Because of her.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Wylie asked when she got closer. “You’re the one.”
Sophie forced herself to nod.
Wylie nodded too.
She waited for him to yell, scream, fling random things, something—anything. Instead he stared at her long enough to make her squirm and then whispered, “What are you waiting for?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to make it right. He said you would make it right.”
“Who did? Your dad?”
“Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Wylie’s hands clenched into fists and Sandor was instantly at Sophie’s side.
Wylie backed away. “He told me before it happened—if it ever happened—that I wouldn’t have to worry. That you would make it right. So what are you waiting for?”
“I . . . don’t understand.”
Did he think she could fix his father? She wasn’t even sure if she could fix Alden—and the only reason she still had hope was because his mind was shattered by guilt, not a memory break.
She’d seen Prentice’s mind. A tiny part of him was still there—maybe. But the rest of him had clearly slipped into madness. How was she supposed to fix that?
Unless that’s what he’d been trying to tell her. The clue from the poem—could he have been telling her how to fix him?
But how could following a bird fix a broken mind?
“You were supposed to make it right,” Wylie repeated.
She didn’t know if that was true, but she supposed it didn’t matter because there was one truth that overpowered it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how.”
Wylie sighed. A thick sort of sigh that was part snort and part sneer and heavy on the disgust. Then he turned and stalked away without another word.
Sandor placed a meaty hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “Do not let what the troubled boy says affect you.”
She wanted to agree, but . . .
What if that was why the Black Swan sent her to Exile? Not for Fintan, like Alden thought. For Prentice.
But not to probe his mind.
To fix him.
It would explain why Prentice submitted to the break. Why he was willing to sacrifice himself and leave his family and give up everything.
What if he thought he would get it all back—that she would “make it right”—and he’d been waiting all this time for her to come and fix what happened?
Which led to the bigger, scarier question.
If that had been the Black Swan’s plan, why didn’t it work when she probed Prentice’s mind?
“What if I really am malfunctioning?” Sophie whispered.
She’d hoped saying it out loud would make it seem wrong and impossible and shake the possibility away.
Instead it felt . . . right.
“Miss Foster?” Sandor asked as a tear streaked down her cheek. “Do you need me to find Elwin?”
She shook her head. This was something Elwin couldn’t help with.
If Wylie was right, the problem went deeper than her skin or her cells.
It was in her genes.
FIFTY-ONE
YOU’VE BEEN STARING AT YOUR reflection so long I’ve counted all of your eyelashes,” Vertina announced, making Sophie blink. “Did you know you have one hundred and twenty-seven on your left eye, and only one hundred and nineteen on your right?”
“No,” Sophie mumbled, tugging out a loose one from the left side.
“I didn’t say you had to even it out!”
Sophie flicked the eyelash away and went back to searching for some sign that Wylie was wrong—some proof that she was perfectly healthy and normal and all of her talents were working the exact way they should be.
But all she could see were her eyes.
Freaky, brown eyes—eyes that made her stand out from everyone else. The Black Swan couldn’t have given her those intentionally, could they? Why would they do that? And what about her allergy? Surely they wouldn’t have chosen for her to have that. And if those things weren’t planned, what other fun surprises did her genetic manipulation have?
She stared at the vial of Fade Fuel hanging around her neck as she replayed Wylie’s words for what felt like the ten-zillionth time. They still made her queasy and shaky—but they held a tiny hint of hope, too. If he was right—and if she was malfunctioning—then it meant there definitely was a way to fix Alden. And Prentice. And who knew who else.
She just had to figure out how to fix herself first.
But how? It was too late to change her genetic code. And she didn’t even know where the problem began, or how deep it went.
Or maybe she did . . .
She moved toward her wall of windows and stared directly at the sun.
The light swelled in her mind, making her brain throb and the room tilt sideways and somehow she was on the floor, even though she didn’t remember falling.
She blinked and rubbed her temples, taking deep breaths until the pain faded and she could sit up again.
Maybe Bronte and Wylie were right.
Maybe the light wasn’t bothering her because she almost faded away.
Maybe she’d almost faded away because her newly “enhanced” concentration didn’t work right. That would explain why she kept fading—even with two nexuses.
What if her brain was doing something fundamentally wrong?
She had no idea if that was something Elwin could fix, but he’d need to know what her brain was doing in order to try. And clearly it wasn’t something he could see with his special glasses.
Which meant she’d have to find a safe way to test herself for symptoms. Something that didn’t involve leaping or fading or anything that could land her in the Healing Center for way longer than she could afford to be—or worse.
She ran through all of her recent “incidents,” trying to find a pattern, and the more she thought about it, the more one stood out. The mirror in the Hall of Illumination, and the strange heat that had bloomed inside her mind. All the other incidents had involved headaches. But that one had felt like a fire in her brain.
