Sophie didn’t answer as she stumbled away, needing space to breathe.
She could only think of one possible explanation—but it couldn’t be that.
Please, don’t let it be that.
Fitz wrapped his arms around his mom, still shivering. “Dad’s mind was cold and dark and everything felt . . . wrong. I couldn’t get back out.”
“No,” Sophie whispered, grabbing the nearest thing to steady herself. It turned out to be Alvar’s arm.
“What does that mean?” Alvar asked as she leaned her full weight on him.
Sophie closed her eyes, unable to look at anyone as she forced the words out of her mouth—the words that would change everything.
“I think it means Alden’s mind is broken.”
THIRTY-FOUR
NO!” DELLA SHOUTED AS SHE ran to Alden’s side and shook him. “He’s still here. He’s not some mindless, broken . . .”
Alden started twitching and groaning, silencing her argument.
“Maybe I should try prob—”
“No,” Elwin snapped, blocking Sophie as she tried to get to Alden.
“But what if I can help him? I helped Fitz.”
“You didn’t help me,” Fitz said, trying to sit up and only managing to flail.
“You’d be lost if it weren’t for her, Fitz,” Alvar said quietly. “But lost is different than broken, Sophie. You’re sure my dad is . . .”
“That’s the only reason why Fitz would get pulled under. And why everything in Alden’s mind would look wrong. But maybe I should check.”
“No! No one is going to try anything else,” Elwin yelled. He shook his head as he gave Alden another dose of sedative. “I don’t need any more bodies piling up.”
“Bodies?” Della whispered. She glanced from her moaning husband to her trembling son and . . .
Collapsed.
Elwin sighed as he bent to check her, flashing an orange orb around her face. “I think it’s time for Della to rest.”
He looked to Alvar, who blinked, like he was coming out of a daze. “Yes, whatever you think is best.”
Elwin turned Della’s chin toward him and poured a sedative down her throat.
“We should move her,” he said as he lifted her limp body and passed her to Alvar.
Alvar stared at his unconscious mother, his eyes turning glassy. “I—I guess I’ll put her in one of the guest rooms tonight, so she won’t wake up and see . . .”
“Good idea,” Elwin told him, squeezing his arm.
Alvar stood there for a few more seconds, like he hadn’t quite figured out how to make his legs work. Then he made his way to the door, and for once he didn’t blink in and out of sight as he carried Della away.
Elwin handed Fitz a vial of sedative. “Your turn.”
“I’m fine.” Fitz tried to sit up again, but was still too weak. “I need to talk to Biana.”
Sophie stepped forward. “I can talk to—”
“You’ve done enough!” Fitz yelled.
Sophie was too stunned to move—to think. She barely remembered to breathe as she watched tears stream down Fitz’s face.
“This is not Sophie’s fault,” Elwin said, glancing at Sophie as he crouched next to Fitz. “It isn’t.”
Fitz snorted.
Elwin sighed. “Look—I understand you’re angry and in shock, Fitz, but you don’t want to say things you’re going to regret later.”
“I won’t regret them.”
“How about this, then?” Elwin grabbed Fitz’s arms. “If you don’t take that sedative right now, I’m going to pour it down your throat.”
Fitz glared at him, but he must’ve realized Elwin was serious, because he uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents, his shaky hands spilling part of it as he did.
Sophie looked away as his head lolled back, reminding herself that Fitz would wake up again.
He’d probably still hate her—but he’d be awake.
Unlike Alden . . .
She glanced at the bed, relieved that Alden had calmed. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was just asleep.
“We can’t give up,” she decided, digging her Imparter from her pocket with shaky hands. She could think of one person who might know how to bring Alden back.
People had thought she was dead when she was still alive.
Maybe there was still a chance.
ALVAR DECIDED HE SHOULD BE the one to tell Biana—and Elwin needed to stay nearby in case she needed to be sedated. Which left Sophie to go open the gates of Everglen. Alone.
The midday sun warmed her shoulders as she walked the familiar path, but it couldn’t erase the chill that had settled into her heart. The grounds felt darker, emptier without the promise of Alden’s smile and deep, accented voice to greet her when she got back. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime without him. There had to be something someone could do.
Had to.
It took her a minute to find the small button hidden on a sundial next to a blue-leafed tree, but when she pressed it, the gates swung open, revealing a figure in a black tunic and pants, nervously shuffling his feet.
“Tiergan!” She ran to his side and threw her arms around him. He tensed in her embrace, but she needed something to hold on to. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” Tiergan patted her back awkwardly. “What’s going on? You said Alden’s sick?”
She nodded against his chest and then forced herself to let go, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat so she could explain the situation, in all its devastating detail.
“That’s . . . impossible,” Tiergan said, squinting at the sky. “I—I have to see him.”
He hurried down the path. Sophie had to run to keep up with him, and they didn’t stop until they’d reached Alden’s room. Sophie was sure Tiergan could hear her heart pounding as he pulled open the heavy doors.
He sucked in a breath. Sophie did the same.
