Everblaze

by Shannon Messenger

  Sophie—on the other hand—spent the rest of the time transmitting anything she could remember about Fintan’s memory break to Fitz, trying to prepare him for what they would be facing. She’d figured Fitz would want to keep working after school, but when the bells chimed the end of the day he told her he had to go home.

  “My dad thinks a big part of his problem last time was how exhausted he was that day,” he explained as they made their way to the Leapmaster. “He made me promise I’d take a nap before tonight. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said, realizing this had to be just as stressful for Alden as it was for her. Maybe worse, since he probably had even scarier memories of the last Break than she did. “There’s not much to practice anyway.”

  “Then maybe you should rest too,” Fitz suggested.

  But they both knew that was so not going to happen.

  Sophie decided to stay busy and search more of Edaline’s office instead.

  She had Sandor dig her a trail through the trunks and boxes so she could get to the chests in the back, hoping Edaline would’ve shoved Jolie’s school things as far away as she could. But when she opened the first trunk . . .

  . . . books.

  Thick, heavy-bound journals filled with Edaline’s intricate writing. A quick flip through the pages told Sophie there were probably some interesting stories in there—the words “monitoring the mermaid migration” particularly caught her attention. But she’d have to come back to them later. At the moment, she was a girl on a mission.

  The next trunk was filled with what had to be bramble jerseys, and Sophie couldn’t resist stopping to count how many different games they represented. Keefe had told her that the elves only had a bramble championship once every three years, and that was when they printed the jerseys. So if all the jerseys belonged to Grady, he was way older than she’d realized—by at least a couple of hundred years.

  She couldn’t quite wrap her head around that.

  The trunks got increasingly boring from then on, some filled with curtains, others with shoes, and there was a particularly stinky one that was currently empty but must’ve once held some sort of cheese.

  Sophie had gotten so used to finding useless things that she’d already closed the next chest before she realized what she’d just seen.

  She pulled the lid open again, feeling her heart pick up speed.

  Inside were neat rows of textbooks and carefully folded silver uniforms and capes.

  All of Jolie’s missing Foxfire things.

  THIRTY-ONE

  DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP, Sophie tried to tell herself as she unpacked the trunk. But that didn’t stop her brain from thinking, THIS HAS TO BE IT!!!

  She scanned every page in each textbook, emptied every pocket and purse, disassembled every picture frame to see if any notes or clues had been tucked into the back. She even read an entire journal of sappy love poems Jolie had written about Brant.

  And she found . . . a lot of old, dusty junk that couldn’t tell her anything.

  “But it has to be here,” Sophie said, like saying it out loud would somehow make it true. She was running out of places to look.

  “Careful,” Sandor warned as she tried to pry the mirror out of one of the compacts she’d found in Jolie’s purse. “You’re going to break that and cut yourself.”

  “But what if there’s a note or something behind it?” Jolie also had a regular compact filled with a shimmering peach powder and a mirror. So why would she need a second compact with nothing inside except two more mirrors?

  No one besides Dame Alina was that vain.

  She tried to dig her fingernails along the sides of the glass, but the mirrors seemed to be welded in. And no matter how many times she pressed on the tiny pearls mounted along the outside, it never triggered a secret latch.

  “Sometimes a mirror is just a mirror,” Sandor told her.

  “Maybe.” But something bothered her about the compact.

  It took endless minutes of staring at her reflections before she realized what it was.

  “I think this side is a human mirror,” Sophie said, scooting into better light and checking her Ruewen crest in the reflection.

  The letters read backward.

  Elvin mirrors didn’t invert things the way human mirrors did, which was probably why Sophie’s eyes were drawn to the right side. The human mirror looked more like her—or the her she’d grown up with, at least.

  “Why would Jolie have a human mirror?” Sandor asked, taking the compact from Sophie to examine it. He tried to pry the mirror off, but didn’t have any better success. “There’s no way to remove these without breaking them.”

  Sophie agreed. Which meant there couldn’t be anything hidden behind them. In fact, nothing about the compact seemed related to the Black Swan. There were no runes etched into the silver. The pearls mounted on the outside were definitely not shaped into the sign of the swan. The compact wasn’t even black. The enamel on the outside was a pale sky blue.

  Sophie sat up straighter.

  The Black Swan didn’t always use the sign of the swan to identify themselves. Sometimes they’d used a phrase from an old dwarven song.

  “Follow the pretty bird across the sky.”

  “What bird?” Sandor asked—but Sophie was way ahead of him.

  She’d thought the pearls on the outside looked like a lopsided X. But when she turned the mirror a different way, she recognized the constellation.

  “It’s Cygnus again,” she whispered, tracing her finger over the familiar pattern.

  So the mirror had come from the Black Swan.

  But what was she supposed to do with it?

  A mirror was really only useful for one thing. And she didn’t understand how reflecting something was going to help.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Grady said from the doorway, making Sophie almost drop the compact.

  She shoved it quickly into her pocket, hoping Grady didn’t notice as she told him, “I didn’t realize you were home.”

