“I don’t know. Won’t they look weird when my nails grow?”
Tinker tapped the base of each nail twice, and a puff of air loosened the gadgets, allowing Sophie to slide them up or down as needed. All she’d have to do is trim her nails to keep them hidden.
“Is this a better solution than what you were planning?” Tinker asked Dex, with no bravado in her tone. Only curiosity.
But Dex still wouldn’t look at her as he nodded. And his sigh was somewhere between a grumble and a harrumph.
“You have a competitive streak, don’t you?” Tinker noted.
Sophie and Mr. Forkle both said “yes” while Dex said “no.”
“I’m not being competitive,” he argued. “I’m allowed to be annoyed that I got replaced.”
“You weren’t replaced,” Mr. Forkle corrected. “This project, for whatever reason, seemed to be stumping you. So I thought it’d be wise to have someone with a new perspective take a look. Plus, I know you’ve been busy adjusting the panic switch rings—”
“You have?” Sophie asked.
Dex shrugged. “I’m trying to build a code into them, like ‘slide the stone up for one kind of attack, right, left, and down for others.’ But I’m not sure how to group it all, since there are so many different threats, and the code has to be simple enough to remember.”
“I have some thoughts,” Tinker told him, and Dex’s jaw tightened, like he was stopping himself from snapping at her.
“Perhaps you could discuss that later,” Mr. Forkle suggested, “once Mr. Dizznee has had a bit more time to adjust to collaboration. In the meantime, were you able to come up with anything for those other projects I described?”
Tinker nodded, reaching into the jewelry box and setting two other items on the table in front of Sophie: a plain silver bangle, and a cloak pin shaped like a soaring eagle.
“Is that the Ruewen crest?” Sophie asked, reaching for the pin and comparing it to the one securing her cape. The designs were nearly identical, though hers had touches of color and the new pin was solid silver.
“I sent her a sketch of it,” Mr. Forkle explained. “That way it will keep the null better hidden.”
Dex peeked over Sophie’s shoulder. “You had her build a null? Seriously?”
“What’s a null?” Sophie asked when Tinker dipped her chin.
“They block signals,” Dex told her. “Or, I guess ‘absorb’ is a better word.”
“Any technological means the Neverseen might have for tracking you will now be halted,” Mr. Forkle clarified. “Your parents have swept everything you own with reveldust—and Bo has done several other tests for ogre enzymes. Everything has come back negative. So if the rebels do still have a way of monitoring your location, they’re most likely using a gadget of some sort—”
“Hidden where?” Sophie asked, glancing at her wrist.
The Neverseen couldn’t have implanted something during her kidnapping, could they? Under Brant’s burns?
“Relax,” Mr. Forkle told her as she scratched at her skin. “This is just a precaution.”
“You realize a null is also going to block her registry pendant, right?” Dex jumped in. “And any trackers that Sandor hid in her clothes. Probably my panic switch, too. Why do you think I never suggested anything like that?”
Tinker pointed to the eagle’s beak. “What does that do?”
Dex pressed his finger to the tiny point and sighed. “Oh. I guess it lets you approve certain frequencies. I . . . didn’t know you could do that.”
“Which is why I want Tinker to train you,” Mr. Forkle reminded him gently. “There is much for you to learn. But there are also many things you can teach her as well.”
Dex gave half a shrug and kept fiddling with the pin’s tiny beak.
When it came to pouting, he was a master.
“So as long as I wear that pin, the Neverseen won’t be able to track me?” Sophie confirmed.
“They won’t be able to track you using technology,” Mr. Forkle corrected. “It’s still possible there’s some other means we’re unaware of. But that’s why you have an abundance of bodyguards. This is just an extra layer of protection.”
“What’s the bracelet for?” Sophie asked, reaching for the silver bangle.
“It’s an ionic booster, right?” Dex asked Tinker. “Pretty sure that’s a bad idea. Elwin won’t want you messing with her recovery.”
