Councillor Bronte, her inflicting Mentor, kept assuring her that she’d get there with time and practice—but she could tell that he was a little surprised by her lack of control. And so was she. All of her other abilities worked so effortlessly, she didn’t understand why this one was such a struggle.
“Well, as long as you’re here, Sophie,” Grizel said as she sheathed her sword, “you should take a few turns. See if we can improve your aim.”
“She’s not here to train,” Fitz jumped in. “She’s here to talk me into going back to Everglen—and it’s not going to happen.”
Sophie fought off her smile as Fitz kicked the sand, stirring up a coppery cloud. He was so determined to be angry that it was honestly kind of adorable.
“Actually, throwing things sounds pretty good right now,” she told him, taking the star Grizel offered.
She swung her arm around a few times to loosen up, then kept her eye on the target as she let the weapon fly, and . . .
THHHHHHWACK!
“Your throw was a little soft,” Grizel informed her. “That’s why it sounded different. And obviously it was too low.”
“I was aiming for the leg,” Sophie insisted, deciding not to mention that she’d been aiming for the other leg.
Grizel handed her a new throwing star. “Okay, then try aiming for the forehead this time.”
Sophie stared at the dummy, telling herself it was just a faceless, weathered hunk of wood shaped like a body. But her queasy stomach didn’t get the message.
“I get it,” Grizel told her. “This isn’t your thing. But like I just reminded Fitz: If someone’s trying to kill you, an injury isn’t going to stop them.”
“I know.” But the thought of throwing a weapon into someone’s skull—someone’s brain . . .
She could imagine the sound it would make.
The way things would splatter.
“Your enemies aren’t going to show you any mercy,” Grizel warned. “They don’t deserve yours.”
“I know,” Sophie repeated.
But she couldn’t help worrying that this was exactly what the Neverseen wanted—why Vespera had spent years experimenting on humans before she ended up imprisoned, and why she’d abducted Sophie’s human parents and used them to lure Sophie to Nightfall for a brutal test. Vespera believed that if the elves didn’t learn to be ruthless, it was only a matter of time before their treaties collapsed and one of the more violent species overthrew them. And Keefe’s mom was just as bad. She’d exposed Ro to a fatal dose of soporidine right before she’d had Ruy use his ability as a Psionipath to breach the force field around Atlantis—all to teach Sophie and Keefe that they needed to learn to make hard choices.
And here Sophie was, deciding how violent she was willing to be.
“Battle skills are simply another tool,” Grizel reminded her. “Adding them to your arsenal doesn’t mean you have to use them. But if you need them, you’ll be glad you’re prepared.”
“I guess.” But Sophie’s arm still shook as she tried to line up a deadly aim.
“It helps me to picture the Neverseen’s faces,” Fitz told her. “That way I’m only thinking about hurting people who deserve it.”
“That helps me, too,” Sandor agreed. “I focus on the look in my enemies’ eyes to remind myself that they wouldn’t hesitate to end me.”
“You struggle with this?” Sophie had to ask.
Sandor was always so quick to draw his weapon, it seemed like he’d been born with a sword in his hand.
But he nodded. “Killing will always feel a little wrong—and in some ways, that’s a good thing. It helps us know where to draw the line. But it could also cost someone’s life, so I’ve trained my mind to focus on the reasons I’m fighting, rather than the fight itself.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Sophie mumbled, closing her eyes as she raised her arm.
She let her photographic memory paint every tiny detail of Vespera’s face, right down to the cold glint in her azure eyes and the sharp curve of her cruel mouth, reminding herself that Vespera wasn’t just a murderer—she was the elvin world’s darkest secret. Her crimes had been so indescribably awful that the Council was still covering them up, afraid the truth would fracture their world.
And she’d done some of those terrible things to Sophie’s human parents.
THHHHHHHHWACK!
She nailed the dummy smack in the middle of the forehead.
“Still too soft a throw,” Grizel told her. “But otherwise that was awesome.”
Fitz cracked a smile. “Should’ve known you’d make me look bad.”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sure it’s just beginner’s luck.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Grizel handed her another star, and this time Sophie pictured the jagged pieces of glass she’d seen jutting from Biana’s skin after they’d found her passed out in a pool of her own blood.
Biana had risked everything to save her friends. And Vespera had sounded almost gleeful when she’d told Sophie: I made sure their Vanisher will never be the same.
SHHHHHHICK!
The star stuck right beside the other, embedding deep into the splintered wood.
“Perfect!” Grizel shouted. “You’re a natural!”
Sophie smiled. But the words kept crashing around her mind, sharpening every time they hit. And when her next two throws struck the same mark—without her even trying—she realized why the idea felt so prickly.
There’d been a moment in Nightfall when Vespera had told Sophie’s friends: I suspect the moonlark could tear these halls down stone by stone if she truly unleashed herself.
She’d been taunting Sophie at the time—trying to make her lose her temper—and Sophie had refused to give in. But . . .
Could Grizel and Vespera both be right?
Sophie already knew she was part of a genetic experiment.
And she’d been raised in the much more violent world of humans.
And now she seemed to have a talent for lethal throws.
