Sweat was dripping down his face—probably from the thick tunic he was wearing, along with two layers of capes. But it might’ve also been a hint of nerves.
His hand even trembled as Sophie reached for it, and she realized . . .
This would be the first time he’d face one of his brother’s killers.
“You okay?” she asked him.
He nodded. “But let’s make today count.”
• • •
“H-how ar-are y-y-you n-not sh-sh-shivering?” Fitz asked Sophie as they trudged through the knee-deep snow. The cave they were aiming for was only a few hundred yards away, but given the way their legs kept sinking in, it was quite the epic trudge.
“Keefe helped me practice body temperature regulation,” Sophie explained, wishing she’d thought to use the skill when she’d been sweating at Havenfield. “The trick is to focus on friction, like where your clothes rub your skin or where your toes scrape the sides of your boots. That’s all generating little bursts of heat your mind can amplify.”
“Huh.” Fitz’s eyebrows crunched together—and so did Mr. Forkle’s—like they were each attempting to apply the tactic. But neither seemed to have much success as they shivered through the final paces to the icicle-crusted cave, which looked like a giant mouth jutting out of the frozen earth, eager to devour them with jagged teeth.
“If the cold gets to be too much, I’m sure they have extra cloaks tucked away somewhere,” Mr. Forkle told Sandor and Grizel as they moved to join the other, much warmer-dressed goblin guards lined up like sentinels on each side of the arched entrance.
“We’ll be fine,” Sandor said, shooting Sophie a look that seemed to say, Be careful—and hurry.
She nodded, watching Mr. Forkle and Fitz disappear into the prison. But she needed a second before she could follow.
Caves always triggered their own special flashbacks and nightmares, thanks to her kidnapping. So she inhaled a few long breaths to let the monster know she was still in control, before she took a cautious step forward, out of the wind and into the cavern.
She’d planned to catch right up with the others, but the cave’s floor was solid ice, so she had to tread slowly to keep from slipping. Plus, her eyes needed time to adjust to the dim blue light radiating from bioluminescent spheres dangling from the arched ceiling. Her breath clouded in front of her and she focused on the burn in her tired leg muscles as she followed a path that wound down into the frozen earth.
Soon everything was ice—the walls, the floor, the ceiling. No heat. No kindling, except the clothes they were wearing—which might actually be a problem.
“Should we be wearing something fire resistant, like we did in Oblivimyre?” Sophie whisper-hissed, wondering why she hadn’t thought to ask before.
“No,” Mr. Forkle called back to her, his voice bouncing off the walls and making some of the ice crackle. “Fintan cannot spark a flame here—you truly can trust that. And dressing this way shows him how inconsequential he’s become—how your only concern today was for your own comfort. Trust me, that will eat at him more than you could ever imagine.”
“I guess,” Sophie mumbled as the path curved so sharply that she lost sight of everyone. But when she rounded the bend, she found Fitz waiting for her.
He offered his arm. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gone ahead without you.”
“I was fine,” she assured him. But she was glad to have someone to lean on when the floor angled sharply downhill a few curves later.
“Think it’d be easier to plop down and slide the rest of the way?” Fitz asked.
“No,” Mr. Forkle called back to him.
“I’m more worried about what it’s going to be like climbing back out of here,” Sophie admitted.
Fitz groaned. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
On and on the path stretched, until Sophie was starting to feel pretty tempted by Fitz’s treat-the-prison-like-a-frozen-waterslide plan. But then it curved again and widened into a frozen bubble of a room, with a narrow walkway surrounding a smaller, inner ice bubble. And sitting inside on a lone block of ice was a sickeningly familiar blond elf with pointed Ancient ears.
“Fintan,” Fitz whispered, and Sophie jumped in front of Mr. Forkle, fanning out the sides of her cape and trying to shield him as much as she could.