Maybe if she figured out what that mirror did, she would be able to figure out what was wrong with her.
“DID YOU HEAR THE NEWS?” Dex mumbled as Sophie licked open her locker, which tasted like lushberries.
“Which news?” She’d tuned out most of Dame Alina’s heartbroken Ode to Alden speech during orientation—though she’d caught the part where Dame Alina announced that the Council had moved the Celestial Festival to outside the Sanctuary, and that there would be a special finale involving the prized alicorn. Like she needed more pressure.
“Fitz and Biana are back at school today.”
The two bites she’d taken of her breakfast turned into a rock in her stomach. “Oh.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is. It’s just also going to be weird, I guess, because I . . . don’t think we’re friends anymore.”
She’d expected him to whoop and celebrate that he was finally free of the Vackers. Instead Dex sighed and said, “I’m sure they’ll come around. I mean . . . I’m still not in the Wonderboy fan club. But—I bet he’s a mess right now. The triplets said my family was pretty much chaos after you and I were taken.”
Sophie bit her lip. “I’m so sorry they had to—”
“Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is.”
She wished she could believe him, but if Wylie was right . . .
She’d know in a few hours. She had one boring session to get through first.
She reached for her history book, but as she pulled it off the shelf a small roll of paper dropped to her feet.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she bent to retrieve the scroll, skipping several beats when she saw the black seal.
The sign of the swan.
“Is that what I think it is?” Dex whispered as she un
rolled it with shaky hands.
The message was only two words written in bold black ink.
Patience
Trust
But when she flipped it over, she found a tiny scrap of hot pink paper attached next to another message.
Stop searching for things you are not ready to understand
Wait for us to give your next command
She read the note again—and then again—getting angrier each time.
Were they warning her?
The scrap of pink paper had a tiny unicorn on it, and she recognized the design from her old journal. Which meant the Black Swan still had the pages they’d taken—and instead of giving them back, they’d sent her a warning telling her to back off and wait for them.
Who did they think she was?
Their little puppet.
She crumpled the note, wishing she could fling it across the room but too afraid there might be some crucial clue she was missing.
“Is it bad?” Dex asked quietly.
Oh, it was bad—but not the way he was thinking.
The Black Swan thought they could control her, and maybe that’s what she’d let them do before.
Not anymore.
If they didn’t want her getting that memory back, then she’d work even harder to make sure she did. She was done with their games and their riddles and their clues. She was going to figure out the truth about them on her own, and there was nothing they could do to stop her.
“YOU’RE HERE EARLY,” MASTER LETO said as he opened the door to admit her to the Silver Tower.
“Yeah.” Sophie could tell he was waiting for an explanation, so she squeezed under his arm before he could close her out.
He muttered something under his breath as he crossed to the wall with the cloak panel and handed her a silver cape. Sophie clasped it over her uniform, glad to see it had been tailored to her height.
Master Leto opened the doorway to the tower, and Sophie felt her mouth go dry when she saw how full the great room was. Prodigies in gleaming silver cloaks were clustered around every table, though their conversations were hushed whispers, and no one seemed close to smiling. Sophie wasn’t sure if that’s how it always was or if that was because of Alden, but she didn’t stick around to find out. She tried to keep her head down as she slipped through the crowd, but she still caught a quick glimpse of Wylie as she started up the stairs. He sat alone in the corner, and when their eyes met, he grabbed his things and stalked away.
Part of her wanted to run after him and ask more questions—see if his dad had told him anything else that might help her figure out what was wrong. The other part didn’t have time for another emotional scene. And there were far too many curious prodigies in the room, so she made her way silently up, not realizing Master Leto was following her until she made the first curve in the staircase.
“Oh, I know where I’m going,” she told him.
“I have no doubt you do.” He said nothing else, but continued to shadow her.
Sophie did her best to ignore him as she counted the floors, turning off at number seven.
“The Hall of Illumination?” Master Leto asked. “You realize the mirror assignment doesn’t apply to you.”
“I’m just curious.” She turned her back on him, hoping he’d take the hint.
He didn’t.
Which left her no choice but to stare at the first mirror in front of her, waiting for him to get bored and leave her alone. The reflection was sharp everywhere except her face, where it turned slightly fuzzy.
“Any guesses?” Master Leto asked.
He sounded genuinely curious, so she decided to answer. “The face is blurred, so maybe, ‘what you look like doesn’t matter’?”
He stepped closer to the mirror. “Your face is blurred?”
“Yeah.” She squinted to double-check. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared so intently at her reflection it made her want to squirm.
She turned away, realizing she was wasting valuable time. Only one mirror mattered. She wasn’t exactly sure which one it was, but she knew the general area, and as she stepped closer the blinding light reflected in her eyes.
