Lodestar

by Shannon Messenger

  SIXTY-ONE

  KEEFE WASN’T GOING to listen.

  Sophie could tell.

  He thought she didn’t have a plan, and that everything she’d said was just an angry rant.

  And a small part of her worried that he was right.

  The other part knew they had to find a way to fight harder, before she lost anyone else she cared about.

  But that included Keefe.

  So if he wasn’t ready to leave on his own, they’d have to plan a rescue—for real. No more waiting for inspiration and hoping a plan would come together. They needed to sit down and figure it out and make it happen, just like when they’d snuck into Ravagog.

  Between their abilities and their skills and the information they’d gathered, there had to be a way to—

  A knock at Sandor’s front door interrupted her scheming.

  Sophie crept to her doorway, relieved when she recognized Grizel’s voice. It sounded like Grizel had brought their clothes from the Lost Cities, and Sophie made her way down the hall to pick up her satchel.

  But when she turned the corner, she caught a quick glimpse of Grizel clinging to Sandor and sobbing against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms gently around her.

  Sophie ducked back, not wanting to interrupt such a private moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Grizel whispered, her voice thick. “When the news first came through, all anyone could tell me was that a soldier was down at Havenfield. And I thought . . .”

  “I don’t deserve your worry.” Sandor’s voice was choked with fury. “I wasn’t there when Brielle and Cadoc needed me. I was pacing in front of Lumenaria like a fool.”

  “Staying with your charge doesn’t make you foolish,” Grizel told him. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Which proves we’re both blindly stubborn beyond all reason, not that it was the right decision.”

  Grizel laughed softly. “The stubborn I’ll agree to. But the blind part might fall squarely on you.”

  “I’m . . . not as blind as you think.”

  The shift in his tone made Sophie wonder if she should stop listening and give them some privacy. But she couldn’t seem to make her legs carry her away.

  “I couldn’t stop you from being assigned to Fitz,” Sandor whispered. “But have you ever wondered why I assigned Brielle to watch over Grady?”

  “I . . . figured it was because she was an incredible soldier,” Grizel said carefully.

  “She was. But we both know that charge should’ve gone to you. Given the rarity of Grady’s talent, he needed our strongest warrior. I should’ve assigned you to protect him and moved Brielle to Everglen. But”—he cleared the catch from his throat—“I worried what would happen if we lived in such close quarters.”

  “Afraid I’d play too many games?”

  “Afraid you’d win.”

  The confession was so soft, Sophie almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “Is that really so frightening?” Grizel whispered.

  Sandor cleared his throat again, drawing out the moment. “I chose the life of a soldier. And soldiers are strongest when they have nothing distracting them—nothing slowing their hand or forcing caution when the battle calls for risk.”

  “See, and I always thought the strongest soldiers were those with something worth fighting for. Something to come home to. Something they can’t bear to lose that makes them refuse to surrender.”

  “I don’t know,” Sandor whispered. “But I can’t stop imagining what I’d do if it were you in that coffin. How lost I’d feel.”

  The silence that followed was so charged, it had Sophie mentally chanting, Kiss, kiss, kiss! But real life never seemed to be as romantic as it was in human movies, and the moment slipped away.

  “Well,” Grizel said. “I suppose I should be getting back to Everglen. Queen Hylda gave me a long list of preparations to make for tomorrow.”

  The door had started to creak closed when Sandor said, “I haven’t forgotten that I owe you a dance.”

  “Neither have I,” Grizel whispered. “But I won’t force you.”

  “You aren’t,” Sandor breathed. “I can’t promise much. But I might be able to handle . . . slow.”

  “Slow,” Grizel repeated, and the hope in her voice made Sophie steal a peek around the corner. She watched Grizel take Sandor’s hands and whisper, “I’d be good with slow.”

  Sandor reached up to brush Grizel’s cheek, and she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Endless seconds slipped by, neither of them seeming to mind. And when she pulled away, a shy smile curled her lips.

