Alden was right behind him, along with . . .
“Grady.” She could barely sneak the word past all the emotions closing off her throat as her adoptive father closed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug.
“Hey, kiddo,” he whispered, his voice as thick and crackly as hers. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she promised. “You know . . . all things considered.”
He kissed her cheek and leaned back to study her, and her heart cracked a little when she saw the shadows around his blue eyes. Worry lines creased his handsome features, and his blond hair looked like he’d spent hours tearing his hands through it.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she whispered.
He shook his head and kissed her cheek again. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“We’re the ones who should be apologizing,” Alden added as he crossed to the other side of the room, and Sophie had to work up the courage to let her gaze follow.
Until that moment, she hadn’t actually seen Fitz’s injuries. But now . . .
Well.
At least he looked peaceful.
His eyes were closed. Features relaxed. But his skin looked clammy and pale. And his whole torso was wrapped in thick silver bandages. His arms were peppered with dark purple bruises. And his left leg was propped up on a mountain of pillows and cocooned in more silver bandages from the middle of his thigh to the tips of his toes.
“I never should’ve let you go after him alone, Sophie,” Alden murmured, brushing the hair off Fitz’s forehead.
“She wasn’t alone,” Sandor growled from the doorway.
He stomped into the room, and Sophie couldn’t help wincing when she saw the dried blood still crusting his lips and cheeks. His usually flat nose had swollen into a mound that reminded her of cauliflower, and his chest and arms were scratched and bruised. But it was the sorrow in his eyes that cracked her chest wide open.
“This wasn’t your fault—”
“Yes, it was, Miss Foster. You’re my charge. My responsibility—”
“But I’m the one who knocked you out with my inflicting,” she argued. “I didn’t even think to use the throwing star I was holding—”
“It never should’ve fallen on you to protect us! I let them get close enough to obscure our sight with their shadows. I failed to detect their presence.”
“Grizel didn’t sense them either,” Grady reminded him gently. “And despite what Ro kept claiming, there’s no guarantee that she could’ve scented them any earlier.”
“She might have,” Sandor mumbled.
The fact that he would acknowledge even the slightest possibility that an ogre could do anything superior to him worried Sophie way more than the brownish red crusting his skin.
She wondered if Magnate Leto was feeling the same way, because he removed a handkerchief from his cape pocket and grabbed an elixir from one of the shelves, soaking the cloth in the green liquid before he handed it to Sandor.
“I realize there’s nothing I can say to convince you not to hold yourself accountable,” he said quietly. “And in many ways, that dedication is what makes you an excellent bodyguard. But if you let them get in your head, you’re helping them accomplish what they intended today. The Neverseen want us scrambling and afraid, doubting ourselves and changing all of our protocols—”
“We should be changing our protocols!” Sandor growled. “We should be changing everything!”
“I’m not saying adjustments won’t need to be made,” Magnate Leto clarified. “But don’t let that make you forget that today was a victory. Not a perfect one, no. But in the end, the Neverseen still fled empty-handed, and everyone they attacked will make a full recovery.”
“And you’re the reason they fled,” Sophie reminded Sandor. “They saw you charging for them and knew they’d be dead if Ruy couldn’t shield them.”
Sandor squeezed the cloth so hard, green drops splattered his feet. “Letting them get away only means I’ve given them a chance to come after you again!”
“But you’ll be better prepared when they do,” Magnate Leto assured him. “We all will.”
Sandor shook his head, and his gray eyes were brimming with tears as he made his way to Sophie’s side and studied her bandages. “I’m sorry I failed you, Miss Foster.”
“You didn’t—”
“Yes, I did. But”—he took a long, heaving breath—“it’s never going to happen again.”
“It won’t,” Magnate Leto agreed. “We’re going to learn from this attack and be ready for whatever the Neverseen might be planning next.”
“I’m sure you will,” Sandor told him, his voice squeakier than ever. “But . . . that’s not what I meant.”
The tears in his eyes finally spilled over, carving trails through the dried blood as he turned back to Sophie. “I meant that you need a bodyguard who’s capable of protecting you. So I’m going to ask Queen Hylda to reassign me.”
EIGHT
NO!” SOPHIE LUNGED TO GRAB Sandor’s arm with her unbandaged hand, ignoring the pain that tore through her wounded shoulder in the process. “I don’t want another bodyguard. I want you.”
Her fingers only wrapped about a quarter of the way around his massive forearm, so he could’ve easily pulled away. But thankfully, he stayed.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said quietly, staring at where her fingers rested on his skin. “But ‘want’ should never be a factor in these kinds of matters. What you need is someone who hasn’t failed you—time and again.”
“No, what I need is someone I trust,” Sophie argued.
His gaze shifted to her cast, and he pulled his arm free of her grasp. “Your trust is misplaced.”
“You don’t get to decide that! I do. And I know you did everything you could possibly do to protect me. Everything.”
“Exactly,” he said, finally using the handkerchief to clean the blood off his face—scrubbing so hard it looked painful. “My methods failed. I was useless to you, and Fitz and . . . everyone else.”
The tiny hesitation made her wonder if he’d been about to say “Grizel.” And if he had been, maybe that’s what this was really about.