Could all of that be connected—and if it was, did that mean . . .
Had Project Moonlark made her a natural killer?
FOUR
YOU OKAY?” FITZ ASKED, WAVING a hand in front of Sophie’s eyes and snapping her back to the present.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, swiping away the strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. “Sorry. I was just . . . thinking.”
“About?” he pressed.
Sophie considered telling him the truth—it certainly wouldn’t have been the worst fear she’d ever admitted to him. And if Fitz hadn’t run away screaming when he found out her genetics had been modeled off alicorn DNA, this probably wouldn’t even faze him.
But . . . she was tired of making her friends give her pep talks—especially when she already knew what he would say: No matter what the Black Swan had in mind when they created her, she still had a choice in the matter.
She wasn’t a robot. Or a puppet.
She was a girl with strange abilities and a different way of looking at the world. What she decided to do with those things was up to her.
And she didn’t want to be a killer. So . . . she wouldn’t be.
Even if she was a natural.
Plus, maybe it really was just beginner’s luck.
Either way, she decided she was done practicing her aim.
“Sorry,” she repeated, “I realized I was showing off.”
“So?” Fitz asked as she handed him her last throwing star. “If my throws were as perfect as yours, you’d never hear the end of it.”
“They’re nearly perfect,” Sandor corrected. “She’s still holding the weapon by the wrong blade. You both are.”
Grizel threw her hands up. “Here we go.”
“Yes, here we go,” Sandor agreed. “If you want me to train them, I’m going to teach proper technique.”
Fitz squinted at the four twisted blades of the throwing star in his hand. “Aren’t they all the same?”
“YES!” Grizel told him, the same time Sandor said, “Absolutely not!”
“Our weapons are handmade,” Sandor argued. “Of course there are variations. One blade is always slightly lighter than the others, and one is always slightly heavier, and whichever you choose to throw with makes a difference, both in how the weapon spins, and how it slices through the air.”
“I know he sounds logical,” Grizel told them. “But he’s talking fractions of an ounce.”
“Fractions of an inch are the difference between a true aim and a miss, aren’t they?” Sandor countered.
He handed Sophie another throwing star and asked her to pick the lightest blade.
“Don’t feel bad,” Grizel told her when she guessed wrong. “No one can feel what he’s talking about.”
“Those with proper training can,” Sandor insisted. “When I was in charge of a squadron, I made them spend hours every day cleaning the blades to learn their feel. And my soldiers had the highest accuracy rate in the entire regiment.”
“That’s because you also made them practice for hours every day!” Grizel argued.
“You did the same with your squadron, and their performance was never as precise as mine,” Sandor reminded her. “So either your teaching skills are lacking, or I’m right about the weight of the blades. Actually, both seem likely.”
Grizel narrowed her eyes. “It’s a good thing I love you, or I’d be kicking you in the teeth right now. And that comment just cost you another night of dancing—don’t think I’ve forgotten about the one you still owe me!”
Sophie started to smile—but then Grizel’s words caught up with her. “Wait, did you say love?”
She’d known Sandor and Grizel were dating.
But love?
A huge, goofy grin spread across her lips as both Sandor and Grizel flushed bright pink. “Oh my goodness—that’s the sweetest thing EVER!”
Sandor groaned. “As if they don’t tease us about our relationship enough already!”
“I’m not going to tease you,” Sophie promised.
“But Keefe will,” Fitz jumped in. “And I’m sure he’s going to be here any second, so—”
“Actually, Keefe said he wasn’t getting anywhere near you and a bunch of weapons right now,” Sophie told him.
She’d been surprised, since Keefe usually insisted on tagging along for everything. But he’d told her that Fitz would be way more likely to listen if she went there on her own. And before she could argue—or figure out why Ro seemed so annoyed with him—Alden had agreed, and somehow that settled it.
“Huh,” Fitz said, flinging his throwing star—and hitting the dummy’s stomach. “He must be afraid I’ll ask if I can stay with him.”
“Is that your plan?” Sophie asked. “You want to live at the Shores of Solace? With Lord Cassius?”
“It’s better than living with Alvar.”
“Uh, I doubt that.”
Keefe’s father wasn’t physically abusive, but he was still a horrible person who’d crushed his son through years of criticism and belittling insults. The only reason Keefe was living with him again was because of Sophie—and she hated that. She’d tried to talk him out of it, but his father was withholding crucial information in the search for her human parents, and Keefe was the kind of guy who was always willing to take the hit if he thought it would help a friend, regardless of how much it was going to hurt him.
“Fine, maybe I’ll ask Tiergan if I can stay with him,” Fitz said, grabbing another star. “He’s already letting Tam and Linh live there.”
“True,” Sophie agreed, wishing the idea didn’t put a sour taste in her mouth.
Linh was her friend. She refused to be jealous of the way Fitz always seemed so wowed by her talent—especially since Linh deserved every bit of that praise. But Linh was so sweet and pretty and was always doing supercool water tricks. And if Fitz were living in the same place, and they were seeing each other every day . . .
“You’re really not going back to Everglen?” she asked, focusing on the larger issue at stake.
