable of making were much closer to dying animal noises.

  “It’s one of those Things That Only Happen to Foster,” Keefe jumped in as Sophie tried to calculate the odds of successfully flinging a piece of furniture through one of her bedroom windows, levitating to freedom, and teleporting to a new life—maybe with Silveny, Greyfell, and their twin babies in a nice, peaceful meadow somewhere. “You know how it is. She always has to be all mysterious.”

  “Actually, I don’t know,” Fitz snapped back. “But apparently you do?”

  Keefe sighed, shaking his head a few times before he looked Fitz right in the eyes. “Trust me, dude. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Pretty sure I do,” Fitz countered. “If you’re trying to—”

  “How about I stop you right there?” Keefe interrupted, holding up his hands. “Because I know you don’t want to turn a situation that’s already been super stressful for someone you care about into something even harder for them. And we both know I’m not talking about me here.”

  Fitz gritted his teeth and looked away, tearing a hand through his hair. “I just want to know what’s going on with my girlfriend. I didn’t realize that was a lot to ask.”

  His eyes darted to Sophie, and there was such betrayal in his stare that it took her a second to realize he’d just used the g word.

  It was the first time he’d ever called her that, and it should’ve made her all floaty and fluttery. But the hurt in his tone filled her whole body with something sour and slimy.

  Keefe looked pretty miserable too as he slowly backed toward her bedroom door, giving the two of them as much space as possible.

  Or maybe getting ready to flee.

  She wouldn’t have blamed him.

  This was why he’d made her swear she’d talk to Fitz before he agreed to start helping her. And even though she’d made that promise less than twenty-four hours earlier—and had lost most of that time to the Regent appointment process—that didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t held up her end of the bargain.

  Plus, she was the one who’d chosen to hide everything from Fitz in the first place.

  “I’m sorry,” she told both of them, glad her mouth seemed to be regaining the ability to form recognizable words. She even managed to hold Fitz’s gaze as she added, “I… should’ve told you sooner.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes, scraping together the courage to give an honest answer. “Because… once I told you, then it’d be real. And I wasn’t ready to find out what would happen next. I’m still not, but…”

  She forced herself to tell him everything. From the color of the gown she’d worn that day in Atlantis—teal, of course—to the names of her matchmakers—Brisa and Juji—to how close she’d come to vomiting when she saw the ugly red letters that would define her future if she couldn’t make them go away. And how she’d spent days hiding out, hoping Mr. Forkle would give her the information she needed to fix everything—but of course the Black Swan let her down. So now she was stuck going rogue with her own investigation, which Keefe was helping her with—but only because Ro had forced the information out of her. And even though her voice was pretty wobbly at that point, she ended with the theory that Keefe had come up with about Councillor Bronte, as well as their plan to find out if it was true, and the very mixed feelings she had about the whole thing.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated when she’d finished, squeezing her eyes as tight as she could. She definitely wasn’t ready to see the look on Fitz’s face as he processed all of those bombshells.

  And then, it got very quiet.

  The only sound was a bit of whisper-hissing out in the hallway from Grizel—Fitz’s bodyguard—who was also Sandor’s girlfriend, and who s
eemed to be less than thrilled that her boyfriend had kept her totally in the dark about all of this as well. And Sandor, being Sandor, was unapologetically defending his need to protect his charge’s secrets—which was great for Sophie. But was probably going to earn him another one of Grizel’s humiliating punishments involving tight pants and dancing.

  “Anything you want to say?” Ro finally asked, and Sophie couldn’t tell which boy she was talking to. She still hadn’t worked up the courage to open her eyes.

  Keefe was the one to speak up, and his voice sounded even farther away. “You get that the reason Foster went to the matchmakers was for you, right?” he asked Fitz. “And you know what a big deal that was for her, don’t you?”

  Ro muttered something about foolish boys, which made it impossible to translate Fitz’s tone when he told Keefe, “Yeah.”

  More silence followed, and Sophie went back to imagining which piece of furniture would be the best to fling through a window for her teleporting escape. And as the seconds stacked into minutes, she started to wonder if everyone had left.