  “Be safe,” Sandor whispered.

  “Always,” she told him.

  She was halfway through the doorway when she turned back with a teasing wink. “This won’t get you out of wearing those silver pants.”

  Sandor sighed. “I suppose that’s the least of my worries.”

  She left without another word, and Sandor waited for the lock to click before he turned to Sophie and said, “I knew you were listening.”

  “I figured,” Sophie told him, too giddy to feel guilty. “And just so you know, I think you made the right decision. You guys are so—”

  “Keep in mind that any comments you make about my love life give me permission to talk to you about boys,” Sandor interrupted. “I’d also appreciate your discretion. Now is not the time for such things to become known.”

  “Done,” Sophie said, dropping the conversation. “I just want to see you happy. Especially after all the sacrifices you make for me. I’m sorry again for inflicting on you. Next time I’ll keep a tighter hold until I’m sure I’m fighting a threat.”

  Sandor shook his head as he brought over her purple backpack. “How about instead we focus on making sure there isn’t a next time?”

  SOPHIE HAD PLANNED TO CRY at Brielle’s funeral—or presentation—or whatever the goblins called it. She’d even stuffed several handkerchiefs into the pockets of her long golden gown. But sadness wasn’t the theme of the ceremony. It was about bestowing honor and celebrating Brielle’s accomplishments.

  The Hall of Heroes itself was a massive acropolis-style structure lined with twisted golden columns and filled with golden statues that reminded Sophie of the terra-cotta warriors she’d seen in human encyclopedias—row upon row of gleaming goblins in heroic battle poses.

  It seemed like a beautiful tribute, until they unveiled Brielle’s statue and Sophie realized the figure was a little too lifelike—every detail perfect, down to the very last curl.

  “Is that her?” she whispered, fighting off a gag when Sandor nodded. Grady and Edaline didn’t look as horrified—but they’d definitely gone pale.

  “Her body’s been aurified,” Sandor explained. “It’s a process the elves helped us perfect. It transmutes every cell to gold, leaving no flesh or blood behind. Only a powerful likeness to remember our soldiers by.” He frowned when he noticed Sophie was cringing. “Honestly, how is it that different from wrapping your DNA around a seed and letting the tree grow with some of your characteristics?”

  When he put it like that, it didn’t sound as creepy. And it wasn’t Sophie’s place to judge another species’ culture anyway.

  But she still wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in the Hall of Heroes at night—and she was pretty sure she was going to have a more than a few golden mummy nightmares.

  She fought hard not to let any of her discomfort show on her face, since the queen had given their group seats on an elevated platform, in plain view of the entire audience.

  “It was wise for you to attend,” Sandor told them when everyone stood to leave. “I can tell it meant a lot to my people to see that the elves care about the soldiers who protect them.”

  “It did indeed,” a deep, throaty voice said behind them, and Sandor immediately dropped to one knee.

  “Your Highness,” he mumbled. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s because I snuck up on you,” Queen
Hylda said, tossing her intricately plaited hair. She smoothed the golden lapels of her military-style jacket as her gray eyes focused on Sophie, Grady, and Edaline. “Please, no need for such formalities,” she told them as they hurried to bow as well. “You are not my subjects.”

  “We still owe you our respect,” Grady said as he straightened. “You and your warriors have been invaluable allies.”

  “Well, the elves’ knowledge and innovation have been equally precious for our world,” Queen Hylda said. “I consider the whole arrangement to be a crucial partnership. Which is why I was hoping I might borrow young Miss Foster for a few minutes. The Council has informed me that she’ll be attending the Peace Summit. And if that’s the case, I have a favor to ask.”

  SIXTY-TWO

  YOU HAD A private audience with the goblin queen?” Biana asked, sharing a look with Dex that seemed to say, Why are we even surprised anymore?

  “We didn’t talk for long,” Sophie mumbled, checking to make sure no one around them was eavesdropping. “Queen Hylda just wanted to ask me for a favor.”

