Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(49)

When everyone was done screaming and bracing for attack, Mr. Forkle tossed back his hood and gave Sophie and Keefe matching cloaks. Sophie’s hands shook as she slipped on her costume, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeve, remembering all the times the same white eye had taunted her dreams.

Keefe looked just as pale, but his jaw was set with determination.

“Be safe,” Della whispered, pulling them both close for a hug.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come?” Fitz tried one more time.

“Yes, Mr. Vacker. But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to risk your life in the future.”

The sad part was, Mr. Forkle wasn’t really joking.

“Remember your panic switch if you need me,” Dex told Sophie.

“That is very generous, Mr. Dizznee. But we’re going somewhere you’ll be unable to follow unless you have one of these.”

Mr. Forkle pulled a grayish vial out of his cloak pocket, and Sophie groaned when she recognized the weak glow of Candesia—one of the five unmapped stars. Sophie had endured a leap with its light once before, during an exhausting test the Black Swan put her and Keefe through to try and figure out how the Neverseen kept following them.

“It is not my first choice either, Miss Foster. But there was only one place we could think to move Gethen that the Neverseen could not easily burn.”

Sophie sighed. “Underwater.”


The leap felt every bit as endless as Sophie remembered, as if time had screeched to a halt, trapping them forever in the empty gray nothing. And yet, somehow it still seemed too soon when they collapsed in the soggy circle of sand. An invisible force field created a dome of air around them.

“Was this made by a Psionipath?” Sophie asked, holding up her balefire pendant to inspect the edges of the force field.

“One of the best,” Mr. Forkle agreed.

“Where’s our kraken buddy this time?” Keefe asked, squinting at the empty ocean.

“The water is too warm here. Last time I sent you to our northern retreat. This is our eastern hold.”

Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that the Black Swan had more than one underwater hideout—or a Psionipath on their team. But it was hard to process how truly huge their organization was turning out to be.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t see a prison?” Keefe asked, pacing the length of the bubble.

Mr. Forkle stomped his feet. “The prison is beneath us.”

He removed a parcel from his cloak pocket, releasing a plume of stink as he unwrapped a blob of solidified black slime.

“What’s that?” Sophie asked, plugging her nose to block the sour-cheese smell.

“Congealed selkie skin,” Mr. Forkle said. “I’ve just signaled the dwarves below to take out the slice I sent them. A tredgeon will soon find the smell irresistible and create our tunnel.”

Sophie had no idea what a tredgeon was, but she had a feeling it was better not to ask. Instead she said, “Does that mean the dwarves are working with us again?”

“A handful of them, yes. And they are incredibly generous to do so considering Yegor passed away yesterday.”

Sophie’s heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water. “He was the dwarf injured on Everest, wasn’t he?”

Mr. Forkle nodded.

The fury made Sophie shake—or she thought that was the reason, until she realized the ground was shaking as well. Seconds later she noticed a giant bump racing toward them, but when she flinched back, Mr. Forkle told her, “Remain still. And make no sound.”

He tossed the selkie skin to the center of their small space, just as a huge iridescent claw popped out of the sand. A second claw followed, along with way too many squirming legs and antennae and some sort of giant glowing opalescent shell.

The tredgeon gobbled up the selkie skin and burrowed back into the sand, leaving a gaping tunnel.

“Our path awaits,” Mr. Forkle said.

“Isn’t that thing still down there?” Sophie whispered.

“Probably. But it’s perfectly harmless.”

“It didn’t look harmless.” In fact, Sophie was pretty sure those claws would feature prominently in her nightmares.

Still, she followed Mr. Forkle into the tunnel. Every shift of the sand made her jump, anticipating a tredgeon attack.

“Easy, Foster,” Keefe told her, offering her his hand.

She took it. “You’re shaking. . . .”

“Uh, yeah. Giant claws could come popping out of the sand any second!”

“Honestly, have you two never seen a sand crab before?” Mr. Forkle asked.

“Teeny tiny ones I caught in the waves when my parents took me to the beach,” Sophie said. “Is that what those things look like when they’re bigger?”

She scratched her arms, feeling like the time she’d seen a butterfly under a microscope and deeply regretted ever letting them land on her fingers.

“Actually, tredgeons are much prettier,” Mr. Forkle promised. “The dwarves esteem tredgeon carapace above any gem. King Enki’s crown is carved from a single piece.”

“That’s . . . super gross,” Keefe said.

Mr. Forkle ignored him and they moved in silence, until the tunnel brightened with flickering blue light.