“I do not know. Their dwarves came up through the ground as I chased after you. But I’m hoping your friends are still waiting near the outcropping. Is your head clear enough to teleport?”
“I think so,” she said, sucking in another breath. “But I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are! And don’t even think about—”
A wall of muscle slammed them from behind, sending Sandor crashing on top of her. The thick snow saved Sophie from the bulk of his crushing weight, but the fall still knocked the wind out of her, leaving her coughing and wheezing as Sandor pushed himself to his feet. He’d barely gone two steps before the massive ogre tackled him again, tearing at Sandor’s neck and chest with his pointed teeth as they tumbled over the ground.
“You’re going over, flat nose,” the ogre shouted as he shoved Sandor toward the edge.
“If I do, you’re coming with me.” Sandor widened his stance, holding his bleeding arms at the ready.
“Deal!”
The ogre launched himself at Sandor with all of his strength, the collision so loud it knocked Sandor back another step.
They wobbled once, twice, then toppled off the cliff.
“NO!!!” Sophie screamed, sprinting to where they’d fallen.
The drop had to be at least a thousand feet.
And all she could see at the bottom was red.
SIXTY-SEVEN
SANDOR!” SOPHIE SCREAMED, HER CHEST heaving with sobs as she searched for a way to climb down the embankment.
She glanced over the edge, wondering if she could see enough details to teleport down to him, when a deep voice spoke behind her.
“Surrender, Sophie, and no one else has to die.”
She spun around, feeling her whole body shake with rage as three black-cloaked figures stepped through the blinding white swells. Glints of silver flashed in their hands, and Sophie realized they each carried a melder.
She pooled her fear and fury, spinning it into an angry swarm in her mind. But before she could inflict any of it, a sharp blast of pain flared in her chest, dropping her like a stone.
“She was trying to inflict,” a familiar voice shouted as the other two figures accused him of violating their orders. “Besides, all he said was to bring her in alive. He didn’t say anything about untouched.”
Sophie tried to move—tried to scream—but the melder had paralyzed her from head to toe, forcing her to lie still and watch as the figures drew closer.
The one who’d shot her leaned over the edge and laughed. “Looks like we don’t have to worry about her bodyguard.”
Sophie raged inside her mind as the others shared in his laughter. She tried to channel the energy into a force she could blast them with. But the melder must’ve done something to her heart. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t find the force she needed to launch any emotions.
“Let’s go,” one of the other figures said as he crouched in front of Sophie and waved a hand in front of her face. “Think she’s stunned enough?”
“Might as well be safe,” the one who’d shot her told him, blasting Sophie again.
Lightning seared through Sophie’s veins and the iron taste of blood coated her tongue. She stared at the dark spaces where the figures faces hid behind their cloaks, vowing to make them pay the next time she got the chance.
But for the moment, all she could do was endure the agony and try not to wonder how much worse the pain had been for Dex when they’d blasted him three times on the streets of Paris.
“That should do it,” the third figure—who’d yet to speak—decided. “Grab her and let’s get out of here.”
“What about the boy?” the one in front of Sophie asked.
“Which boy? The Vacker one? He’d only be an asset to the girl.”
“No—the boy who led us here. He can’t be allowed to go home.”
“Why?” Keefe shouted, stepping through the wall of wind and snow, looking like a ghost in his white hooded cloak and boots. Fitz flanked him, pointing his melder at the figure closest to Sophie, as Keefe asked, “Afraid I’ll tell Mom?”
The figure stood, his laugh so cold Sophie shivered inside. “Trust me,” he told Keefe. “Your mother is not my concern.”
His voice was clearer now, and Sophie recognized it as Lord Cassius. Keefe must’ve noticed it too, because he looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“Is this really what you do?” Keefe asked, choking slightly when he pointed to Sophie’s paralyzed form. “Is that the Sencen legacy?”
“No, it’s a necessary sacrifice for a larger plan.”