  “Just got in. I wanted to see you before you left. Plus, the Council wants you to wear these for the healing.” He handed Sophie a golden satchel—which was surprisingly heavy. “Fireproof clothes,” he explained. “The cloth is woven from flareadon fur and bennu feathers. Both creatures are naturally resistant to fire.”

  Sophie was tempted to point out that Gildie—the flareadon who’d helped her bottle a sample of the Everblaze—had come back badly singed by the unstoppable flames. But she decided she’d rather not think about it.

  It couldn’t be a good sign that the Council was preparing for fire.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Grady told her as she made her way upstairs to change. And they really weren’t that different from her normal clothes. Just far less comfortable.

  The tunic and pants were so fitted, she looked like a cheesy superhero. And the enormous cape and knee-high boots didn’t help. The whole outfit probably weighed more than she did, and the fabric definitely didn’t breathe. She was sweaty and gross within five minutes.

  “How’s it going?” Grady asked as she sprayed on a thick layer of Stink Shrink, hoping it worked like deodorant. “Tiergan should be here any minute to pick you up.”

  “You mean ‘us,’ don’t you?” Sandor asked. “Pick us up?”

  “Unfortunately no,” Grady said quietly. “Even the Councillors won’t have their bodyguards. They’re trying to keep the amount of body heat to a minimum.”

  Sophie shivered under her stuffy clothes.

  Last time, Fintan had pulled warmth from Alden’s skin and used it to burn them both.

  “So their plan,” Sandor said bitterly, “is to gather all of their important people in one place and then not give them any goblin protection? Why not coat the whole place with aromark, while they’re at it?”

  “I thought the same thing, at first,” Grady told him. “And I didn’t understand why they were moving Fintan out of Exile. But then they told me the healing would
be in Oblivimyre.”

  “What’s Oblivimyre?” Sophie asked when Sandor sucked in a breath.

  Her insides tangled into more knots than a friendship bracelet when they both whispered, “A place best forgotten.”

  Cold silence settled over the room, until Sandor raised his head and sniffed the air. “It seems Tiergan has arrived. Excuse me, I have some instructions to give him.”

  He marched down the stairs, and Sophie hoped Tiergan was prepared for an epic goblin safety lecture.

  “You seem calm,” Grady said, studying Sophie like he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

  “So do you,” she pointed out.

  “Do I?” He held out his hands, showing her they were shaking. “I know Alden and Tiergan will do everything in their power to keep you safe. And Kenric also promised to personally keep an eye on you. But Fintan . . .”

  His face creased with lines and shadows. “Do not underestimate him, Sophie. The level of evil he’s protecting is far worse than you realize. I won’t say anything else, because I don’t want you to feel any more pressure.”

  “Uh-uh. You have to tell me,” she interrupted.

  Grady sighed, his face aging another twenty years as he mumbled, “I suspect Fintan knows who killed Jolie.”

  Everything in Sophie froze. “What?”

  “It’s just a theory, of course. But I know her fire wasn’t an accident, and it makes sense that it would’ve been set by a Pyrokinetic.”

  “And Fintan trained an unregistered Pyrokinetic,” she finished for him.

  Grady nodded.

  “Whoa,” she whispered, trying to fit the new idea with the dozens of other tiny bits she’d already pieced together. “Do you think one of my kidnappers was the person who killed Jolie?”

  “I think it’s very possible,” Grady admitted. “And honestly, that would be better. I’m hoping there aren’t too many unregistered Pyrokinetics running wild in the shadows.”

  “Yeah,” Sophie mumbled, not sure how to process the revelation.

  “Hey,” Grady said, pulling her close for a hug. “This doesn’t change anything, okay?”

  Of course it did.

  It changed everything.

  Now she wasn’t just hunting her kidnappers. She was on the verge of solving Jolie’s murder.

  “I mean it, Sophie. Your number one priority is getting you and Fitz out of there safely. Do not take any unnecessary risks trying to find Jolie’s killer. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Sophie repeated.

  But she also had a chance to find her kidnapper and Jolie’s murderer.

  Nothing was going to stop her from finally getting to the truth.

  THIRTY-TWO

  SOPHIE STARED AT THE GLITTERING tower built from brick-size amethysts. “That . . . isn’t what I was expecting,”

  She’d been to the jeweled city of Eternalia several times over the last year—though never to this section, far from the tree-lined river, where the lone tower stood surrounded by a silver fence. But the shimmering purple walls and the diamond-shaped windows made it look like it should house a princess with ridiculously long hair—not an insane, pyromaniac elf.

  And it definitely didn’t match the name Oblivimyre.

  “Do not let the beauty deceive you,” Tiergan warned, his long, heavy cloak—identical to Sophie’s—swishing noisily along the crystal path. “This tower is from a different time. Back before the ancient treaties were signed. When we needed to make an example.”

  He whispered the last word, like it was too horrible to say louder.

  “I thought elves hated violence.”

  “Yes, but violence isn’t the only way to instill fear.”

  She decided to take him at his word, following him silently to the locked silver gate. Thin strands of tinsel were draped over the fence like webs, and when they drew closer Sophie could see tiny prickles and barbs hidden among the sparkles.