More color had drained away from Alden’s skin, turning him pale.
Lifeless.
Tiergan made his way to Alden’s side, lifting Alden’s arm and letting it fall limply. “Is he sedated?” he asked Elwin.
“For the moment. When he’s awake he gets tremors and babbles to himself. But the sedatives don’t last.” Elwin wiped his eyes, and his voice was thick as he asked, “Is there anything you can do?”
“It depends.”
Tiergan’s fingers grazed Alden’s forehead, settling on his temples. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and . . .
Jumped back, furiously shaking his head and gripping one of the silver bedposts.
“I can’t,” he whispered, swallowing several times as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. His mind is too much chaos.”
Every tiny hope Sophie had been clinging to slowly unraveled. “So he’s really broken?”
Tiergan met her eyes as he nodded.
Only once, but it was enough.
The room turned to a blur as Sophie’s knees collapsed—but something stopped her from crashing onto the floor. Someone’s arms maybe? She couldn’t think through the panic and grief swelling inside, clawing up her throat, choking her. Someone shouted something she couldn’t understand, and then something cold pressed against her lips.
“No!” she screamed, twisting away.
“It’s not a sedative,” Elwin promised, pressing the vial against her lips again. “It’s just to help clear your head. Please, Sophie, trust me.”
She stopped struggling and let him pour the cool, salty medicine down her throat. She gagged, but the liquid stayed down, and as it rushed through her body, the spinning slowed and the blurry blobs morphed back into faces she could recognize. But the room didn’t just become clearer—it became brighter. Lighter. Things weren’t so bad, really. How could they be when there was this cool rush racing through her, filling her with life and energy and lifting her higher . . .
“Whoa—what did you give me?” she asked, fighting back a giggle that wanted to burst
from her lips as she pulled away, ready to stand on her own again.
“Something to help your mood.”
This was more than help. This was weird, unnatural giddiness. Her heart was still broken but her head was floating and flying, making it impossible to be sad.
“It’s strong,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that had forced its way across her lips.
Elwin ran his hands down his face as he leaned against the bed, staring sadly at Alden. “At least one thing’s working right. He’s really beyond any repair?”
“I can’t believe it either.” Tiergan twisted his fingers so tightly it looked painful. “His mind was one of the strongest I’ve ever seen.”
Was.
Not is.
“And you’re sure you can’t . . . ?” Sophie meant to whisper, but her voice came out loud and clear.
“Positive.”
“Maybe we should call Quinlin. See if he can—”
“There’s nothing that can be done for a broken mind, Sophie,” Tiergan interrupted. “Trust me. I’ve spent the last thirteen years trying.”
He turned away, walking to the windows and staring out at the sky. Sophie knew he must be thinking about Prentice.
Broken, ruined Prentice.
Was that Alden’s future? A straitjacket and a cell in Exile?
“So that’s it?” she asked, hating her cheery tone. “We just give up?”
Tiergan nodded sadly. “There’s nothing else to do, except help the family.”
A sob bubbled up Sophie’s chest as she tried to imagine the Vackers without Alden, but by the time it slipped from her lips it came out like a squeaky hiccup. She kicked the carpet, scattering flower petals everywhere. Part of her wanted to kick something harder, louder, something that would break into pieces. The other part wanted to giggle and roll in the silky flowers.
Stupid confusing elixir.
“It just . . . It just doesn’t make sense,” she decided. “He was fine before he got the headache. How does someone go from fine to broken in five minutes?”
She could still hear him laughing as she’d tackled him with a hug.
“Something must have happened to set it off,” Tiergan said quietly.
“But nothing did. He was just standing there, watching the elite prodigies present their stinky flowers and dance and . . .”
Her voice trailed off as a memory flashed back.
Wylie, spinning gracefully in a silver robe.
She’d been so worried about seeing him at school that she’d leaned over and asked Alden if he thought . . .
And he said . . .
“No,” she whispered as her hands darted to her mouth. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”
“ ‘No’ what, Sophie? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, feeling her eyes burn. Either Elwin’s happy-elixir was wearing off, or the truth was so real and painful it cut through the fake haze.
“Fitz is right,” she whispered. “It is my fault.”
THIRTY-FIVE
IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT,” ELWIN and Tiergan both said in unison.
“It is.”
Sophie looked at Alden.
Kind, wonderful, broken Alden. “It was guilt.”
“Guilt,” Tiergan repeated.
“But, what could Alden possibly be guilty of?” Elwin asked.
Tiergan knew, even before Sophie said the name.
“Prentice.”
“That’s crazy,” Elwin argued. “The Council ordered that break—not him.”
“Alden was the accuser, though,” Tiergan said as he slowly crossed the room to where Alden lay. “And he was wrong.”
He wiped a tear from his cheek and grabbed Alden by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you just listen to me when I told you he was innocent? Was this worth it?”
Sophie choked back a sob. She’d seen the sadness in Alden’s eyes as he’d watched Prentice in Exile, and the hurt in his features when she told him Prentice remembered him, and his sorrow and regret as he watched Wylie dance—but she’d been so caught up in her own plans and worries she never thought . . .