“I hate you!” Keefe screamed, grabbing a chunk of ice and flinging it at his father’s head.
Lord Cassius stepped to the side and the ice breezed past him, plummeting over the edge and falling so far, Sophie couldn’t hear it crash.
Sandor had fallen the same way. . . .
She shook the heartbreaking thought away, forcing herself to focus.
Lord Cassius was stomping the snow off his boots as he told Keefe, “You hate, only because you do not understand. I am building you a better world. Someday you’ll thank me.”
“I will never thank you,” Keefe told him, backing a step away. “I will never speak to you again.”
“Well, then it’s going to be a very quiet day. Gethen—grab the girl,” Lord Cassius ordered, pointing to the figure who’d shot Sophie. “We’ll take all three of them.”
“Don’t come any nearer,” Fitz warned him, pointing his melder at Gethen’s head.
Gethen laughed and aimed his melder at Sophie. “Shoot me and I’ll shoot her again—and she’s already taken several blasts. How many more do you think that freaky little mind of hers can handle?”
“Sophie can handle anything!” Keefe shouted, hurling another chunk of ice and smashing Gethen’s arm so hard it knocked the melder out of his hand.
Gethen scrambled to retrieve it but Fitz blasted him in the chest, dropping him to the snow like a lump of coal before Fitz dove for the melder and tossed it to Keefe.
Fitz spun to check on Sophie as she watched Keefe stalk closer to his father.
“I knew all that bramble practice would come in handy,” Keefe told him. “And you said it was a foolish game.”
Lord Cassius laughed. “Put it down, son.”
“I’m not your son!”
“Yes you are—and you always will be. And regardless of what you may think, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Funny—I will have no problem blasting the snot out of you.”
“Then let’s take stock of your situation, shall we? We have your dwarves outnumbered three to one. Your bodyguard is dead—”
“Sandor?” Fitz and Keefe both asked.
“Yes. Poor oaf took a dive off that cliff—and last I checked goblins can’t force-shift like ogres. So . . .” He raised his hand, miming a diving motion that ended in a splatter.
Sophie was glad she couldn’t move, because she would have tossed him over the edge.
“And last we saw, your puffy leader was pinned down by at least a dozen of our dwarves,” Lord Cassius added. “I’m sure they’ll be delivering him to us any minute now. So it’s over. Set down your weapons and we’ll bring you in with no further injuries.”
“No, I don’t think we will,” Keefe said, taking a slow step toward Sophie. “Because I think you forgot to take stock of your situation.”
“Three scrawny kids—one of whom is currently paralyzed,” Lord Cassius started—but Keefe shook his head.
“Not three. Four.”
“NOW!” Fitz shouted as Biana appeared and tackled Keefe’s father.
Fitz dropped the other figure with a melder blast and Keefe took over the fight with his dad. Biana ran to Sophie’s side and pulled her away from the ledge, twisting her into a sitting position so she could place her fingers at the base of Sophie’s skull. “This is going to hurt, but it’ll pull you out of the daze. My dad taught me, just in case.”
> Sophie couldn’t nod, but she held her breath, bracing for the worst as Biana dug her fingers into the tender skin, right where Sophie’s neck met her skull.
Pain surged immediately—like Biana had awoken some sort of beast and let it tear around inside her—and when she loosened her grip, Sophie fell to her side, coughing and thrashing and wondering if she was going to be sick.
Biana helped her to her feet, wrapping Sophie’s shaky arm across her shoulders and pulling her back toward Fitz.
“No . . . we . . . Sandor,” Sophie said, between gasping breaths. “He might be . . . need to check.”
“We will,” Biana promised as they came up alongside Fitz. “As soon as Keefe’s ready. How’s he doing?” she asked Fitz.
Fitz could only shake his head and point.
A sheet of white blocked most of the view, but she could vaguely discern two cloaked figures scaling another incline, one in black, the other nearly invisible in white.
Sophie, Fitz, and Biana climbed after them.
