Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(123)
“A couple of months?” Sophie whispered, realizing that synced perfectly with the time Biana manifested as a Vanisher.
That was the day she’d first noticed Marella not acting like herself—and not long afterward, her and Marella had their big fight. She’d thought Marella might’ve been jealous because she’d said once that she wanted to be a Vanisher too—but that must’ve been something Marella had made up to cover her secret. Now Sophie wished she could run over and apologize for not understanding. Or go back in time and be a better friend.
An immense fanfare reminded her why they were there, and her pulse sped as all twelve Councillors glittered onto the stage. Their jeweled cloaks and circlets glinted in the sunlight, but this time it didn’t make them look regal. Compared to the gnomes in their overalls and grass-woven dresses, the Council looked frivolous and cold.
Oralie stood between Bronte and Terik, and Sophie could see the unease in their stance. Even Councillor Alina’s confident smile was missing.
“Thank you for coming today,” Councillor Emery said, his eyes focused on the gnomes. “As promised, we’re here to answer your many questions. But we’re going to start with the main one. Why were you kept in the dark about the plague? We did have a reason—one that was not actually our choosing. We kept the secret because your ancient leaders begged us not to tell you. In fact, it was their dying wish.”
He paused to let the news rustle through the crowd. Even Sir Astin seemed surprised to hear it, and no one seemed to know how to react.
“Keeping our promise has been one of the greatest challenges we’ve ever faced,” Emery continued. “But we felt it was important to honor the word we gave. We still feel it’s important, which is why we must at least ask that you leave the matter here, trust that we’re following the wishes of your leaders, and return to your lives.”
Murmurs rose among the gnomes, swelling into angry shouts, and Councillor Emery held up his hands. “We assumed that would be your reaction. So be it. We’ll provide the whole story—though it is not a happy one. It goes back five thousand years, to the time you lost your homeland.”
Councillor Bronte stepped forward. “I was an Emissary when Serenvale was overthrown—newly appointed. In fact, Emissaries were a new thing for our world. I suppose that’s not a detail you’d consider relevant—but what is relevant is that our hearts were broken when your refugees arrived in the Lost Cities. Their stories of famine and bloodshed inspired immediate action, and I was ordered to contact the ogres and make it clear that the only way to avoid war was to commit to a treaty. At first, the ogres cooperated, and agreed to meet under a truce. King Gowg—the ogre king at the time—even invited us to Serenvale. Councillor Fallon Vacker went with me, as did both of the gnomish leaders. But when we arrived, we began to see the depth of our dilemma. Serenvale had been destroyed. The Eventide river ran with polluted water, and the trees had all been torn from the ground. Even if the ogres surrendered the land, there would be nothing for your people to return to.”
Angry shouts erupted among the gnomes, and Bronte paused to allow their rage before he continued.
“Our goal was still to negotiate peace,” he said. “To ensure nothing like this would ever occur again. So with your leaders permission, we continued our treaty negotiations. But the ogres refused to consider our demands. We were preparing to return to the Lost Cities, when King Gowg invited us to dine with him. He claimed it would be a chance to better understand one another. I cannot tell you how much I wish we hadn’t agreed. The conversation was as horrible as the food, and he ended dinner with an ultimatum. He told us in three weeks we would see that he had the upper hand in these negotiations. We returned to the Lost Cities and prepared for an attack. But nothing changed and the deadline passed uneventfully. We were determining our next steps when we received word that your leaders had fallen ill.”
Bronte’s voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat several times.
“I’m sure you don’t need me to describe their symptoms. It was the same plague we face now. And it had spread to their spouses, as well as the trees they’d taken up residence in. At first, we didn’t understand the connection. We thought they’d encountered a new pathogen in our world, and we kept the quarantine quiet to avoid panic. The only gnomes who knew were the healers who worked with our physicians, searching for a cure. None of them could find the mysterious parasite. And then King Gowg paid Lumenaria a visit. That was the first time any of us heard the word ‘drakostomes.’?”
The word sounded heavier on Bronte’s lips, as though it were a burden he’d been carrying for far too long.
“The drakostomes are an accident of nature,” he whispered, and yet the sound still rang off the jeweled buildings. “A force that was never meant to be unleashed. Had your people not lost Serenvale, it’s likely the plague would’ve remained undiscovered. But the ogres stole your homeland, tore down your beloved Panakes, and split open their bark.”
A sharp gasp echoed through the crowd.
“Yes,” Bronte told them. “The trees of your legends were real. And their fall unleashed the greatest danger your people have ever faced. We don’t know how the ogres discovered the parasite—or how they infected your leaders—but King Gowg assured us he’d harvested enough to infect the entire gnomish population. He also insisted that there was no cure.”