“Who said it was for her injury?” Tinker asked, rifling through her tool belt and pulling out a piece of V-shaped steel with a spring in the center. She handed the contraption to Sophie. “How hard can you squeeze that with your left hand?”
“Apparently not hard at all,” Sophie mumbled when she could barely get the spring to compress.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Forkle told her, “we’re all weak in the hand we don’t favor. But since you’ll be relying on your left for the next few weeks, I asked Tinker if she could improve your strength. Go ahead and try the bracelet on.”
Dex helped Sophie carefully remove her pin-covered cuff, and she tucked it safely in her cape pocket before she slipped on the simple bangle. It slid past her hand, all the way to her elbow, but Tinker tipped her arm forward, making the bracelet settle around her wrist before she pointed to the V-shaped tool. “Now how hard can you squeeze?”
“That’s crazy!” Sophie said as both ends of the tool crashed together hard enough to make the metal clink. “I don’t even have to try.” She squeezed it again and again. “I could do this all day!”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mr. Forkle warned. “Boost or no boost, your muscles are still doing all the work. And if you push too hard, you could tear something—just like if you kept punching with your Sucker Punch, you’d bruise your fingers and throw out your shoulder.”
“Why is the bracelet so big, though?” Dex asked as it slid back down to Sophie’s elbow. “Why not make it fit snug around her wrist?”
“Is her hand the only place that needs more strength?” Tinker countered. “Or will her arm and shoulder also require a boost for training?”
“Training?” Sophie repeated, her heart coming to a stop when Mr. Forkle’s lips spread into a satisfied smile.
“Yes, Miss Foster,” he told her. “That’s the real reason I brought you here today. I know how impatient you’ve been to begin physical training. And with that bracelet, you should be able to.”
She could train.
The news whirled around Sophie’s head and part of her wanted to sob happy tears and leap across the table and tackle-hug Tinker.
But the practical side of her had to ask: “You don’t think training will mess with my recovery?”
“Caution and moderation will be key—as will be Elwin’s approval, of course,” Mr. Forkle told her. “I’m sure you’ll need to limit yourself to simpler exercises and shorter intervals—and obviously you’ll only be able to train with your left arm. But honestly, it’ll be better for you to become a bit more ambidextrous.”
All of that she could live with.
She traced a finger over the precious bracelet and glanced at Tinker. “Thank you.”
Tinker’s cheek flushed a deep pink, and she looked away as she nodded.
“Well,” Mr. Forkle said as he dug out his pathfinder, “I hate to grab these brilliant gadgets and run, but I need to stay on schedule to make my meeting with the Council. Plus, Miss Foster’s family is waiting, and I’m sure she’s eager to see them.”
“Eager” was an understatement.
But first, she had to check with Dex: “You’re okay about staying here?”
He glanced around the laboratory. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”
Dex helped her trade out her usual Ruewen crest for the new null, and Tinker handed her a silver pillbox that held two more full sets of the nail-shaped gadgets in case anything happened to the first set. And she felt a little like a spy in one of those movies her human dad used to love—fixed up with all kinds of fancy gadgets.
But mostly, she felt ready.
“You two have fun,” Mr. Forkle told Dex and Tinker as he held his crystal up to the light and offered Sophie his hand. “Come along, Miss Foster. Let’s get you home.”
• • •
The first thing Sophie heard was roaring—loud enough to shake the slowly solidifying ground—followed by an abundance of shouting as Havenfield’s sprawling pastures glittered into view.
Sophie gave herself a second to take it all in: the ocean shimmering beyond the property’s scenic cliffs, its dark blue waves dappled with glints of warm afternoon sunlight. The wispy branches of Calla’s Panakes tree scattering pinkish, purplish, bluish petals across the rolling, grassy hills. And her house, with its crystal walls, golden columns, and gleaming cupola—so much fancier than anywhere she once would’ve imagined herself living, yet every sparkling inch now felt like home.
So did the next earth-shaking roar. And the next round of shouting. Because one of Sophie’s favorite things about Havenfield was the constant adventure.