  Then she felt her mattress shift, and someone sat beside her on the bed.

  “Okay.” Fitz’s voice was quiet, but she still flinched at his sudden closeness. “I don’t want this to be a big fight. So will you please just promise me something?”

  She forced herself to look at him, needing several seconds for the world to blur back into focus. And her heart stumbled a beat when she found his gorgeous face staring at her without all the anger and betrayal she’d last seen in his expression.

  He was the kind of handsome that made her eyes tune out everything except him, and her brain shut down—which was probably why she nodded without bothering to ask what she was promising.

  “I just want you to remember this,” he told her, running a hand through his dark hair as he scooted even closer. He stopped when their legs touched, and that tiny contact between them felt like fireworks in Sophie’s veins. “I want you to remember me sitting here with you, not freaking out or causing any of the drama you’ve been worrying about, okay? I know I haven’t always been great about that—but I’m working on it. So I need you to work on trusting me—because having you avoid me like you’ve been doing really hurts. And finding out you’ve been hiding something this important totally sucks. And knowing you confided in other people before telling me makes it even worse.”

  She hung her head. “I know. I’m really, really sorry.”

  He tilted her chin back up, leaving his warm fingers resting there—which made it very hard to concentrate as he told her, “You don’t have to apologize, Sophie. Just try not to do it again. Especially the avoiding me part. I’ve really missed you.”

  Her heart and stomach seemed to be competing over which could flutter the hardest. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Yeah?” He flashed one of his breathtaking smiles, and she needed a moment to remind herself that this was actually happening.

  This beautiful, perfect guy she’d had a crush on from the moment she’d first stared into his impossibly teal eyes was really saying these things, and looking at her like she meant something—even knowing what the matchmakers had said.

  And his fingers were really tracing up her jaw, triggering a new explosion of tingly fireworks as his gaze shifted to her mouth and he leaned closer.

  Closer.

  “Uh, not to ruin the smoochy-smoochy time,” Ro interrupted at the absolute last second—making Fitz snarl, “Are you kidding me?” as Sophie tried to decide if she wanted to die of embarrassment or launch the heaviest thing she could find at Ro’s head.

  Ro shrugged, unrepentant. “Thought we’d left, didn’t you? Nope! Someone had to keep an eye on you two. And what kind of chaperone would I be if I didn’t remind you that Pretty Boy hasn’t actually said what he thinks about the whole unmatchable thing? In case that matters to you.”

  “Stay out of it,” Keefe warned, adding a whole new level to Sophie’s humiliation.

  She hid behind her hair, suddenly glad that Ro had interrupted.

  The thought of kissing Fitz in front of Keefe was more than just awkward. It felt… wrong, somehow.

  “I am staying out of it,” Ro insisted. “It’s not like I’m dragging them to separate corners—though we all know I could. I just figured I should make sure that our sweet, innocent little Blondie noticed that her teal-eyed wonder boy left out that crucial detail, since I know it’s kinda hard to think when a cute boy is leaning in with his eyes all heavy-lidded and his lips all puckery. And I thought she might want a little further clarification before she got lost in all the ‘YIPPEE! HE’S KISSING ME’—but what do I know?”

  Fitz’s glare could’ve withered forests. “And I thought the fact that I was about to kiss her made it pretty clear how I feel.”

  “Does it, though?” Ro asked, tapping her chin with a painted claw. “I mean, I guess it could. Or it could mean you’re in the mood for some lip-on-lip action—and hey, no one’s judging you. Smooching rocks! But, if you really care about your Lovely Lady Foster, I’m guessing you’d want to make it clear that all the panicking and obsessing she’s done about her match status these last few days doesn’t bother you—assuming it doesn’t, of course.”

  “Of course it doesn’t!” He turned back to Sophie, and repeated, “It doesn’t.”

  “Really?” she whispered, feeling like she could finally breathe freely.

  He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Really.”

  Sophie closed her eyes, letting the simple word chase away the doubts and worries she’d been carrying since she’d left the matchmakers’ office.

