Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(112)

Sophie sent out a call for Silveny, and within a few seconds her mind filled with Silveny’s exuberant greeting. Silveny confirmed that she hadn’t told anyone about the baby—not even Greyfell, which earned her a lecture about telling the daddy. She also said she was two weeks pregnant, and that the baby would arrive in forty-two weeks, during the blue moon. She then spent the rest of their talk begging for swizzlespice, and complaining about her new pasture.

Apparently the Council had moved the alicorns away from the normal equestrian area and set them up in a much smaller meadow with blue grass that Silveny found scratchy and sour. Sophie promised to find out if there was anywhere else the alicorns could live—and to get her a double shipment of treats. And while Silveny was not thrilled about a Vika visit, she perked up when Sophie gave her permission to drag Vika through the mud like she had the last time.

The next step was hailing Councillor Oralie to give her the update. Sophie’s stomach twisted as she gave the command to the Imparter.

Oralie wasn’t alone when she answered. Councillor Terik stood behind her and explained that he’d been assigned to monitor the conversation, to make sure no treasonous activities were happening.

Sophie studied their faces, wondering if she was speaking to the same Councillors who Tam had overheard in Wildwood.

The idea made her insides twist even tighter.

“Is something wrong?” Oralie asked.

Sophie started to nod, but then her mind flashed to the night Oralie risked everything to give her Kenric’s cache.

Terik was also one of her few steady defenders.

“I’m just worried about the gnomes,” she said. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“Neither do we,” Terik murmured—and there.

Right there.

Sophie saw the fear, mixed with a tiny bit of shame.

It only lasted a fraction of a second.

But it had definitely been there.

Which must mean the Council really had known—not that Sophie could prove it. And she was sure if she did, they’d claim they had reasons.

Mr. Forkle had said the same, but . . . could any excuse be good enough for blindsiding the gnomes?

“Did you hear me?” Councillor Terik asked, reminding her she was supposed to be listening.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Sophie asked.

“I asked how things are going at Exillium.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Do you really want to know?”

“If we must,” Terik said, and the sigh in his voice made Sophie snap.

Even if the Council did have a reason for keeping the plague secret—there was no excuse for the neglect Sophie saw every day at Exillium. So she told them about the physician’s lack of supplies, and how threadbare all the tents and mats and towels were, and how meager the food was at lunchtime, and how the Coaches were forced to rely on fear and suffocating rules to keep control without enough help.

“You build entire cities out of jewels and live in glittering castles,” Sophie said, “but you can’t spare any medicine or food for a group of kids who are smart and talented and would try way harder if they weren’t constantly being told they’re worthless? What’s the point of having the school in the first place? It could be a valuable rehabilitation center if you supported it. But you’re letting it go to waste.”

Silence followed her outburst, and Sophie braced for a lengthy lecture.

Instead Oralie whispered, “You’re right. Exillium was originally created to be a center for alternative learning. I’m not sure how we lost sight of that, but . . . not anymore. Give me a list of everything they need, and I’ll get it—you have my word.”

“Just like that?” Sophie asked.

Oralie nodded. “Thank you for opening my eyes. Kenric would be so proud of you.”

The name felt warm, and it relaxed Sophie’s nerves, untangling some of her knots.

Kenric would’ve known about the plague, too. But he’d also been a good person—she was absolutely certain of that.

So maybe finding the truth would show her how he was able to be both.


“I’ve been thinking about legacies,” Calla said when she found Sophie outside the next day, letting Iggy have a few minutes of bug hunting time.

Iggy had nearly ruined the replacement monocle pendant the Black Swan had given Biana—so Sophie had taken over imp babysitting for the day.

“Legacies,” Sophie repeated, the word sour on her tongue.

Weren’t legacies what people talked about when someone died?

“I’m not despairing, if you’re worried,” Calla said. “And obviously I don’t have the plague. Still, I find myself wondering what I would leave behind, should the worst happen.”

Her eyes dropped to Sophie’s moonlark pin, and the necklace gained about a million pounds of pressure.

“I’d like to share something with you,” she whispered. “Will you let me?”

“I . . . of course,” Sophie said. “But only if you promise this doesn’t mean anything.”

“Being prepared is never a bad idea,” Calla told her. “No matter what happens, I won’t be here forever. And when I think of what I want to be remembered for, it comes down to two things. You. And my starkflower stew. So what better legacy could I have than to combine them?”