“I assume that’s the gorgodon?” Mr. Forkle said as Sophie turned to follow the flower-lined path that wound past pens of fluffy dinosaurs and loping sasquatches and every other kind of creature imaginable.
“Yep. Sounds like feeding time.”
The pasture seemed farther away than Sophie remembered, the path steeper, the sunshine hotter on her skin, and after a few minutes she was fuzzy headed and dripping sweat. But her pace didn’t slow. It even increased when she confirmed that one of the voices was Grady’s, and she was practically running by the time they rounded the final bend and reached the wide ridge dotted with boulders and windswept trees, where a team of gnomes and dwarves had built the gorgodon’s enclosure from arched pieces of steel arranged into a tightly knitted dome.
The pen had a much more cagelike feel than any of the other Havenfield pastures. But the warps and dents in the metal proved how necessary that added security was, each a souvenir from a moment when the gorgodon had slammed its muscled body against the sides, or struck with its barbed tail, or tried to crunch through the bars with its long, curved fangs.
Sophie always needed a moment to process the sight of the massive beast with its reptilian face, lionlike limbs, and sharply angled wings. And the gorgodon stared right back at her with its slitted yellow eyes—but only for a second. Then it turned back to the half dozen gnomes surrounding the enclosure, snarling at each one before settling on Grady, who stood next to a basket of what looked like purple cantaloupes.
Shards of the same violet fruit littered the ground both inside and outside the enclosure, and Grady’s gray tunic was splattered with purple pulp. But that didn’t stop him from scooping up another melon and shouting, “NOW!”
All six gnomes reached into their pockets and flung tiny black pellets into the cage, peppering the gorgodon’s silver feathers.
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!
As soon as the beast’s mouth opened, Grady hurled the purple fruit, sending it sailing between the gorgodon’s long fangs and landing on its slimy tongue. The beast tilted its head to roar again, sending the fruit rolling to the back of its throat and forcing it to swallow.
“That’s nine!” Grady shouted, pumping his fist. “One more to go!”
The gnomes tossed another batch of black pellets, which were probably seeds to regrow the trampled grass.
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!
Grady hurled another purple melon, but the gorgodon was faster, slinging its tail with a perfect strike and showering Grady and several of the gnomes in purple juice.
“Need help?” Sophie called as Grady wiped his face with his soggy sleeve and reached for another piece of fruit.
Grady’s head whipped toward the sound of her voice, and before she could blink, he was tossing the purple melon over his shoulder and sprinting to her side, scooping her into a hug that somehow managed to be gentle and crushing—and very, very sticky.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping a smear of purple off her arm. “I’m covered in tangourd.”
He was. And he smelled like sweat and mud and something strongly peppery. But Sophie didn’t care one bit as she wrapped her good arm around him and leaned in.
“I missed you,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“Right back at you, kiddo.” He bent to kiss her cheek, and she could feel his tears mixing with hers before they both eased back to study each other.
His gaze washed over her sling before settling at the base of her neck, and it took her a second to figure out why he was frowning.
“I still have the Ruewen crest you gave me,” she promised, patting the same cape pocket that held Krakie and his friends. “But Tinker made me this one to block any trackers.”
She explained what little she knew about how the null worked, as well as the bangle on her left arm and the silver gadgets covering her nails.
“Sounds like those are all great ideas,” Grady said, lifting her wrist to study her new bangle. “But what was that part about starting training?”
“Not without Elwin’s approval,” Mr. Forkle assured him.
“And mine,” a squeaky voice added—and Sophie spun toward the sound, wondering how long Sandor had been standing in the shadows of the gorgodon’s enclosure without her noticing.
His nose was back to its usual flat shape, and all his cuts and bruises seemed to have healed. He’d also made some additions to his armor: Two wide black belts lined with throwing stars crisscrossed his bare chest, and he had a twisted dagger sheathed on each of his burly arms, all of which made him look decidedly less than huggable—but that didn’t stop Sophie from closing the distance between them and wrapping her good arm around his waist.
