Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities) (33 page)

She dropped her satchel in the corner and leaned against the cold metal wall opposite Bronte, crossing her arms and giving him her best,
you don’t scare me
look. She had a feeling it wasn’t very convincing. Especially when he smiled.

He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in his throne. “Let’s be honest, Miss Foster. You’re here because your
creators
—in their infinite absurdity—decided to give an insolent, uneducated girl the ability to inflict pain. And
I’m
here to make sure you don’t abuse your power.”

A dozen angry retorts pressed against her lips, but Sophie bit them back. She knew Bronte was pushing her, trying to get her to slip up so he’d have a reason to expel her.

He scowled, probably annoyed she hadn’t fallen for his trick. “I hear you’re not a fan of this ability. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And why is that?”

Because it’s scary. And cruel.
But all she said was, “Because I don’t like hurting people.”

“And I suppose you’d rather make everyone feel happy and loved.”

“Is that possible?”

“Once again your ignorance astounds me. Only
negative
emotions can be inflicted, Sophie. Fear and pain and hopelessness work best. Though anger works too.” He crossed his arms. “Well, go ahead, then.”

“Go ahead, what?”

“What do you think?”

“You want me to inflict on . . . you?”

“Do you see anyone else here?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask you again, Sophie.”

Not sure what else to do, she closed her eyes and tried to muster up the right amount of rage. It was hard with no impetus.

Bronte’s sigh was so loud she was surprised it didn’t shake the walls. “That’s what I figured.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh, no need for explanation. I’d expected nothing less. You have no knowledge or appreciation for your talent, because it doesn’t occur
naturally
. They just twisted your genes, giving you any powers they wanted with no rhyme or reason. And now the Council wants you to harness a power that your mind doesn’t understand. Which is why I’ve had to come up with a way to help you learn how to interpret it.”

Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore there was glee in his eyes as he lunged for her, pinning her against the wall.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying—and failing—to squirm away.

“Something several of the Councillors think I won’t be able to do.”

He closed his eyes and his hands started to shake.

“You’re going to inflict on me?”

He didn’t reply—but the icy darkness that seeped into her head told her she was right. She shivered as the cold gnashed at her mind with sharp teeth, pressing and scraping and thrashing. But the pain wasn’t unbearable. It didn’t leave her doubled over on the floor, flailing and writhing, like the other people she’d inflicted on.

Bronte gasped for breath and the force changed, turning bright and hot. It melted the darkness, consuming everything it touched like fire. The harder Sophie tried to fight the heat, the hotter it burned. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a trickle of the fire pushed deeper.

Sophie screamed and felt her body collapse as the searing heat raged through her mind like an inferno. She thought about resisting, but she’d lost the will. What could she do? She was just a worthless, broken girl with no actual power. She should curl into a ball and give up.

“I
knew
you weren’t as strong as everyone thought!”

She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to let him win.

With the last of her strength she dragged her shaking body to her satchel, forcing her eyes to focus as she fumbled for the vial Grady had given her. She spilled a few drops as she tore out the cork, but she managed to choke down the rest of the creamy liquid.

Ice rushed through her veins and white clouds filled her head, lifting her up and away from everything. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, just lay there and soaked up the freedom of being so light, so calm, so completely unburdened.

She had no way to know how much time passed before the clouds melted like fog in the sunlight, but eventually her head cleared and she rolled to her side, noticing for the first time a figure leaning over her. His bright white teeth were all she could focus on as Bronte bent down and said, “I was right about you. And now everyone will know.”

“TOLD YA YOU SHOULD’VE NAMED
this place the Foster Center,” Keefe announced as Elwin handed Sophie a bottle of Youth to drink.

Master Leto had insisted on helping Sophie down the tower stairs—even though she’d told him she felt fine after she’d taken the elixir. He kept mumbling that she was far worse than she realized, and when he brought her to Sandor, he demanded that Sandor rush her to the Healing Center. Not that Sandor needed an order to freak out and become overprotective about her safety.