“Relax, Miss Foster,” Mr. Forkle told her. “We can hear and view him from all sides. But the bubble is reflective on his side—everywhere except the point right there.” He gestured to where two throne-size chairs carved from clear ice had been set up outside the bubble, facing straight at Fintan. “I’m told there’s a sensor in the floor that activates once you’re seated, allowing Fintan to hear you. So don’t sit until you’re ready. And remember: He called this meeting, so let him carry the conversation. Never forget that every word he says may be a lie to manipulate you. Do not react. Do not volunteer any information. And if you need to communicate with each other, do it telepathically. Also: Be very careful about when and how you attempt to enter his mind. Fintan may not be a Telepath, but he’s been defending his thoughts for millennia.”
It was the same instructions they’d gone over many times. But it was still good to have the reminder as Sophie and Fitz made their way toward the icy thrones.
Fintan’s sky blue eyes watched their every move as they sat down, and Sophie felt the monster stir inside her, eager to tear into all of her worst Fintan nightmares. But she met Fintan’s gaze head-on—and maybe it was the dim lighting, or the dirty-dishwater color of his wrinkled robe, but he looked older than she remembered.
Haggard.
Not that it stopped him from twisting his slender features into a chilly smile. “Miss Foster. Mr. Vacker. How nice of you to finally join me.”
They each took a calming breath as they nodded.
“Oh, let me guess. You’re planning to follow the whole let-the-prisoner-do-all-the-talking approach? I think you’re forgetting that I practically invented that strategy back when I was young and naive and serving the wrong side. Much like you are now.” He paused, like he’d expected to earn a rise from them. “Very well. I guess you’d prefer we simply stare at each other?”
“We’d prefer you to tell us why you asked us to come here,” Fitz countered.
“Well, I couldn’t exactly come to see you, now could I? So welcome to my humble home!” He waved his hands around his frozen bubble, drawing more attention to the sparseness of it. Save for the block of ice he sat on—and three others stacked behind him—the space was empty. Sophie also noticed how thin the fabric of his crumpled robe looked. Definitely not something that would provide much escape from the cold. His lips even had a faint blue tinge as he said, “Tell me, Sophie, does it make you happy to see the cold reality of my conditions? Have you been picturing me bathed in luxury, idling my days away while feasting on delicacies and celebrating my glorious accomplishments?”
Sophie shrugged, refusing to admit how close he was to some of her imaginings.
“Enough with the silence!” He stomped his feet against the icy floor—hard enough to cause a few hairline cracks. “You’ve wasted too much time already.”
“We’ve barely been here five minutes,” Fitz corrected.
“And how many weeks have passed since I extended the invitation?” Fintan argued. “I expected you to be far more eager.”
“Well,” Sophie told him, crossing her arms, “I guess we’re not as predictable as you thought.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re picking a very bad time to play games.”
“We’re playing games?” Fitz snapped.
“Of course you are. You think I don’t realize you’re sitting there trying to keep me distracted so I won’t notice that someone’s trying to slip into my mind—and not doing a very good job, I might add, so I’m guessing it’s you,” he said to Fitz. “You think I didn’t plan on you coming here with all sorts of ridiculous plans for how to steal my memories? I can assure you—you won’t learn anyt
hing that way. Not even you, Sophie. But if you want to know what I’m thinking, all you need to do is ask.”
“Right,” Fitz scoffed. “So you can feed us a bunch of lies?”
“Actually”—he leaned back as far as he could on his block of ice, like he was attempting to get more comfortable yet looking anything but—“today I’m prepared to offer some vital truth.”
Sophie laughed. “You expect us to believe that?”
“No. But I expect you to believe that I invited you here because I want something from you. Surely you’ve already assumed that much. Just like I can assume you’ll never give it to me for free. So . . . I’m willing to offer a trade—and it’s the deal of the century for you, because I happen to have some valuable information about what you’ll soon be facing.” He studied their faces, clicking his tongue. “Such jaded skepticism from elves so young. Though I suppose I can’t truly blame you, given how many times you’ve lost—and whom you’ve lost.”
Part of Sophie wanted Mr. Forkle to step forward right then and shout, “DO YOU MEAN ME?”