“If I’d paid closer attention, I could’ve gotten him help or—I don’t know. Maybe he wouldn’t be—” The room dimmed and her legs turned to rubber.
“Don’t you dare!” Tiergan shouted, grabbing her arms and holding her up. “This was not your fault. It was his guilt that did this and it would’ve caught up with him eventually. You can’t run from the truth.”
“But maybe he—”
“Don’t. Do not let any guilt cloud your mind—I mean it, Sophie. Not unless you want to end up like him.”
The fear in his eyes was enough to clear her head.
“Good girl,” he said, releasing her. “If any thoughts like that start to rear up, you must shove them away—immediately, do you hear me? Guilt is a treacherous thing. It creeps in slowly, breaking you down bit by bit. I’d wager Alden’s been on the verge of a break since he learned the Black Swan were on our side.”
“That was my fault too,” she whispered.
Technically the whole thing was her fault. Prentice had been hiding her.
“If we’re playing the blame game, it’s just as much my fault,” Elwin mumbled. “I should’ve noticed what was happening and stopped this.”
Tiergan shook his head. “Mental breaks aren’t physical things. There’s nothing you could’ve done. And I need both of you to listen to me. The only one who could’ve stopped this was Alden. He let it fester. Which is why both of you must shove any guilt away—do you understand me?”
They both nodded, but Sophie was only half listening, too busy replaying her memories from when she was in the Room Where Chances Are Lost.
The headache Alden had when they were down there—had that been a break too?
They’d been talking about Prentice at the time it happened, just like how they’d been talking about Wylie at the Ceremonies. And yet he’d pulled through that and came back to normal.
Why did seeing Prentice’s son affect him so much more?
Or did it?
Did he make it through because she somehow helped him?
And if she had, could she do it again?
She pulled away from Tiergan and went to Alden’s side, trying to seem like she was just saying goodbye as she focused her concentration. She knew what Tiergan would say, but she had to know, had to risk it, had to try. She owed it to Alden, after everything he’d done for her.
When her mind was as clear as it could be, she pressed her fingers against Alden’s temples and pushed into his mind.
The fractured memories were even sharper this time. Daggers and needles and icicles swirling in a dark vortex—tiny splinters of faces and places that were already smashing together into a nightmare world like Prentice’s mind. She tried to shove her way through, but the further she pressed the more she could feel the blackness latching around her like cold hands, squeezing and straining and dragging her under.
She fought back, transmitting Alden’s name over and over as she searched the mayhem for something—anything. A thread of warmth. A fleck of light. Something she could hold on to and draw Alden back. But there was nothing but freezing shards, and as she started to sink deeper, she realized that if she didn’t break free, she’d be swallowed into the madness like she had with Prentice, and who knew if she’d ever be able to escape.
She rallied her strength and yanked her mind free, collapsing backward into someone’s arms.
“That was hands down the most foolish thing you’ve ever done!” Tiergan shouted, and Sophie was surprised to realize he was the one hugging her. “What were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry.” Her words were muffled by the fabric of his tunic. “I had to make sure I couldn’t help him. If there was any chance I could . . .”
Tiergan sighed and let her go—and she was immediately grabbed by Elwin. He spun her around and flashed a blue orb around her face.
Sophie cring
ed as the light hit her eyes, feeling a headache flare.
“You look okay,” Elwin said, flashing orbs in other colors. “But evidently I can’t see mental damage or distress, so who knows?”
“Only Sophie,” Tiergan said quietly. “How do you feel?”
Devastated, exhausted, angry, scared. Pick an emotion—she was feeling it.
But all she said was, “Fine.”
“Then you’re a very lucky girl. I barely managed to pull myself free and I was only in his mind for a second.”
“How long was I in there for?”
“At least a minute. I really wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
“Well . . . I did.”
“And you will not try that again, understood? I need your word on that, Sophie.”
“It didn’t work anyway.”
“I still need your word.”
“I really thought it would work.”
“Sophie!”
“Fine! You have my word. I just—I don’t understand. Why can I bring back someone lost but not someone broken?”
“Because lost and broken are two very different—”
“Yeah, I know.” If she had to hear that one more time, she was going to lose it. “I guess . . . I just thought it might be possible. I can do so many other impossible things. Why not this?”
The only one that mattered.
Tears pricked her eyes and she fought back her guilt, remembering Tiergan’s warning.
Which made her wonder . . .
“Can guilt be reversed? Like, if we could make Alden not feel guilty for what happened to Prentice—convince him it wasn’t his fault or something—would it heal him?”
Tiergan sighed. “He’s not capable of coherent reasoning anymore.”
“But what if we could get through somehow?”
“You saw for yourself how ruined his mind is.”
But it wasn’t empty. There was still something there. And she’d seen even more in Prentice’s mind. He could still think and communicate.
If Prentice could still function—after all that time—then maybe Alden could . . .
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