At least it got her out of lunch detention—though she’d have to make it up the next day.

And it gave her something else to think about besides Bronte’s words, which were still swimming around in her head, making her queasy every time she tried to process them.

What was he going to tell the Council?

“I think I should start a pool to see who can guess how many times you’ll end up here this year,” Keefe said, leaning back in his bed. “I could make a fortune.”

“Hey, you’re a patient too,” Sophie reminded him, pointing to his cloth-wrapped hand.

Keefe shrugged. “It was easier than ditching.”

Elwin handed Sophie a small vial filled with a teal elixir. “The serum you took seems like it did its job, but I want to be extra cautious, given what happened yesterday. Inflicting takes a pretty heavy toll.”

He didn’t have to tell her. She’d never forget the pain—though the all-encompassing hopelessness that had swallowed her was worse.

“So what’d you do?” she asked Keefe, to stop herself from thinking about it.

Keefe smirked. “You’re not the only one who can be mysterious.”

“He shattered the bottle he was using to catch a tornado and cut his hand on the glass,” Elwin answered for him.

“Whoa—way to kill all the fun,” Keefe complained as he unwrapped his hand and flexed his fingers. “And it was more like a scratch.”

“A scratch that needed three coats of Wound Wipe to seal it.”

“And you get on me for being bad at elementalism,” Sophie teased.

“Hey, Miss I’ve-Almost-Exploded-the-School—I am
awesome
at elementalism, I just . . . couldn’t concentrate today.”

Elwin turned to look at him. “Everything okay?”

Keefe glanced at Sophie. “You tell me. I tried to stop by Everglen after dinner yesterday and the gnomes wouldn’t let me in. Said the family ‘wasn’t accepting visitors.’ And Fitz still won’t answer my hails.”

Sophie became very interested in the edges of her cape.

“Come on, Fitz is my best friend.” When she still didn’t say anything, he added a quiet, “Please.”

She studied him, noticing a tiny dent between his brows. It was the closest Keefe came to actually looking stressed.

Elwin must’ve noticed it too, because he said, “Maybe we should tell him. The news will be public in a few days anyway.”

“Are we really allowed to tell people?” Sophie half hoped they weren’t. She didn’t feel like reliving all the sadness
again.
Plus, what if Keefe blamed her just as much as Fitz did?

“Come on, Foster—how would you feel if your best friend had something major going on and no one would tell you what it was?”

“I know,” she mumbled. He was right. He deserved to know, no matter what. “But . . . it’s not good news.”

“That’s why I want to know.”

She sighed. Then she opened her mouth and tried to force the words out. But her voice had left her.

“Alden’s mind is broken,” Elwin said when she couldn’t.

Keefe blinked. “You mean like . . . he has a wound from when he cracked his skull, right?” He turned back to Sophie. “That’s what he means, right?”

Sophie shook her head, fighting back tears as Elwin explained what little he could about the Council’s mission and Alden’s guilt about Prentice. Every new word made Keefe turn paler.

“Are you okay?” Elwin asked, grabbing Keefe’s shoulder as he started to sway. He helped him lean down and put his head between his knees.

After a series of deep breaths Keefe sat back up, wiping sweat off his brow. “I just—I can’t—I mean, it’s
Alden.
He’s always been like . . .”

He didn’t finish, but Sophie knew what he meant.

Alden felt like a father to her, too.

Keefe sniffed and smudged away a tear. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just . . . I never thought”—his voice cracked and he cleared his throat—“And there’s nothing anyone can do?”

Elwin sat next to him on the edge of the bed. “Apparently not. All of the Telepaths who’ve checked him have said it can’t be undone.”

“Is that true?” Keefe asked Sophie.

It took her a second to remember to nod.

She might be clinging to a weak hope with both fists locked tight, but that was
her
secret.

Keefe’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything else as Elwin checked his hand and gave him a blue serum to drink. When the chimes announced the end of lunch, Sophie slipped away before he could ask her any more difficult questions. Or decide that it was her fault.

