Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(29)

. . . to die, Sophie’s mind finished.

“The physicians should be able to find the cure, though, right?” she asked.

Calla smiled. “That is the plan.”

Sophie tried to think of something else to say. All she could find was half a sentence.

“If there’s anything I can do . . .”

“There may very well be,” Calla said. “That’s why you’re the Moonlark.”

She curtsied and turned to leave, then whipped back around. “Look at me, forgetting the reason I came here!”

She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a fist-size black cube. “This is the package you were promised, to swear fealty to the Black Swan. There’s a sensor on the top that will respond to your DNA. Only when you truly mean your oath will the latch open.”

“How can it tell?”

“That’s one of the Black Swan’s mysteries. But you are their heir. Your spot is reserved. All you have to do is accept it.”

She curtsied again, leaving Sophie alone with the tiny black box that suddenly felt very heavy. In her mind she could hear hundreds of unanswered questions mixed with all her doubts and worries and insecurities.

She could also hear Mr. Forkle telling her she had a choice.

Hands trembling and stomach fluttering, she raised the box to her lips and gave the sensor the tiniest of licks.

As soon as her DNA registered, the cube flashed with white light. Words appeared through the glow, a single sentence written in frills and loops. The oath was far simpler than Sophie had imagined. But the words felt true. A promise she could stand behind. Believe in. Uphold.

I will do everything in my power to help my world.

Sophie closed her eyes, drawing the words from her heart as she whispered the oath.

The last word had barely left her lips when a latch on the box snapped open. Inside she found a pendant made of curved black metal, shaped like the sign of the swan. Set into the center was a magnifying glass.

Sophie assumed the tiny piece of paper enclosed with it would explain what the pendant meant. Instead it said—in Mr. Forkle’s familiar writing:

Glad you made the right choice.





THIRTEEN


HOW MANY TIMES did you have to say the oath before your cube opened?” Biana asked, fiddling with her Black Swan pendant as she followed Sophie and Della down to breakfast.

“I think it was my fourth,” Della said, lifting the hem of her long black-and-white gown to descend the stairs.

Surprisingly, Biana had worn pants—though the tunic she’d paired with them was embroidered with butterflies, and she had jeweled butterflies pinned in her hair. Somehow Biana made it all seem effortless—even her matching lip gloss. “I got it on my third try,” she told Sophie. “What about you?”

Sophie looked away. “My first.”

“I guess I should’ve figured that,” Biana said through a sigh. She held her pendant up like a monocle. “Do you have any idea what these do? All my note said was ‘to show you the world in new ways.’?”

“Mine said, ‘For when you need to look closer,’?” Della added.

They glanced at Sophie.

“Mine said they were glad I made the right choice.”

“Huh,” Biana said. “It must be weird to be you.”

Talk about an understatement.

All the things Calla had told Sophie were still buzzing around her mind—especially the part about Calla being involved with Project Moonlark.

For some reason she’d imagined the project only included Mr. Forkle, sitting alone in a lab with a microscope and some Petri dishes. But now she could picture a whole team—multiple people and species brainstorming and planning, resting their hopes on her to be their Moonlark. And what if—

All thoughts dropped away when they reached the gazebo.

“Your hair!” Della gasped, rushing to where Fitz sat at the table. His usual dark waves had been dyed green, and they stuck out in every direction.

“Someone slipped an elixir into my shampoo this morning,” Fitz said, patting the spikes and eyeing Dex. “But it’s cool. I kind of like it.”

Dex snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Actually, it’s not that bad,” Biana said.

“Yeah, Fitz can pull off anything.” Sophie blushed as she considered the implication of her words.

Keefe groaned. “I knew we should’ve gone with the balding elixir. Next time!”

“Uh-uh,” Della told him. “You need to fix this—now. Do you really want the Black Swan to see what you’ve done?”

Keefe shrugged and grabbed a pastry from one of the platters in the center of the table. “They’re walking around crusted with ice and turning their bodies to stone. Cactus head is nothing.”

“Okay, lets try this a different way,” Della decided. “If you get to makeover my son, then I get to makeover both of you.”

“Works for me,” Keefe said. “I look awesome in everything.”

“Tell that to your feet when they spend the rest of the week balancing in my tallest heels,” Della told him.

“Okay . . . forget that.” Dex reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny brown vial. “This will get rid of the green.”