These were branches.
A mental forest, wild and unruly.
Each memory coiled like vines, wrapping so tightly there was no way to shove through. Even a brain push—a specialized telepathy trick—couldn’t break past the gnarled chaos. And the trees seemed to grow and stretch until Sophie couldn’t see how to escape the endless woods.
“You need help,” Fitz said, sounding very far away. “I’m coming in.”
Sophie was too lost to warn him.
Wow, this is insane, Fitz transmitted as his consciousness tangled near hers.
We can’t stay here, Sophie said. It’s pulling us farther and farther away. But I’m not strong enough to break out.
Okay, so what if we pool our energy? Fitz asked.
Worth a try.
She imagined her consciousness slithering across the vines like a snake. Fitz did the same, and when they finally reached each other . . .
Whoa, is this what it’s like to be Cognates? she asked as a surge of warm energy worked like the sun, drawing the trees toward their light and leaving spaces for Sophie and Fitz to move.
No idea, Fitz admitted. But it’s awesome.
It definitely was. The memory forest had divided into dozens of paths, and Sophie chose the darkest. Nightmares clawed with thorny stems, but with Fitz’s help they pushed to the path’s end. There they found a cold, stark tree, empty and quiet. But Sophie could see the truth hidden in the branches at the top.
Fitz’s consciousness gave Sophie a boost and they climbed together, watching in wary silence as the memory unfolded. Two black-cloaked figures dragged a decloaked Lady Gisela past a red lake with dead carcasses scattered along the shore. Sophie could tell Keefe’s mom had been wounded, but she couldn’t see how bad the injuries were until Mitya snuck ahead of them and slipped into the bushes. The Neverseen passed by, mere feet from where Mitya hid, and Sophie felt her stomach heave when she saw the deep, curved puncture wounds on Lady Gisela’s face. She had dozens of them, carved into her cheeks, her chin, her neck.
“Please,” Lady Gisela begged as the figures dragged her toward the mountains.
Her captors ignored her cries, kicking her when she stumbled.
Her pleas grew more urgent as they headed for a rift, but the Neverseen did not slow. Mitya tried to follow, but by the time she found a way into the cave, the Neverseen had vanished, leaving nothing but red.
As she turned to head back, Mitya heard Lady Gisela scream, “Don’t do this!” Then everything fell silent, and a raspy voice said, “It’s done.”
A million icicles stabbed Sophie’s heart as she recognized the voice.
Brant.
Clearly he’d recovered from his wounds.
The memory shifted forward, to when Mitya rejoined Lur by the poisonous lake. He was studying the trail of red, which was darker than the deadly water. They both turned as the scent of smoke laced through the air. A single black plume rose into the sky, before the mountain winds whisked it away.
“That is all we know,” Mitya said as Sophie removed her shaking hands from Mitya’s temples.
“You’ll share this with the Collective?” Lur asked.
“We will,” Fitz answered when Sophie couldn’t.
Mitya stepped closer, wiping the tears off Sophie’s face. “I am sorry to burden you with this responsibility, Miss Foster. No one should face such horrors. Especially you.”
“I’m not worried about me,” Sophie told her, not feeling brave enough to look at Keefe.
“We must leave you now,” Mitya said, dipping a slow bow. “But we promise to report anything new we discover.”
“Be careful, my friends,” Calla said, hugging them both. “Things are not as they seem.”
“Indeed they are not,” Lur told her, kissing Calla’s cheeks.
They both took one last look at Sophie, their eyes focused on her moonlark pin. Then they disappeared into the trees.
“Okay,” Keefe said, taking Sophie’s hands again. “You have to tell me what my mom’s done.”
Do you want me to talk to him? Fitz transmitted.
Sophie shook her head. Keefe was asking her.
I’ll be right inside if you need me, Fitz promised before he led the others away.
“Come on,” Sophie whispered, pulling Keefe toward a tree that had fallen by the river. The bark felt rough and damp, but she knew this was the kind of conversation that needed to happen sitting down.
“If she killed someone, just tell me,” Keefe whispered.
Sophie tangled their fingers together, squeezing so tight their knuckles faded to white. “It’s not about what she’s done, Keefe. It’s about what might’ve happened to her.”
Once she started, the story poured out, in every horrifying detail.
“But they haven’t found a body,” she finished. “So we don’t know anything for sure.”
Keefe stared blankly at the river.
“What are you thinking?” Sophie asked, when the silence turned suffocating.
“Strange question, coming from a Telepath.”
“You know I would never invade your privacy like that.”
Keefe sighed. “I’m thinking . . . she deserves to be dead.”
His voice meant the words. But his eyes didn’t.
“It’s okay to be sad, Keefe.”
“No it’s not—not after what she’s done.”
“She’s still your mom, no matter how angry you are.”
“I’m more than angry, Sophie. I’m . . . I don’t know what the word is. But I don’t care what happens to her.”
“Then why are you crying?” She reached up to wipe his cheek and showed him the tear on her finger.
“I . . .” The rest of his words twisted into a sob.