“Thank you for staying with me,” she whispered, leaning into his side and getting a noseful of the musky goblin scent that used to gross her out but now seemed like the best thing in the world.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Sandor murmured, his voice thickening as he held her tighter. “I don’t deserve it—”
“Yes, you do. I don’t deserve to have you risking your life to protect me.”
“That’s my honor,” Sandor corrected.
“And mine,” another voice said as two child-size arms wrapped around Sophie’s waist from behind.
She pivoted into the hug, breathing in the scent of flowers and tree sap and freshly tilled earth, then trailed her hand across Flori’s plaited hair.
“I’m so honored to have this chance to keep you safe,” Flori told her. “Calla would be so happy.”
Sophie stepped back, meeting the tiny gnome’s wide gray eyes. Flori’s green-toothed smile looked heartbreakingly earnest—and her new outfit made Sophie’s heart even heavier. Flori’s usual straw-woven dress had been replaced with stiff pants stitched from pieces of bark, and a tunic sewn from dried husks, both of which were probably meant to serve as armor. Mostly they looked scratchy and uncomfortable and like they wouldn’t provide nearly enough protection.
“I’m pretty sure Calla would want you to stay safe,” Sophie whispered.
Flori shook her head. “She would want me to protect the moonlark.”
Sophie opened her mouth to argue, but . . . that did sound like Calla.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she begged, pulling Flori back against her side.
Someone cleared his throat—loudly—and a gruff voice said, “No one told me this assignment would require hugging.”
“It doesn’t,” Flori called over her shoulder. “And even if it did, no one would be hugging you.”
“Good,” the voice snapped back. “Warriors do not hug. Or cry. I’m starting to see why the girl needed a proper guard.”
Sandor snarled.
“Sophie, meet Bo,” Flori said as Sophie craned her neck, trying to follow the voice to the source and not having any luck. “In case you’re wondering, yes, he is every bit as delightful as he seems.”
“Warriors aren’t meant to be
delightful!” Bo growled. “We’re meant to be fearsome. And ruthless. And cunning. And merciless.”
“And obedient,” Sandor warned.
“That too,” Bo said as he stepped into the sunlight, finally giving Sophie a glimpse of his hulking form. His mottled skin had blended so well with the shadows along a nearby rocky outcropping that he’d been all but invisible until he moved toward her.
He wasn’t as huge as King Dimitar, but he had the same apelike shape, with disproportionately long arms, a barrel chest, and squat, muscled legs. He also wore the same metal diaper, but he’d paired it with hammered steel shin guards and a spiked steel plate that curved from the base of his neck to just above his ribs. A brutally barbed sword hung from a steel belt clamped around his waist, along with three saw-edged blades of varying lengths that Sophie hoped she’d never have to see him use.
His face was lumpier than Ro’s—more like the other male ogres’ Sophie had seen. But there was something a little more refined about his features. A stronger line to his jaw, a deeper gray to his eyes. And paired with the tattoos swirling across his forehead, the pale green stones pierced through his ears, and the darker green stud stuck through the center of his lower lip, Sophie got the distinct impression that Bo might be what other ogres considered handsome.
Even his pointed teeth had a shine as he offered her the barest sliver of a smile and pounded his right fist against his heart.
The gesture was meant to be some sort of greeting, but Sophie was too busy trying to place him among the ogres she’d seen that day in Ravagog. She’d been so focused on sneaking into King Dimitar’s mind that she hadn’t really looked at the soldiers around him—at least not at their faces.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Bo asked, somehow guessing what she’d been thinking. “I wish I could say the same. It’s not easy allying with an enemy.”
Sophie’s mouth went dry. “We were only—”
“Spare me your explanations,” he interrupted. “I’m a Mercadir. I follow the orders of my king. And my king has ordered me to protect you. So I meant no threat”—his eyes flicked to Sandor, who’d drawn his sword—“I only thought we should acknowledge the challenge in our situation.” His eyes drifted back to Sophie’s. “We don’t have to be friends. In fact, it’s better if we aren’t. It will allow me to keep the objectivity your other guards clearly aren’t capable of.”
Flashback (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 7) Page 34