But they didn’t need anything so drastic. Not when she could turn to Fitz and say, “I told you this would be pointless.”
And Fitz could nod and start to stand.
“Oh, are we to the part where you pretend to walk away?” Fintan asked.
“No, we’re to the part where we actually walk away,” Sophie told him, leaning closer to the curve of ice separating them. “You want to know why we took so long to come here? Because we’ve realized that You. Don’t. Matter. Vespera would’ve amended all of her plans the second you were arrested. And Gisela’s running things now anyway.”
“Trust me—Vespera won’t let anyone run her. And certain parts of her plans can’t change—not unless she wants to wait for the next Celestial Festival.”
Fitz sat back down.
Fintan smirked. “Looks like I finally have your attention.”
Should we shove into his mind now? Fitz transmitted. Whatever he wants to tell us has to be close to the surface.
And I’m sure it’ll be mixed with a bunch of lies, so we won’t be able to tell what’s actually important, Sophie warned. I think it’s better to keep him talking, at least until—
“Ooh, looks like I’ve even got you conferring telepathically,” Fintan said, tilting his head to study them. “And since I’m assuming you’re discussing some foolish plan to infiltrate my memories, let me remind you: You’ve never learned anything from me that way—and I can assure you, that’s not going to change today. And thanks to how long you stalled this meeting, you’re just a week shy of the festival. So how about you try playing it smart from now on and do things my way?”
“What’s your way?” Fitz demanded.
“A simple barter. You agree to give me what I want. I tell you what you need. And since I’m sure you’re about to claim that you can’t trust me—I’ll prove that you can. I’ll give you each one free question. No time to strategize, though. Just blurt out what’s on your mind in three . . . two . . .”
“What’s the Neverseen’s plan for my brother?” Fitz asked, shooting Sophie an apologetic glance.
In all their practice, they’d agreed to wait until Fintan brought up Alvar.
Fintan smiled. “I figured that would be your question. And the truth is, your brother’s not capable of fulfilling any grand purpose. He lacks the talent for any complicated assignment. He couldn’t even recognize that Sophie was an elf when he was staring right at her, remember? His one true value—aside from his willingness to follow orders—was his connection to your family. And he lost that the day I made him reveal his identity.” He stared at his hands, picking at his nails. “In hindsight, I suppose I was far too hasty that day. Just as I was far too hasty when I revealed my own escape and survival. I tried to speed the timeline along and it cost me—and it cost your brother even more because he’d never been much use in the first place. That’s why we’re both where we are. But while Vespera was right with her estimation of your brother’s worth, she’s wrong about mine. She thinks it’s safe to leave me here, shivering away, because I don’t know what she’s up to. But I do.”
The words had a strange ring of truth to them.
Sophie knew how foolish that was to admit—even to herself.
This was Fintan.
It was a game.
But . . . everything he’d said synced with several thoughts she’d had as well.
“And what about you, Sophie?” Fintan asked, the gleam in his eyes making it clear he knew he was getting to her. “You missed my countdown to ask a question of your own. But I know how hard this is for you, given the things you and I have gone through together. So I’ll give you one more chance. One question—one answer, in three . . . two . . .”
“What was Keefe’s mom having him do in the memories she erased?” she blurted out, hoping she was making the right decision.
She probably should’ve asked for the location of the real caches.
Actually, she probably should’ve stayed quiet.
But for some reason, when he’d started counting down, Keefe’s devastated face had popped into her mind, from the day he’d told her that Tiergan’s mental exercises had been a dead end. And the question just sort of tumbled out.
Fintan’s eyebrows lifted, proof that she’d surprised him, too. But he shook his head. “That is not a single answer. The boy did many things. Served many purposes.”
Sophie blew out a breath. “Okay, then tell me why she sent him to London to deliver a message to a house with a green door.”
His eyebrows shot up higher. “That memory wasn’t meant to be recovered.”
Sophie shrugged. “Well, it was.”