Sophie held him tightly, letting him soak the shoulder of her tunic with tears. She wondered if Fitz had felt this helpless when she’d done the same thing to him. He’d seemed so strong and steady that day, when he’d taken her from her human family. She wished she could be the same for Keefe.
“We don’t know anything for sure yet,” she repeated.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know what I’m rooting for.”
“You don’t have to root for anything. But as much as you hate her, part of you still loves her. So whatever happens, you’re going to have to grieve.”
“Not if I can help it.” Keefe pulled away. His eyes were red and puffy, but they seemed dry now as he turned back to the river.
“Want me to leave you alone?” Sophie asked.
Keefe nodded. “Actually, no. It’s not good for me to be alone right now. I’ll do something stupid. I need . . . I don’t know what I need. Just don’t go.”
Sophie stayed.
Keefe leaned his head against her shoulder and Sophie counted his breaths, considering what a strange thing grief turned out to be.
Grady and Edaline closed themselves off.
Fitz pushed everyone away.
She couldn’t figure out how Keefe was handling it all yet. But she was glad he wanted her to stay.
Their houses were dark by the time Sophie and Keefe returned from the river, and Keefe clung to her hand until the last possible second. She tried to think of something to tell him, something that might help him sleep. The best she could come up with was, “If you need me, throw something at my window.”
Keefe tried to smile, but it looked too painful. “See you tomorrow, Foster.”
Then he was gone.
The girls’ house was quiet when Sophie crept into the main room. She’d missed dinner and bedtime, but it didn’t matter. Eating and sleeping were definitely out of the question.
“How’s he doing?” Biana’s voice asked as soon as Sophie set foot in her bedroom.
She bit back her scream as Biana appeared in the shadows.
“Sorry,” Biana said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
She followed Sophie over to her bed and they both sat on the edge. Neither of them bothered to turn on the lights.
“Me too,” Biana whispered. “So . . . what do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “Somehow we’ll have to find out the truth. Keefe is going to need answers—or closure. In the meantime, we’ll have to keep him together.”
Seconds passed before Biana said, “I can’t believe the Neverseen would do that.”
Sophie couldn’t either, which was the scariest part. She’d known their enemies were dangerous, but this was a whole other level of evil.
Lady Gisela was one of their leaders, and they’d tortured her and imprisoned her—maybe murdered her. So what would the ogres and Neverseen do to them, if they were ever captured?
“Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?” Biana asked, the tremble in her voice hinting that she shared Sophie’s worries.
“Sure,” Sophie whispered.
She got up to change into her pajamas, and by the time she’d brushed her teeth, Biana had already crawled under the covers. The bed was so big she could barely tell anyone else was there. But the soft sound of Biana’s breathing made the room feel warmer.
She’d thought Biana was asleep, until Biana asked, “We’re going to stop them, right?”
Sophie stared at the wall, her mind flashing through all the losses they’d suffered.
Kenric. Jolie. Prentice. The dwarves on Mount Everest. Maybe Lady Gisela.
She had a horrible feeling there would be more casualties before this was over. But she was sure of one thing. “Yes, we’re going to stop them.”
SEVENTEEN
MR. FORKLE SAT ALONE with Della when Biana and Sophie made their way down to breakfast. The tight line of his frown told them he’d already been given a thorough update.
“I’ve asked Sior to help Lur and Mitya,” he said, handing them each a bowl of green porridge.
“That’s one of the gnomes we met the first day, right?” Biana asked.
Mr. Forkle nodded. “This forest will miss him, but Calla feels confident she can cover his absence. And I think it’s important we get answers quickly, don’t you?”
“I do,” Keefe said, striding across the bridge with Dex and Fitz right behind him. “And I have a plan.”
“Do you, now?” Mr. Forkle asked, studying Keefe closer.
The bruiselike dark circles under Keefe’s eyes made it clear he hadn’t slept. But Sophie was much more concerned about the state of his hair.
It hung flat against his head, completely unstyled.
Mr. Forkle handed Keefe a bowl of green sludge, but Keefe set it aside and plopped into a chair.
“I wish you would not punish the body over a troubled heart,” Mr. Forkle told him.
“Fine. How about I eat if you promise to hear me out?” Keefe asked.
Mr. Forkle gave him a spoon.
Keefe devoured his porridge in three giant bites, then wiped his lips and said, “I want to speak to Gethen. I know he’s unresponsive or whatever you called it. But his consciousness can’t just disappear. I’m sure he can hear me. Or, more importantly, he can hear this.”
He cleared his throat and his voice shifted several octaves higher as he said, “Gethen—it’s time to go!”
Sophie cringed at how uncannily he sounded like his mother.
“Your mimicking is very impressive,” Mr. Forkle told him.
Keefe sounded both bitter and sad as he said, “I was trained by the best. And now we can use what she taught me to fool Gethen. If we stage it right, I can make him think he’s being rescued, which should draw his consciousness back. Then we can find out what he knows.”
“You’re assuming he knows something worth all of that risk,” Mr. Forkle said.
“Why else would his capture get my mother . . .” He cleared his throat. “It has to be something important. And I can find out what it is. If he thinks he’s being rescued, he’ll come back. Then you can probe his memories.”