“Nope. And I know you think I’m throwing a tantrum—”
“I don’t think that.” She stepped in front of him so he’d have to look at her. “I get why you don’t want to live with him.”
“But?” he added, and the question had a definite snap. “Go on. We both know there’s more to that sentence.”
Sophie stared at the sky, watching the sun sink behind the flat-topped mountains like a pat of melting butter. “I know you hate what he did—”
“No, I hate him. And I hate my parents for falling for his ‘I’m a changed elf’ act.”
“I don’t think they’ve fallen for anything,” Sophie said gently.
“Yes they have. First thing my dad did after he found out Alvar was with the Neverseen was make sure Alvar couldn’t get inside Everglen again. He blocked him from the gates—and changed the locks on the door to his office, just in case—and he told Grizel to use lethal force against him if she needed to. And now he’s letting him move back in?”
“I think your parents just . . . want to believe. He’s their son, you know?”
“Yeah, well, so am I. And while they’re busy trying to get back their perfect happy family, they’re putting all of us in danger.”
“Then why not stay at Everglen to make sure nothing happens?” Sophie asked.
“Because he’s a Vanisher. He can sneak around as much as he wants.”
“Not with that gadget Dex made him—”
“Let’s not talk about what Dex did,” Fitz warned, stepping around her to fling his throwing star—and missing the target completely.
Grizel snorted. “You know what that means, Pretty Boy: fifty dead drops to work off your temper!”
Fitz scowled—and before Sophie could ask what a dead drop was, he’d flipped himself into a handstand and began lowering his arms until his elbows were bent at right angles, then straightening them again, like the world’s most impossible push-up.
“You’re making him do fifty of those?” Sophie asked as Fitz counted them off. She was pretty sure she’d have a heart attack after ten.
Okay, fine—after five.
Actually, she’d probably face-plant into the sand just trying to get into position.
Grizel grinned. “I usually make him do a hundred.”
She must not have been exaggerating, because Fitz made it through without collapsing—though his face was red and his clothes were so sweaty they’d suctioned onto his skin.
“Cooled off now?” Grizel asked as he flipped back to his feet. “Or do you want a few more?”
His answer was to whip off his soggy jerkin and throw it at her head—but Grizel was too fast, drawing her sword and shredding the fabric to bits.
She scooped up a ragged piece with the tip of her blade and held it under his nose. “Don’t make me tie you up and leave you in one of those caverns. You know I will.”
The threat triggered a flashback, and Sophie closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out her memories of black cloaked figures jumping out of the shadows, grabbing her and Dex, and shoving drugged cloths over their faces. The Neverseen had ambushed them in one of the rocky caves along the beach near her house before dragging them away to be interrogated. Her wrists still stung sometimes, remembering the searing pain from her burns.
“Alvar was there for that,” Fitz said, making her jump. “And no, I didn’t sneak past your mental blocking. I know you well enough to know what you’re thinking right now—or . . . I thought I did.”
Sophie fidgeted with the star she still hadn’t thrown. “You do know me, Fitz.”
“Then how can you be okay with this?” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and turned to Sandor. “And how can you be okay with Alvar having another chance to come after Sophie?”
“My calm doesn’t mean I agree with the Council’s decision,” Sandor corrected. “It means I have confidence in my ability to protect my charge.
”
“Really? Because you couldn’t stop him before,” Fitz argued. “None of us could.”
“Maybe not,” Sophie jumped in. “But now we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Do we? You heard Fallon today. He asked all kinds of stuff that none of us had thought of.”
“So you think he’s right about Everglen?” Sophie asked. “You think there’s something important hidden at the property?”
“I have no idea,” Fitz admitted. “It’s hard to know what to think of anything Fallon says.”
“Yeah, he’s . . . strange.”
Fitz snorted. “That’s putting it nicely.”
He reached up and wiped a stream of sweat trickling down the side of his face with the sleeve of his undershirt. “But he was right that people usually hold on to their properties. I never thought about how weird it is that Luzia gave Everglen to my dad.”
“Do you know how long ago that happened?” Sophie asked.
“It’s been a few decades. I think she offered it to him when he became an Emissary. And she’s the one who told my dad to add the gates. She said that if he was working for the Council, he should protect his privacy. I think she might’ve even made the gates. I know a Flasher did something to the metal to make it absorb light, so no one can light leap in.”
Sophie had always wondered exactly what the massive glowing fence that surrounded the property was meant to keep out—especially since the elves claimed the Lost Cities were such a safe place.
“Do you really think she picked Everglen because of the view?” she asked.
Fitz shook his head. “There are tons of lakes that are way prettier than ours.”
Sophie had thought the same thing. Not that Everglen wasn’t gorgeous—it was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever been. But that was mostly because the house was a shimmering crystal palace with jeweled mosaics and twinkling chandeliers and fountains everywhere. The lake . . . was just a lake.
And Everglen was huge. Way bigger than Havenfield, which was saying a lot, since Havenfield’s grounds were used for an animal preserve. Sophie had spent hours running around the property when she’d played base quest with Fitz, Biana, and Keefe, and she still hadn’t explored the whole place.
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