  A thunderous clang shattered the silence, and the gates whipped open, revealing a dark courtyard filled with leafless trees. A chill seemed to hang in the air as they entered, and after a few steps even Tiergan started to shiver. Sophie pulled her cape tighter as the gates latched behind them with a groan.

  “Where is everyone?” Sophie asked, searching the shadows for signs of life.

  “Waiting for us inside.”

  He offered her his hand and Sophie gratefully took it, happy to feel some tiny hint of warmth.

  “At least there’s no angry mob protesting the healing,” she said, trying to stay positive.

  “Yes, it appears at least some secrets can be kept.”

  “So do you think that means the leaked information isn’t coming from the Council?” she asked, remembering her theories about Bronte.

  “I hope so. Though . . . I’d almost prefer that to the alternative.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  He glanced around like he was afraid someone might be listening. “I shouldn’t be distracting you with unnecessary worries.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  She locked her knees when he tried to pull her forward, earning herself a sigh as he leaned closer and whispered, “All right, fine. I can think of a race of creatures that are far better at eavesdropping—can’t you?”

  It took Sophie a minute to piece out what he meant. “The missing dwarves?”

  “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

  Now it was Sophie’s turn to glance over her shoulder. “I guess thirty dwarves have disappeared. Grady’s been looking for them, but so far he hasn’t found any clue to where they might be.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Sophie nodded—not liking the way his grip was tightening on her hand. “But the dwarves are on our side, right?”

  “As a whole, yes. But as you well know, that does not mean there can’t be deviants among the group.”

  And dwarves might be small and squinty and rather molelike, but Sophie had seen them crack the earth with a single well-placed step.

  “So what do we do?” she whispered, half expecting thirty dwarves to burst out of the ground and attack.

  “Nothing right now—except to shove this far, far from your mind and rally your full concentration. Let us not forget that we’re here for something much more crucial.”

  “Right,” Sophie agreed, squaring her shoulders as she followed Tiergan through a narrow silver door into the tower.

  Once inside, Sophie could see fissures marring each brick—glistening purple veins that made the jewels look ready to shatter. Two glowing chains hung from the ceiling to the floor, providing the only light. Otherwise the room was round and bare and cold.

  Beyond cold.

  Their breath practically crystallized in the air, and Sophie pulled her hood over her head, grateful the fabric was so thick.

  “I th-th-thought you said the o-o-others were here,” she said between chattering teeth, searching for a door or a flight of stairs.

  “They’re above us,” Tiergan explained as he grabbed the nearest chain and pulled it toward her. “This will take us to them.”

  The words would’ve sounded much better if there weren’t a sharp hook dangling from the end that was bigger than Sophie’s head. She tried to hold still as Tiergan looped the chain twice around her ankles. But when he latched the hook through a link in the chain, she fidgeted enough to lose her balance.

  “Easy,” Tiergan said, catching her before she could collapse. “This won’t hurt, I promise. The chain will absorb all the force.”

  Actually, Sophie was much more concerned about the low—and very solid—jeweled ceiling. She’d jumped into whirlpools and launched out of the ocean in a giant bubble and sunk into the middle of the earth through a choking patch of quicksand. Still, she couldn’t help worrying this would be the one thing that was simply too impossible to survive.

  “Pull the chain three times,” Tiergan told her, stepping out of the way.

  Part of her was tempted to stand there forever.


  But the brave part of her—or perhaps the part that was troublingly insane—wrapped her fingers around the chain and tugged.

  The world flipped and her stomach launched into her throat as she passed through something that felt like frozen mashed potatoes. She hadn’t even had a chance to scream before she was dangling like a piñata in the center of a bright room with purple walls and a purple floor and lots of staring faces in identical fireproof clothes.

  “The girl of the hour arrives,” Alden said, grabbing Sophie’s shoulders to stop her from swaying. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine—though next time I’d prefer a tower with stairs.”

  He smiled. “One somersault will have you back on your feet. Just make sure you flip forward, not backward.”

  Gymnastics of any kind had never been Sophie’s strong suit. So she was grateful she could blame her red cheeks on the head rush as she twisted and squirmed and eventually flipped in a lopsided-tumble to freedom.

  Seconds later Tiergan launched through the floor in a shower of amethyst glitter. Sophie watched him somersault effortlessly to his feet, wondering how the ground could feel so solid. But she wasn’t about to ask. Not in front of the entire Council. And Fitz. And Alden. And—

  “Where’s Fintan?” Sophie asked, trying not to sound too relieved that she didn’t have to face him yet.

  Councillor Emery pointed to the ceiling, which once again looked incredibly solid. The dark-skinned Councillor generally radiated calm and confidence. But his deep voice hid the slightest hint of a tremble as he told her, “He is being kept in absolute-zero conditions until you are prepared to face him.”

  “The cold won’t kill him?” Fitz asked, taking the question right out of Sophie’s mouth.

  Bronte snorted. “That would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”

  “What Bronte means”—Councillor Kenric jumped in—“is that Pyrokinetics generate a much higher amount of body heat. And Councillor Terik has been checking on Fintan regularly to make sure he’s still conscious—or as conscious as he’s capable of being, given his current mental state.”