Mr. Forkle stroked his double chin. “Your plan does have its merits, Mr. Sencen. But it’s still far too dangerous. We have already determined what our priorities are at the moment—though we are amending them to include an investigation of Lur and Mitya’s findings.”
“That’s not good enough!” Keefe snapped, pounding the table.
“Keefe,” Della tried.
“No.” He pulled his hand away from her before she could take it. “Aren’t you guys sick of being treated like their little puppets? Go here. Read this. Wait for this. Eat this.”
He whacked his bowl, knocking it off the table and sending it spinning across the floor, spraying the remaining bits of his green porridge.
“Keefe!” Della said again. “I know you’re upset—”
“No, I’m just tired of being ignored,” he interrupted. “This is a good plan—Dex and Fitz agreed.”
Both boys shifted in their seats.
“It does seem like it might work,” Fitz said after a second.
“I never said it wouldn’t.” Mr. Forkle rose and placed his hand on Keefe’s shoulder. “But we’ve been over this with your schemes about Exillium. Just because a plan is feasible does not mean it’s worth the risk. I understand your desire to bring something positive from everything that’s happened. But one should never rely on their enemies to give them hope.”
“I don’t care about my mom—”
“Yes you do. As you should. And while I cannot base this on evidence, I wouldn’t count your mother out yet.”
Keefe snorted. “You say that like it’s a good thing. Yay—she’s alive so she can keep being evil!”
“Evil is better than dead, Mr. Sencen. Evil can change. Though neither is in your power.”
“Nothing’s in my power—that’s the problem.”
Mr. Forkle squeezed Keefe’s shoulder tighter. “You are very important to our organization. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. I mean it”—he added when Keefe rolled his eyes—“You will play a crucial role when we rescue Prentice. And that is the mission that must remain our focus.”
“Whatever.” Keefe stood and stalked toward the boys’ house.
Sophie rose to follow, but Mr. Forkle stopped her. “Best to give him space. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Keefe didn’t come down to dinner. At breakfast the next morning he picked at his food and didn’t say much of anything. By the third day of one-word answers, Sophie was ready to stage an intervention.
But Fitz and Biana reminded her of how badly they’d handled themselves when Alden’s mind had broken.
“We were awful,” Biana mumbled. “Especially to you. And there was nothing anyone could say to make us act better. Alvar tried. Keefe even tried.”
“I’m still figuring out how to make it up to you,” Fitz added.
“No need,” Sophie promised.
Her heart made an extra leap when Fitz smiled and said, “I’ll keep trying anyway.”
“Ugh, Keefe needs to get better,” Dex mumbled. “I need someone to barf with me over Fitzphie.”
“My point,” Biana said as Dex made gagging sounds, “is that as long as Keefe knows we’re here, that’s really all we can do.”
Sophie knew Biana was right. That didn’t make waiting any easier. She found herself checking her window every night before bed, wishing she’d find Keefe standing at his.
On the fifth night, his curtains were at least open a crack, unleashing a shred of light. She decided to take the tiny opening.
She didn’t have any rocks to throw, so she settled for her shoes, picking the wobbliest, most uncomfortable-looking heels.
Nothing happened from the first THUNK! But the second THUNK! did its job.
“Are you throwing shoes at me?” Keefe asked, sliding open the window.
“Seemed like a good idea. Now I don’t have to wear them.”
He gave her a half smile, but it faded as he waved the air away from his fac
e. “Wow, that is a lot of worry you’re hurling at me.”
“You kind of deserve it.”
Keefe mussed his still-unstyled hair.
“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Not really.”
She dragged out her sigh. “Is there anything I can do?”
He started to shake his head, then stopped. “Actually . . . yeah.”
“What?” Sophie asked, leaning out her window.
She didn’t hear him the first time, and had to make him repeat.
“Promise me you won’t hate me,” he whispered.
“Why would I hate you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll decide I wasn’t worth sacrificing your shoes.”
“Now, that’s never going to happen.” She’d hoped that might earn her a smile, but Keefe wouldn’t look at her. “I would never hate you, Keefe. Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just feel like I don’t belong here anymore.”
“You do. But . . . I know how it feels to be the outsider. The one with the past. The one with the shaky future. But you know what I’ve realized—or what I’m trying to realize, at least?”
“Is this the part where you give me some speech about how it’s our choices that show us who we truly are?”
“Nah, that sounds like something an old guy would say.”
Finally, he gave her a real smile!
“What I’m trying to realize is that it’s okay to be different. If everyone were the same, we’d all make the same mistakes. Instead we all face our own things, and that’s not so bad because we have people who care about us to help us through. You have that, Keefe. We’re all here for you. No matter what. Okay?”
Several seconds crawled by before he nodded.
“You should go to bed,” Keefe said as a gust of wind made Sophie shiver in her furry pajamas.
The suggestion was tempting—Alluveterre was so much colder than Havenfield. But she was afraid the glints of progress she’d made would be snuffed out when she left Keefe alone.
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said, racing to her bed and grabbing Ella, her pillow, and the thickest quilt. She coiled the blanket around her and waddled back to the window like a fluffy burrito. “See? Window slumber party!”
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