Chunks of snow slipped under Sophie’s feet and she wished she had the heavy boots Fitz and Biana were wearing. Their progress was painfully slow until Fitz found icy ropes they could hold on to. He stayed behind her to catch her if she slipped, and they pulled themselves up, stopping at a new ledge that stretched to a relatively flat area.
The whiteout barely let them see five feet in any direction, but they shoved blindly forward until Biana grabbed their arms and pointed to a smear of black among the white.
A few more steps and they could see Keefe and his father, standing in the winds. They weren’t fighting. They were just . . . staring. And when Sophie moved closer, she understood why.
The wind—or maybe Keefe—must’ve thrown back his father’s hood.
But it wasn’t his father facing him.
It was Lady Gisela.
Keefe’s mom.
SIXTY-EIGHT
I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” SOPHIE SAID, voicing the thought she was pretty sure they all were having. “She sounded like Lord Cassius.”
And then she remembered: Keefe’s mom can mimic.
“You?” Keefe pointed to the Sencen crest on his cape. “But Dad was the one who gave this to me.”
“And I’m the one who gave it to him. Honestly, Keefe”—she stomped her feet, shaking the snow off her heavy boots, even though they immediately sank back into the snowdrift—“Don’t you know your father at all? He never set so much as a hair out of place, especially if it risked all those honors he’s gotten from the Council.”
“But, Dad’s—”
“A jerk?” Lady Gisela finished for him. “Yes, he is. And your hating him has been hugely helpful to me. Every time I slipped and let any emotions that might’ve given me away show through, I could just blame it on your latest mess. In fact, when I return home tonight, all he’ll feel is a mother distraught over her son’s tragic disappearance.”
“You monster!” Biana shouted, accidentally revealing that she’d moved dangerously close to Lady Gisela.
Lady Gisela grabbed Biana’s cloak and pressed her melder against Biana’s head. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you. A blast this close will likely cause permanent damage.”
“Go ahead,” Biana told her, her voice surprisingly steady.
“You can drop the mock bravery, my dear. There are safer ways to impress my son. Just ask that one.”
“SHUT UP!” Keefe screamed as Lady Gisela tilted her head toward Sophie.
“Yes, you’re right,” his mom agreed. “I’m cold. And the altitude remedy the ogres gave me is triggering a headache.” She pointed her melder at Keefe again. “This is your last chance to spare your friends unnecessary pain. Throw down your weapons and come with me.”
“Uh—in case you didn’t notice, there’s four of us and only one of you,” Keefe reminded her.
“That’s my Keefe. Always missing the obvious.”
She covered her face with her hood and stomped her foot again. And when the ground rumbled, Sophie realized what she was doing.
“She’s calling her dwarves!” she shouted, but she was too late.
A dozen furry bodies launched out of the snow and surrounded them.
“Any ideas?” Fitz asked, backing up as the dwarves circled closer.
“I’m thinking.” Sophie wasn’t sure if she could inflict without taking her friends down in the frenzy—and with the ice clawing up her poorly-dressed legs and feet, she didn’t think she could concentrate hard enough to affect such a large group anyway.
“I’ll give you until the count of three to throw down your weapons and lie in the snow,” Lady Gisela called.
“Never,” Keefe shouted. “Guys, leap out of here!”
“Not without you!” Sophie shouted back.
“One,” Lady Gisela counted. “And you’ll never create a strong enough beam of light in this storm.”
Sophie glanced at the flurries around them, hating that Keefe’s mom was right. Especially when she counted, “Two.”
“Three!” Mr. Forkle shouted, belly flopping onto four of the dwarves closest to Fitz and Sophie, crushing them with his massive girth.
A handful of the Black Swan’s dwarves popped out of the ground and dove into the fray, and Lady Gisela dropped Biana and turned to run away. But Keefe tackled her, sending them toppling through the wall of wind and vanishing into the white nothing.