One of his eyes twitched, and he picked at his nails for several long seconds before he told her, “Truthfully? I don’t have all the details on that. Some projects Gisela kept to herself. All I know is that she was hoping to recruit someone and it didn’t work out.”
“A human?” Sophie pressed.
Fintan nodded. And he looked so reluctant to do it that Sophie had to believe it was the truth—or a shade of it at least.
“So,” he said, straightening up, “now that I’ve sufficiently proven myself, we’re to the part where you agree to give me what I want.”
“And what’s that?” Fitz asked, before Sophie could decide if they should end the conversation. They’d already gotten more than she expected. They should leave while they were ahead.
But then Fintan said, “There was a new girl with you the day I was arrested. Caprise Redek’s daughter. And she’s another Pyrokinetic—don’t bother lying. I could tell.”
Sophie swallowed, trying to find her voice after her mouth dried up on her. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“If that were true, she wouldn’t have been with you that day in Nightfall—but that’s not why I’m bringing her up.” He leaned closer, and all the smugness dripped out of his expression, leaving something that almost looked sincere. “The girl needs training—real training. From someone who shares her ability—and not those fools the Council has under surveillance. They’ve spent so long suppressing their fire that it’s all but burned out their minds. The same thing will happen to the girl. Or she’ll unleash herself on the world like Brant—”
“You trained Brant,” Sophie reminded him.
“I did. And my training was never the issue. The mistake was bringing him into my cause. I didn’t realize how much the distractions would affect him—or myself for that matter.”
“Is this the part where you try to convince us you’re just a poor, misunderstood villain?” Sophie asked.
His eye twitched again. “In a way, I suppose it is. The simple fact is, I joined the Neverseen because the Council was wrong about my ability, and it was time to undo the damage they were causing.”
“And you thought the best way to do that was burning people alive?” Fitz argued.
“Hindsight,” Fintan said as Sophie shudder
ed. “I allied with too many others—too many enemies with their own plans and agendas—and all those distractions led me down paths I never intended to follow, thinking everything was connected. But it wasn’t. I can see that now. Just as I can see there’s no coming back for me. This”—he waved his arms around the ice bubble—“is where I will end. And I can live with that. But I can’t live with knowing another child—another Pyrokinetic—is going to become everything we fear simply because we’re too prejudiced to give her a chance. I don’t even have to be around flame to teach her. I just need someone to bring her here. And I know she’s your friend—”
“Exactly,” Sophie interrupted. “She’s our friend. We’re not bargaining with her life—”
“But you will be, if you refuse my offer. You’ll be deciding her future for her. Don’t make that mistake. Don’t be as small-minded as everyone else. For once, be the force for change that your creators designed you to be. Your friend needs training—”
“Not with a murderer,” Sophie snapped back.
“Yes, actually. With someone who knows firsthand how easily the power can drag you under. Someone who understands the struggle, knows the temptations, knows the—”
“If your intentions are so noble,” Fitz cut in, “why hold Vespera’s plans hostage?”
“Exactly,” Sophie added. “If you want to prove we can trust you—prove it for real. Help us stop whatever’s happening at the Celestial Festival. Otherwise you’re admitting this is all a big head game to get your way. And I’m done playing.”
Fintan sighed, watching the puff of white breath slowly dissipate in the frigid air before he closed his eyes. “The truth is, I . . . don’t have that much more to offer. Vespera kept her plan vague. But I know she was fixated on Luzia Vacker—something about stolen ideas. And she was livid when she found out our world has an entire celebration centered around the talents of Luzia’s son. She called it a farce. Told us she was going to show everyone the truth behind the Vacker legacy. And it’s been a countdown to the Celestial Festival ever since. She even got our ogres involved. But that’s all I can tell you. So . . . I guess it’s your call. You can trust me and cancel the festival—or better yet, make it a trap and take your chance to finally get ahead. You have a week to figure it out. And when that week is over—when you’ve seen that I’m not lying to you—bring me the girl and let me train her.”
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