She tried to pay attention in multispeciesial studies—Lady Evera was even lecturing on goblins, and she wouldn’t have minded learning a few more Sandor facts. But her mind kept flashing back to Keefe, pale and doubled over as he tried to process the news.

If he’d taken it that hard, how much worse would it be when the whole school knew?

“Hey, earth to Foster,” Keefe said, grabbing her arm as she made her way to study hall. “Whoa, calm down, Gigantor,” he added as Sandor moved to shove him away. “I just need to talk to her for a second.”

“I’ll be watching
closely
,” Sandor warned him.

Sophie tried to stay calm as Keefe pulled her to the side, but she had a feeling he was about to freak out on her just as much as Fitz had. “What’s up?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. I know you too well, Foster—you obviously know something about Alden that you’re not telling me, something that’s helping you stay so calm about this.”

“I’m not—”

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. But whatever you’re planning, I want in. I want to fix Alden just as much as you do, and if we work together, it’ll happen twice as fast. Actually, three times, since clearly I count for double.”

“Keefe, there’s nothing anyone can do to fix a broken mind.”

“I’m not talking about
anyone.
I’m talking about
you.
And I know you’re up to something. I can feel it.” He grabbed her hand, sucking in a slow breath as the crease between his brows relaxed. “I can feel your hope. It’s not much—but it’s there. And there has to be a reason for it. Besides—you’re going to need my help. Who knows the Vackers better than me?”

He did make a valid point. But . . . trusting
Keefe
?

“Please, Sophie,” he whispered. “I need to do
something
or I’m going to go crazy.”

Sophie sighed, looking at all the prodigies around them, many of whom were clearly eavesdropping. “We can’t talk about it here.”

“Look at you, wanting to ditch study hall. Some people might say I’m rubbing off on you—which is an awesome compliment, by the way.”

“I didn’t mean
now
. But . . . come to Havenfield after school.”

She walked away before she could change her mind.

“It’s a date
,
Foster!” Keefe shouted, turning every head in the corridor and making her grit her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. “Looking forward to it.”

That made one of them.

S
O, THIS IS WHERE THE
great Sophie Foster lives,” Keefe said as he plopped down on her bed and grabbed Ella from among the pillows. “Wow—you really sleep with this thing? I thought Fitz was kidding when he gave it to you when you were recovering.”

Sophie snatched Ella away and placed her on the desk chair, wondering why she’d thought it was a good idea to bring Keefe up to her room. The first time she’d had Dex up there had been embarrassing enough.

At least Iggy was happy. He curled up in Keefe’s lap, squeak-purring like crazy as Keefe tickled his belly.

“Only you would have a pet imp—and dye it hot pink.”

“Actually, the pink is Dex’s fault.”

“Ah yes, I forgot about Dex. He comes over a lot, doesn’t he?”

“We
are
best friends. And I’ve been thinking—”

“Oh good, at least one of us should.”

“I’m
serious
, Keefe. Before I tell you anything, I need you to agree to three conditions.”

“And those conditions would be?”

“Okay, number one: Anything I tell you can
never
be repeated, to anyone—ever. Not even Fitz.”

“Ooh, I get to solve all the Foster mysteries—awesome!”

She sighed. “Two,
I’m
the one who makes the decisions—and you don’t get to argue with them.”

“I don’t see how that’s fair.”

“I didn’t say it was fair. You either agree or you’re out.”

He grinned. “Fine, Foster’s the queen of the universe—agreed. What’s the last one?”

She stared at her hands, trying not to think about the fury she’d seen in Fitz’s eyes the day before. “That no matter what you learn . . . you won’t hate me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Just promise, okay?”

“Uh, that one’s a no-brainer. Still not so sure on the whole letting-you-boss-me-around thing. But the last one’s easy.”

She nodded, still not looking at him.

“So . . . that’s it, right? We have a deal?”

“Actually there’s one more thing,” Sandor announced, marching
into the room. “Whatever you guys are planning, I’m in too.”

“That might not always—”