Maybe watching the female he loved get brutally attacked was enough to make him want a safer assignment.
“If guarding me is too dangerous,” she said, “I get it. I want you and Grizel to be happy.”
“Grizel has nothing to do with this,” Sandor insisted. “As far I know, she has no plans to leave her position. And she currently has no idea I’ll be requesting reassignment. It’s not a decision that involves her.”
“Pretty sure she’d disagree with you on that,” Grady warned.
“I’m sure she would,” Sandor agreed. “But the point I was trying to make is that I would never put any personal attachment ahead of my responsibilities. I simply want what’s best for Miss Foster.”
“Then stay,” Sophie told him. “Please.”
She hadn’t asked for a bodyguard—and she hadn’t always enjoyed having an overprotective goblin following her everywhere.
But she couldn’t imagine it being anyone other than Sandor.
“Please,” she said again, not caring how desperate she sounded. “I can’t do this without you.”
Sandor sighed, staring at the handkerchief now soaked with his blood. “The oath I swore promises to place the needs of my charge above anything else. And that includes putting your need for safety above our friendship.”
“But I am safe with you.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be bruised and broken and facing a very lengthy recovery after barely surviving the latest attempt on your life.” He turned to Grady. “Surely you agree that your daughter deserves better.”
“She does,” Grady said, holding up his hands to stop Sophie from shouting at him. “She deserves to not have a group of villains constantly trying to kill her. She deserves to feel safe regardless of where she is or who she’s with. But
since neither of those are possible at the moment, she deserves a bodyguard who’s fearless and loyal, someone she trusts with her life. And that’s you.”
“See?” Sophie said. “No one’s blaming you for what happened.”
“You should be!”
“But we’re not,” Sophie insisted. “So please don’t blame yourself. And please don’t leave. You can make any other changes you want to my security. Just . . . not that. I promise, I’ll follow any rules you want me to. I’ll even promise I won’t sneak off without you.”
Alden huffed a small laugh. “You should take that deal, Sandor. It’s the bargain of the century.”
“Seriously,” Grady agreed. “Can I get in on that?”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s just for Sandor—and it doesn’t apply to any replacement bodyguards. In fact, I’ll go out of my way to make their job impossible.”
“No, you won’t,” Sandor told her. “You’re much too smart to resort to such reckless behavior.”
Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. “You sure about that? You’ve seen how much time I spend with Keefe.”
“I’ll give her some pointers, too,” Tam volunteered. “I picked up lots of tricks at Exillium.”
“And I have lots of prank elixirs,” Dex added.
“How many weeks do you think the new guard would last before they’d run screaming back to Gildingham?” Tam wondered.
“I doubt they’d last days,” Sophie told him. “Especially if Keefe and Ro join in the torment.”
Sandor’s sigh had a definite snarl. “I’m trying to help—can’t you see that? You need someone with a fresh approach to your security—someone with different strengths and new ideas and—”
“Okay,” Sophie jumped in. “If that’s what I need, then . . . bring them in too.”
“You mean you’d have two bodyguards,” Magnate Leto clarified.
Sophie nodded.
The thought of two overprotective goblins shadowing her every move made her want to shout Never mind—just kidding!
But . . .
“If it’d make Sandor stay, it’d be worth it,” she said, before she could change her mind. She glanced at Sandor. “What do you think?”
“I’m sure your queen would be more than willing to provide you with a backup, considering the circumstances,” Magnate Leto added when Sandor didn’t respond.
Sandor pinched the bridge of his swollen nose.
“You know it’s a good idea,” Sophie pressed. “I can see it in your eyes. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“No, I want to make sure it would actually be beneficial,” he argued. “More doesn’t always mean better.”
“If anyone could arrange an effective security team,” Magnate Leto said, “it’s you. And I can see many advantages.”
“So can I,” Alden agreed. “I’m sure Fitz would even understand if you wanted it to be Grizel—”
“I wouldn’t,” Sandor interrupted. “Grizel is . . . distracting.”
“Then ask for anyone you want,” Sophie told him. “Make it someone you hate—I don’t care.”
He looked away, and she could feel the rejection coming.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t let the Neverseen take away another person I care about.”
Sandor’s eyes welled up again. “I care about you too, Miss Foster. More than I should. That’s why I can’t trust myself to make this decision.”
“Then talk to your team,” Grady told him. “Sophie’s safe here. Why don’t you go find Grizel and Lovise? See what they think.”
“But I wouldn’t recommend telling Grizel you were planning to request reassignment without consulting her,” Alden warned.
“Or that you find her distracting,” Grady added. “I’m sure she’d have some thoughts about that.”
“Very loud ones,” Alden agreed.
“And more punishments,” Sandor muttered under his breath. “But I suppose it would be wise to get their insights. You’re sure—”
“No one’s getting anywhere near Sophie right now,” Grady assured him. “Take as long as you need.”
“But you have to promise you won’t go to Queen Hylda without telling me,” Sophie added as he headed for the door and she realized he could choose to never come back, and there’d be nothing she could do to stop him.