  Her heart felt lighter—faster. Her head, clearer than it had in days and days.

  Right up until the moment when Fitz added, “I promise we’ll find your genetic parents and make this whole mess disappear.”

  Ro sucked in air through her teeth. “Ooooooooooooo, you were sooooooooo close.”

  “Seriously, stay out of it!” Keefe ordered.

  But Fitz had already turned back toward Ro. “What’s wrong with offering to help? Keefe clearly is. And I would’ve been helping already, if she’d told me what was happening.” His gaze shifted to Sophie, and his forehead crinkled with concern. “I’m sure finding your genetic parents is going to be super complicated and exhausting—and you already have a ton of other stuff going on with the dwarves, from what Biana told me. So I just wanted you to know that I’m here for anything you need, okay? Anytime. No matter what. We’re in this together.”

  He held out his hand, and Sophie tried to come up with something to say.

  But her head felt so messy.

  All of the questions and confessions had shaken up her brain—left her thoughts scattered and twirly. And her emotions were even more chaotic—all tangled up like a bunch of wriggling snakes.

  So she tapped her fingers to reactivate her enhancing-blockers and took the hand he’d offered, mumbling the only thing she could think of: “Thank you.”

  Fitz tightened his hold. “You don’t have to thank me. This is what boyfriends do.”

  Her breath caught.

  There was that word again.

  And it felt different this time—and not just because Fitz was the one using it.

  It was more like… they were discussing something that had already been decided.

  Maybe they were.

  Fitz knew everything about her matchmaking status now—and he hadn’t run screaming away.

  Yet.

  He reached for her other hand. “Speaking of helping—hear me out on this, okay? I know you and Keefe have a plan—and I’m not saying it’s a bad one. But I really think I should be the one to go with you when you confront Bronte.”

  Ro sniffed. “Of course you do.”

  “Um, reading his thoughts will be way clearer than trying to translate his emotions,” Fitz argued, “and this is the kind of thing we need to be absolutely certain about.”

  “It is,” Sophie agreed
. “But… I’ve been in Bronte’s head. It’s really not a great place for a Telepath.”

  “But you went in alone,” Fitz reminded her. “Now we’d be taking him on together.”

  Ro clapped her hands, jumping up and down. “Oh! Oh! This is the part where he’s going to remind you that you’re Cognates!”

  “Well, we are!” Fitz snapped back, looking like he’d had about all he could stand of Ro’s interruptions.

  Sophie was equally done with them.

  She also knew that Fitz was right. Reading Bronte’s thoughts would be more conclusive than reading his emotions.

  She just… didn’t want to do it.

  She’d learned the hard way, many times, how painful unguarded thoughts could be—even from people who loved her. So to hear what Bronte thought about being her biological father—whether or not he actually was?

  No thank you.

  She’d much rather let Keefe do the reading, so she wouldn’t have to hear anything more than “Yep, it’s Bronte” or “No, it’s not,” and then figure out how to live with either answer.

  She just didn’t know how to explain that to Fitz.

  The conversation still felt so… delicate.

  “I think Bronte will get suspicious if he knows you’re going to be there,” she said carefully, “since we were going to tell him the meeting was about having Keefe join Team Valiant. The Council already made it pretty clear that they want you and me to work separately for a while—”

  “Yeah, what’s that about?” Fitz interrupted.

  The bitterness in his voice was hard to miss.

  “Don’t feel bad, Fitzy—you’re not the only one who didn’t make the cut,” Keefe told him. “In fact, I’m kinda thinking you, me, and Linh should start our own team—Team We’re-Having-More-Fun-Than-You-Are! Instead of crowns, we can wear tunics that say ‘You Wish You Were This Hot.’ And all of our mascots will be gulons. You with me?”

  Fitz didn’t smile.

  “Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay,” Keefe said, backing up a step. “Well, at least you’ll have more time to focus on finding Alvar. You making any progress with that?”

  “None,” Fitz admitted, looking even sulkier. “I swear I’ve searched every single inch of Everglen. There should’ve at least been a trail showing which way he went. He was… pretty messed up.”