The pull was so much stronger this time—like the mirror had sprouted hundreds of tiny hands, tugging and dragging and drawing her closer. She tried to back away, but the hands grew claws, digging deep into her skin with tiny stabs of heat that sank deep beneath the surface. The pain swelled with each spark until she couldn’t think beyond it—couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except stand there and let the inferno consume her.
She heard a deep voice say something, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to make out the words. It was just white noise, mixed with searing heat. And the light—
“Sophie!” the deep voice shouted as two strong hands yanked her backward. She gasped when the tiny needles ripped away, letting cold and darkness rush into the empty places left behind.
Her knees gave way and her eyes focused, and she stared into the face of Master Leto, who strained to keep her upright. “What’s happening?” he asked, shaking her as she felt her head start to cloud over. “What are you feeling?”
Her voice didn’t want to work, but somehow she managed to croak, “The light.” Then everything went dark.
THE BLACKNESS TURNED GREEN. THEN blue. Then purple. Then red.
Sophie’s eyes snapped open and she jerked upright, bursting the spheres of color that Elwin had formed around her. She waved her arms, trying to fan away the last wisps of glow as Elwin struggled to restrain her. “No more light.”
“Easy, Sophie. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Sophie shook her head, feeling her tears mix with the sticky sweat on her face as his words settled in. She couldn’t believe them anymore.
She leaned back, curling her knees into her chest and let the huge, ugly, choking sobs that she’d been fighting so long finally break free. She kept waiting for Elwin to try and pour a sedative down her throat, but he just sat beside her, rubbing her back, and with each stroke of his hand, she felt her breathing slow until the fit had passed and the sobs had turned to hiccups.
“You should drink one of these,” Elwin said, handing her a bottle of Youth. He helped her sit up enough to swallow a few sips of the sweet water, but her stomach was too knotted to fit anything more.
He raised his arm, his fingers poised to snap, but she grabbed his wrist. “No more light.”
“What do you mean by light?” a different voice asked, and it took a second for Sophie to recognize that it was Master Leto. She followed the sound to where he stood in the shadowy corner, watching her through narrowed eyes.
“He carried you here after you blacked out,” Elwin explained.
“I was perfectly capable of carrying her myself,” Sandor snapped from somewhere behind her.
“When a prodigy collapses in my tower, I take it upon myself to find out what’s going on. You said something about light, Sophie?”
Sophie nodded—though the shudder that rocked her body probably made it hard to tell. “I keep trying to tell myself it’s my body needing more time to heal from when I faded. But it’s bigger than that.”
She glanced at Master Leto, wishing he would leave but knowing that he wouldn’t. She supposed it didn’t matter. If she was right, then she’d probably be removed from her elite sessions. Maybe she’d even be sent to Exillium. Foxfire was no place for a “malfunctioning experiment.”
She closed her eyes and forced the rest of the confession out before she changed her mind: all the incidents. Bronte’s and Wylie’s theories. How the mirror seemed to amplify everything.
Elwin turned to Master Leto. “Which mirror?”
“The Lodestar.”
The skin on Elwin’s forehead creased.
“What’s the Lodestar?” Sophie asked.
“A mirror that reflects pure light.” Master Leto stepped closer, squinting at her.
“But I’ve checked
her—many times,” Elwin argued. “I would’ve seen if there was something wrong.”
“Only if the problem is physical,” Master Leto corrected, like he was suddenly the expert on everything. “If it’s mental—”
“It’s not that either,” Sophie interrupted. “There’s something in my genes or my programming or whatever. Something the Black Swan messed up.”
Elwin shook his head. “I don’t think you realize how carefully I’ve checked you. When you were fading, I personally inspected every single cell to make sure I didn’t miss something. I’m happy to check again if it would make you feel better.” He snapped his fingers and a purple orb spread around her torso.
She waited for the pain, but nothing happened.
Elwin slipped on his glasses. “See?”
“Try flashing the light right into her eyes,” Master Leto suggested.
“Why are you still here?” Sophie shouted. “Don’t you need to get back to the tower and do—whatever it is Beacons do.”
His lips twitched—almost like he wanted to smile. “It’s just a suggestion. That’s how the mirror works.”
She glared at him as Elwin held his fist in front of her face—but then he snapped his fingers and she couldn’t think anymore because the light was pulling and twisting and wriggling inside her head. She swatted the glowing orb away, but even when it was gone the ringing in her ears wouldn’t fade.
“What did you feel?” Master Leto asked.
“It felt like it was boring into my brain.”
“I don’t understand,” Elwin whispered.
“It really is the light,” Master Leto said, staring at Sophie so intently it felt like his eyes were peering inside her head.
She looked away as Elwin turned to pace, muttering under his breath things Sophie mostly couldn’t hear, though she picked up tiny snippets like “physiologically impossible” and “getting worse” and “Lodestar.” Each word made the question she was too afraid to ask swell on her tongue until it’d grown so big she couldn’t keep it in anymore.
Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities) Page 31