Sandor glanced at her over his shoulder, and she watched his gaze trace over her bandaged arm again. “I would never leave without saying goodbye, Miss Foster.”
It wasn’t the vow she’d been looking for.
But it was all he said before he was gone.
“Think we convinced him?” Sophie asked.
“I hope so, kiddo.” Grady brushed a hand down her cheek, smudging away a tear she hadn’t realized was there. “But it’s hard to say. Guilt makes us do funny things.”
“It does indeed,” Magnate Leto said quietly.
His eyes glazed, and there was such sorrow in his features that Sophie had a feeling he was thinking of a lonely Wanderling growing on a hillside in Norway. But when he blinked, he was back to being Foxfire’s principal.
“If you’re up for it,” he told Sophie, “I’d love to hear your account of the attack, so I can better determine how to arrange campus security.”
“Take this first,” Elwin told her, pressing yet another vial against her lips.
She’d expected it to be the same floral medicine he’d been giving her. But this was thicker and slimier and tasted like burnt toast.
“That’s to undo any damage you might’ve caused when you lunged for Sandor like that,” he explained.
“Sorry,” Sophie mumbled. “I couldn’t let him walk away.”
“I know. But you’re at a really crucial stage right now. So no more moving, okay?”
Sophie promised, and he helped her get better situated against her pillows before he told Magnate Leto, “She’s all yours. But try to keep it quick.”
Magnate Leto sat on the empty cot next to Sophie’s. “It will be. Sandor already filled me in on everything he remembered about the attack—as did Wylie. I’m just hoping Miss Foster can fill in any final gaps.”
“While they talk,” Grady said to Elwin, “I have a few questions about Sophie’s treatment. Is it okay if we discuss them out in the hall?”
Sophie was about to argue that anything they were going to say about her should be said in front of her, when she realized that Grady was probably trying to get Elwin out of the room so Magnate Leto could talk more freely. Elwin didn’t know that Magnate Leto was one of Mr. Forkle’s alternate identities, and he might guess the secret if he heard Sophie telling him too much—or if he saw Magnate Leto searching her memories, since only Mr. Forkle and Fitz could sneak past her mental blocking.
Sure enough, as soon as Grady and Elwin had left the room, Magnate Leto asked permission to slip into her consciousness.
“Is it okay if I watch what you show him?” Alden asked.
“Sure, but . . . some of it isn’t pretty,” Sophie warned.
Alden took a long look at his son. “I have no doubt of that.”
He reached for Magnate Leto’s temples, and Magnate Leto reached for Sophie’s, and both of them closed their eyes as Sophie replayed the attack. Halfway through, their hands were shaking. Then their breathing turned ragged. And when they finally pulled away, their eyes were wet.
Alden stumbled away, and Sophie figured he was heading back to his son. Instead he threw his arms around Dex, and Sophie wanted to laugh at the stunned look on Dex’s face. But it felt a lot less funny when Alden kept whispering, “Thank you for saving my son.”
He pulled Tam into the hug too.
“Well,” Magnate Leto said, clearing the catch from his throat, “obviously there is much to say. This was . . . a far closer call than I realized. But for now, it’s probably best if we try to focus on what we can learn. For instance, it appears they know you’re an Enhancer—or they suspect it, anyway. I’m surprised Gethen didn’t pry your glove
s off and test his theory.”
“That could mean he’s assuming the ability is something else,” Alden suggested, finally letting Tam and Dex go. “He might think she’s an Empath.”
“How many Empaths wear gloves?” Dex countered.
“All I know is, I do not want to find out what Umber can do with a Sophie boost,” Tam said quietly—and everyone shuddered.
“Agreed,” Magnate Leto said. “Clearly we need to find a way to give Miss Foster more control over the ability. Weren’t you working on a gadget along those lines, Mr. Dizznee?”
Dex looked anywhere but at Sophie when he mumbled, “I made a prototype. But the concept . . . wasn’t right.”
Tam narrowed his eyes. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not,” Dex argued—too loud and too fast.
“So are you,” Tam said to Sophie.
She turned her face away. “Like Dex said. The concept wasn’t right.”
The gadgets themselves had worked pretty well: two tiny microtransmitters that put nonreactive force fields around her hands. But . . . he’d chosen to camouflage them with crush cuffs, and it had led to the most awkward conversation in the history of the world.
“I’ll try something else,” Dex promised.
“Make it your top priority,” Magnate Leto told him.
“Even over the caches?” Dex asked.
“Definitely,” Alden said, running a hand down his face. “Apparently the caches are fake.”
Tam’s eyebrows shot up.
“How could they . . . ?” Dex said, sinking onto one of the empty cots. “Actually? That explains a lot.”
“I know,” Sophie admitted, not sure what made her sicker: thinking about how many months they’d wasted trying to learn something useful from the fakes, or the fact that they’d been counting on the caches to become a huge lead.
“It’s okay to hate me,” Keefe said from the doorway.
He looked rumpled and pale and like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or punch someone.
Or maybe he really wanted to punch himself.
He tore his hands through his hair, destroying what was left of his careful style. “That was the one thing I thought I did right. But I guess I messed it up—and don’t try to make me feel better, Foster. You know I don’t deserve it.”
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