Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(38)

“And what is the report you came to give today?” Della asked, reminding everyone why they were there.

Lur and Mitya shared a look, then focused on Sophie, switching back to gnomish.

“We will tell you,” Lur said, “and let you decide if you’ll share with the others.”

“I would not recommend it,” Mitya added, her focus drifting to Keefe.

Sophie’s heart deflated, and she barely remembered to use gnomish when she said, “This is about his mother.”

Lur nodded. “We spotted three of the Neverseen on our patrol today, on the far side of the Lake of Blood.”

“The Lake of Blood,” Sophie repeated, making sure she’d properly translated the words.

“That is what we call it,” Mitya agreed. “The Starkrial Valley was once lush and hearty. But the ogres dammed the river and let everything wither on the southern end. The lake that remains is red and acidic. Many things that touch its surface do not survive.”

“And the elves allowed that?” Sophie asked.

“The elves allow many things.” An edge had crept into Lur’s tone, turning the words to a windstorm.

“The Lake of Blood lies in the Neutral Territories,” Mitya explained. “And many have long suspected the ogres ruined the valley to allow them to hide a stockade in the mountains.”

“Uh, are you guys going to start using words us non-Polyglots can understand?” Keefe interrupted. “Because I think I speak for everyone when I say we want to know what’s going on!”

“I will soon,” Sophie promised. “I still need the rest of the story.” She switched back to gnomish. “What was his mom doing?”

“Nothing,” Lur said. “And that is the problem.”

“She is in serious danger,” Mitya added. “It’s even possible she . . .”

“What?” Sophie asked when neither of them finished.

Lur heaved a sigh. “His mother was badly injured when we saw her.”

“Injured how? From the battle?” The last time Sophie had seen Lady Gisela, she’d hurled herself off a cliff on Mount Everest, relying on a mysterious ogre skill called “phase shifting” to save her.

Mitya shook her head. “Her marks were the work of an ogre. They have a tool that leaves a very recognizable wound.”

“Why would they . . . ,” Sophie started, then answered her own question. “They tortured her?”

“Quite brutally.” Lur shuddered.

Sophie sucked in air, trying to think through the explosion of emotions. “But the Neverseen are partners with the ogres.”

“Yes, but the ogres do not tolerate failure,” Lur explained. “Especially when it comes to the capture of prisoners. In the ogre code of warfare that is the worst possible offense.”

And Lady Gisela allowed Gethen to be taken.

“So, you think the ogres tortured her and brought her to that stockade you mentioned?”

“It’s possible,” Lur said. “Or . . .”

Mitya took Sophie’s hands. Her fingers were calloused, but still soft as they tightened around her own. “There are other rumors about the Lake of Blood—stories of a pyre, where the ogres burn the bodies of those they kill. It is possible that it’s only a legend. But . . . the Neverseen dragged Lady Gisela into a cave. She was bleeding and wounded and screaming for mercy. After they were gone, all I found was blood.”

“The cave could’ve been a secret entrance to the prison, though, right?” Sophie asked.

“Anything is possible,” Lur agreed. “But that would not explain the smoke we saw drifting from the mountains.”

Sophie swayed and Keefe grabbed her, holding her steady as he whispered, “Please tell me what they’re saying. You said you wouldn’t hide things from me.”

“I won’t,” Sophie told him, hoping she could keep her promise. She pulled slowly away from him, asking Lur and Mitya in gnomish, “Is that all you saw?”

“Yes,” Lur said. “But we will continue investigating. We stopped only because we felt the Collective should know that the hierarchy of the Neverseen has shifted. Lady Gisela holds no authority. She is either a prisoner or a casualty.”

“Can you understand what they’re saying, Mom?” Biana asked.

“I’m only catching bits and pieces.” But the hitch in Della’s voice made it clear she’d understood enough.

“Please, Foster,” Keefe begged. “I’ve heard them say my mom’s name. I’m going crazy here.”

“I need to verify first,” she told him. “There could be a misunderstanding.” It was a frayed strand of hope, but she was going to cling to it with everything she had.

“Can I have permission to search your memories?” she asked Mitya. “I need to see exactly what you saw.”

“Reading our minds is not like reading that of your own kind,” Mitya said. “It will be exhausting, and you already look weary.”

“I can handle it,” Sophie said, reaching for Mitya’s temples.

She rallied her full mental strength, slipped into Mitya’s mind and . . .

. . . tangled in a web of memories.

No—not a web.

These were branches.