  Biana grinned. “Of course she did.”

  Despite the attack on Sophie’s parents—which the Council had revealed to the public to honor Brielle’s sacrifice—Mr. Forkle had managed to convince Sandor to bring Sophie to her weekly skill lesson at Foxfire. The Coaches were ramping up the training now that people finally seemed scared enough to commit to it. And it made a difference—by the end of the lesson, almost half of Sophie’s Hemisphere had achieved the day’s skill and cracked small stress fissures in their stones.

  Sophie had shattered hers completely.

  The process had left her drained—but it was a good kind of exhaustion. Far better than the five restless days she’d spent pacing around Sandor’s house, brainstorming elaborate Rescue Keefe plans and then rejecting them for having too many Things That Would Get Everyone Killed. And her check-ins with Keefe now followed a repetitive pattern of her begging him to leave the Neverseen and him promising, “Soon.”

  Hopefully, if her group of friends worked together, they’d be able to come up with something that had a chance of success. But getting them all in the same place was proving challenging—especially Tam and Linh. The twins had even skipped the skill lesson that day. Tam was using every spare second to search the Silver Tower, desperate to find whatever last piece they needed to make everything they’d learned about the symbol come together. And Linh had been nervous to leave Wylie alone.

  Mr. Forkle had felt obligated to tell Wylie what they’d learned from Gethen about his mother’s death and starstones—though he left out any mention of Lady Gisela, deciding to wait until they had a better idea of precisely how she’d been involved. But hearing that his mom had likely helped the Neverseen had knocked Wylie to a new low. Granite had even brought Maruca and her mom back to see him, and all Wylie said during the visit was, “Is anyone who they say they are?”

  “What kind of favor are you supposed to do for a goblin queen?” Fitz asked, dragging Sophie out of her dreary thoughts.

  She waited for a group of nearby Right Hemispheres to wander away before she whispered, “She wants my support during the summit. She gave me a list of all the things she wants added to the new treaty, and asked me to decide which ones I’ll vote in favor of.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?” Biana asked. “Colluding before the summit?”

  “Why would it be?” Fitz asked. “It’s not a test.”

  “Your brother is correct,” Sandor told her. “The summit is a negotiation. And the best negotiators do their homework ahead of time. I’m sure everyone is determining their allies.”

  “Anyone else stunned the ogres are still going through with the summit?” Dex asked. “I mean . . . they have to know everyone is going to side against them.”

  “King Dimitar has no choice,” Grizel said, and Sophie noticed she was standing a little closer to Sandor than she truly needed to. “He’s claiming innocence in the attack, insisting it was done by a band of rebels. He even sent Queen Hylda a letter offering his condolences. But he knows no one will believe him if he’s not also working closely with the Council toward ‘achieving a peaceful resolution.’ ”

  She put the last words in air quotes, almost like she no longer believed they were a possibility. But Sophie was clinging hard to the last shreds of her hope.

  Sure, part of her wanted to march into Ravagog and stomp the ogres into the ground for what they’d done to her family. But another part kept thinking about the eerie golden bodies in the Hall of Heroes.

  How many more goblins would have to be aurified if the elves and ogres went to war?

  How many new trees would be added to the Wanderling Woods?

  If there was any chance they could solve this without further violence, they had to try for it.

  “So what kinds of things are on Queen Hylda’s list?” Dex asked.

  “Exactly what you’d expect,” Sophie whispered. “She wants the ogres to turn over all their weapons and agree to stop any sort of offensive—or defensive—training, wants them to surrender the borderlands they share with the goblins, and wants King Dimitar to turn over the ogre who killed Brielle. There were a bunch of things that had to do with the previous treaty too. But I didn’t understand a lot of that, so I gave copies to Mr. Forkle and Oralie to see if they can help me.”

  “Are you going to support her list?” Biana asked.

  Sophie shrugged.