Sophie, Fitz, and Biana chased after them—or tried to, anyway. The snow was waist deep, and they were climbing uphill again, so it felt like they were dragging heavy chains.
“He’s over there!” Biana shouted, pointing to a flash of black, before it was swallowed again by the blinding white.
They picked up their pace, pushing their bodies so hard they could barely breathe. But by the time they reached them, it was still too late.
Keefe lay facedown in the snow, pinned under his mom’s foot, with her melder pointed at his head.
Sophie had barely screamed, “LET HIM GO!” when Biana pounced, slamming into Lady Gisela and sending them tumbling down the incline.
Keefe scrambled to his feet and chased after them, joining Sophie and Fitz on the way.
“Did you know Biana could fight like that?” Sophie asked as Keefe’s mom tried to stop their tumbling, and Biana shoved her shoulders and sent them both toppling again.
“Actually, yeah,” Keefe admitted. “She’s thrown me down a hill during base quest several times.”
“Me too.” Fitz agreed.
Sophie smiled, trying to picture them—but it quickly faded when she realized how close Biana was getting to the edge.
“BIANA, STOP!” Sophie, Fitz, and Keefe all shouted, but Biana either couldn’t slow or didn’t hear them.
They were seconds away from dropping off the edge when Lady Gisela grabbed Biana’s arms and swung them both into a drift of snow so deep, it seemed to swallow them.
“It’s over, Mom,” Keefe called as she struggled to her feet. He pointed his melder at her heart as she raised her foot to stomp for her dwarves. “I will drop you with this if I have to.”
She shook the snow out of her hair and stomped her boot anyway.
No dwarves jumped out and attacked them.
“Well, I guess they’re busy,” Lady Gisela said, glancing at the cliff behind her.
“There’s nowhere to go, Mom. Just give up and come with me.” He raised the melder at her head. “I don’t want to use this—but I will.”
“I know.” She smiled at him then, but it was a sad smile.
A broken smile.
“I’m not going back with you,” she told him.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, there’s always a choice.”
Her smile faded as she turned to look at the ledge again, and Sophie realized what she was thinking a second too late.
She screamed almost as loud as Keefe when Lady Gisela launched herself backward. And they all watched in horror as she plummeted off the edge of the cliff.
SIXTY-NINE
KEEFE SANK TO HIS KNEES and Fitz and Biana gathered around him.
Sophie leaned over the edge, trying to squint through the swirling snow.
“I can’t see anything,” she said quietly, knowing Keefe would need to know for sure.
I’ll have to teleport down there and look, she transmitted to Fitz.
“Not alone, you won’t,” Fitz told her. “I’m going with you.”
“Me too,” Keefe said, struggling to his feet. Clearly her secret communication hadn’t fooled him.
“I’m going,” he insisted.
His voice was shakier than his legs, but his eyes were determined.
“Okay,” she relented, offering him her hand.
He twined their fingers together as Fitz took her other hand and Biana held on to Fitz. Then she pictured what she’d seen of the spot where Sandor had fallen, waiting until the image felt clear in her mind before she ordered everyone to hold on tight and pulled them off the cliff.
They landed in a pile of slushy snow.
Red slushy snow.
Sophie scrambled back, nearly tripping over the body as she tried to get away.
But it wasn’t Keefe’s mom.
“Sandor!”
Sophie dropped to her knees beside him, begging him to open his eyes.
He didn’t.
But his injuries didn’t look nearly as bad as she would’ve expected. There was a gash on his forehead and another on his chin. But most of the blood seemed to have come from the deep scratches on his chest and neck. His legs and arms looked like they were bent the wrong way, but his spine seemed straight. And when she pressed her ear against his chest, she could feel the rise and fall of shallow breaths.
“He’s alive! Though only barely. We have to get him to Elwin. Fitz, if you take his feet, I can get his arms, and if we all hold on to him as we fall I should be able to get us all . . .”
Her voice trailed off when she met Keefe’s eyes.
“I don’t see my mom,” he whispered. “Do you?”
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