Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(39)

A mental forest, wild and unruly.

Each memory coiled like vines, wrapping so tightly there was no way to shove through. Even a brain push—a specialized telepathy trick—couldn’t break past the gnarled chaos. And the trees seemed to grow and stretch until Sophie couldn’t see how to escape the endless woods.

“You need help,” Fitz said, sounding very far away. “I’m coming in.”

Sophie was too lost to warn him.

Wow, this is insane, Fitz transmitted as his consciousness tangled near hers.

We can’t stay here, Sophie said. It’s pulling us farther and farther away. But I’m not strong enough to break out.

Okay, so what if we pool our energy? Fitz asked.

Worth a try.

She imagined her consciousness slithering across the vines like a snake. Fitz did the same, and when they finally reached each other . . .

Whoa, is this what it’s like to be Cognates? she asked as a surge of warm energy worked like the sun, drawing the trees toward their light and leaving spaces for Sophie and Fitz to move.

No idea, Fitz admitted. But it’s awesome.

It definitely was. The memory forest had divided into dozens of paths, and Sophie chose the darkest. Nightmares clawed with thorny stems, but with Fitz’s help they pushed to the path’s end. There they found a cold, stark tree, empty and quiet. But Sophie could see the truth hidden in the branches at the top.

Fitz’s consciousness gave Sophie a boost and they climbed together, watching in wary silence as the memory unfolded. Two black-cloaked figures dragged a decloaked Lady Gisela past a red lake with dead carcasses scattered along the shore. Sophie could tell Keefe’s mom had been wounded, but she couldn’t see how bad the injuries were until Mitya snuck ahead of them and slipped into the bushes. The Neverseen passed by, mere feet from where Mitya hid, and Sophie felt her stomach heave when she saw the deep, curved puncture wounds on Lady Gisela’s face. She had dozens of them, carved into her cheeks, her chin, her neck.

“Please,” Lady Gisela begged as the figures dragged her toward the mountains.

Her captors ignored her cries, kicking her when she stumbled.

Her pleas grew more urgent as they headed for a rift, but the Neverseen did not slow. Mitya tried to follow, but by the time she found a way into the cave, the Neverseen had vanished, leaving nothing but red.

As she turned to head back, Mitya heard Lady Gisela scream, “Don’t do this!” Then everything fell silent, and a raspy voice said, “It’s done.”

A million icicles stabbed Sophie’s heart as she recognized the voice.

Brant.

Clearly he’d recovered from his wounds.

The memory shifted forward, to when Mitya rejoined Lur by the poisonous lake. He was studying the trail of red, which was darker than the deadly water. They both turned as the scent of smoke laced through the air. A single black plume rose into the sky, before the mountain winds whisked it away.

“That is all we know,” Mitya said as Sophie removed her shaking hands from Mitya’s temples.

“You’ll share this with the Collective?” Lur asked.

“We will,” Fitz answered when Sophie couldn’t.

Mitya stepped closer, wiping the tears off Sophie’s face. “I am sorry to burden you with this responsibility, Miss Foster. No one should face such horrors. Especially you.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Sophie told her, not feeling brave enough to look at Keefe.

“We must leave you now,” Mitya said, dipping a slow bow. “But we promise to report anything new we discover.”

“Be careful, my friends,” Calla said, hugging them both. “Things are not as they seem.”

“Indeed they are not,” Lur told her, kissing Calla’s cheeks.

They both took one last look at Sophie, their eyes focused on her moonlark pin. Then they disappeared into the trees.

“Okay,” Keefe said, taking Sophie’s hands again. “You have to tell me what my mom’s done.”

Do you want me to talk to him? Fitz transmitted.

Sophie shook her head. Keefe was asking her.

I’ll be right inside if you need me, Fitz promised before he led the others away.

“Come on,” Sophie whispered, pulling Keefe toward a tree that had fallen by the river. The bark felt rough and damp, but she knew this was the kind of conversation that needed to happen sitting down.

“If she killed someone, just tell me,” Keefe whispered.

Sophie tangled their fingers together, squeezing so tight their knuckles faded to white. “It’s not about what she’s done, Keefe. It’s about what might’ve happened to her.”

Once she started, the story poured out, in every horrifying detail.

“But they haven’t found a body,” she finished. “So we don’t know anything for sure.”

Keefe stared blankly at the river.

“What are you thinking?” Sophie asked, when the silence turned suffocating.

“Strange question, coming from a Telepath.”

“You know I would never invade your privacy like that.”

Keefe sighed. “I’m thinking . . . she deserves to be dead.”

His voice meant the words. But his eyes didn’t.

“It’s okay to be sad, Keefe.”