  She understood why Queen Hylda was drawing such a hard line. But she kept thinking about what Lady Cadence had tried to tell her, about how the new treaty would destroy fundamental aspects of the ogres’ culture. She had zero sympathy for King Dimitar, but she knew thousands and thousands of innocent ogres would be affected—including the children she’d seen running around during her time in Ravagog.

  “Let’s just say I’m glad I still have some time to decide,” she mumbled, wishing it were longer. The Council was sticking with their scheduled date, so she only had about a week and a half left. “I swear, this whole thing is way more involved than I realized. Did you guys know that summits last multiple days? I got this, like, packet saying Edaline and I will have our own room in the castle, and luggage isn’t allowed, so we both had to send the Council our measurements and they’ll provide several changes of clothes.”

  “Ohhhh,” Biana breathed. “I bet they’ll make you the most gorgeous dresses! Will you get to keep them?”

  “If I do, they’re yours,” Sophie promised.

  “And here I thought you guys would be discussing important stuff,” Marella said, rolling her bright blue eyes as she shoved her petite frame into the center of their group. “But apparently we’re standing in a suspicious-looking circle surrounded by goblins so we can discuss clothes?”

  “Does this mean you’re talking to us again?” Biana asked.

  “It means I’m talking to you today,” Marella corrected. “And only because I realized you guys were never going to leave me alone until you got what you wanted. So”—she checked over her shoulder and lowered her voice—“since my mom was actually having a pretty good day yesterday, I thought, Fine, I’ll ask her about Cyrah and prove she doesn’t know anything. Only . . .” Her eyes dropped to her feet, kicking at her scuffed shoes. “I guess she does remember something.”

  “And that something is?” Dex prompted.

  Marella twisted one of her braids around her finger. “I’ll tell you what I know if you do something for me.”

  “You know that’s blackmail, right?” Fitz asked. “Or maybe it’s extortion? Either way, it’s super shady.”

  Marella shrugged, unconcerned.

  “Why don’t we find out what she wants before we get mad?” Biana suggested.

  “Clearly you’re the smart Vacker,” Marella said. “And what I want shouldn’t be a big deal. I just want to meet with this mysterious Mr. Forkle guy you’re always talking about.”

  “Why?” Sophie asked.

  “That’
s between him and me.”

  “Not if you want me to set up a meeting,” Sophie argued. “He’ll never agree without knowing the reason.”

  Marella sighed, twisting her braid tighter. “He’s the one who triggered all of your abilities, right?”

  “Most of them,” Sophie corrected—and she had a sinking suspicion she knew where Marella was going with this.

  Marella confirmed it a second later when she crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Then I want him to trigger mine.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  THIS IS NOT how this process works,” Mr. Forkle told Marella as he closed the door to Alden’s circular office. He’d chosen Everglen as a meeting point, since Havenfield felt too vulnerable, and the Vackers had been generous enough to offer their home.

  He’d also made Marella wait a day for the meeting, since he’d had a number of appointments forcing him to stay in Magnate Leto mode the day before. And the delay seemed to have made Marella fidgety.

  Or maybe it was the hard look in Mr. Forkle’s eyes as he told her, “And I don’t simply mean that triggering abilities this way is unnatural. Important information about a possible murder should never be a bargaining chip.”

  “I know,” Marella mumbled, sinking into one of the plush armchairs that faced the room’s floor-to-ceiling aquarium. Dex, Fitz, Biana, and Sophie leaned against the windowed wall behind her, while Sandor, Woltzer, Grizel, and Lovise waited outside to give them more space. “But I’ve tried everything else,” she whispered. “And I knew you’d triggered Sophie’s abilities—”

  “Miss Foster is a very special case,” Mr. Forkle interrupted.

  “Yeah, I’m aware. But I figured . . . if it doesn’t work, at least I’ll know I did everything I possibly could. And here, you can see I’m good for the information part.” She pulled a thick, sealed envelope from the pocket of her wrinkled cape and set it on the edge of Alden’s massive desk. “The secret my mom gave me is in there. If you want to open it first, that’s cool.”