Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(51)

“That does sound like something King Dimitar would do,” Gethen said quietly.

“You really think Lady Gisela is . . . ?” Sophie couldn’t say the last word.

Gethen stared at the ceiling. “How would I know? I’ve spent the last days locked away in my own mind. I told you I’d been trained for this.” He turned to Mr. Forkle. “I feel you poking around, by the way. Your telepathy isn’t nearly as clever as you think. Hers is, of course.” He winked his unbruised eye at Sophie. “Too bad she doesn’t know how to use it.”

“I know plenty,” Sophie snapped.

“STOP!” Mr. Forkle grabbed Sophie by her shoulders. “Do not—under any circumstances—attempt to read his mind. Do you understand me?”

“Forkle’s right. I can feel too much hope coming off him.” Keefe slammed Gethen into the wall and pinned him by his neck. “What were you planning to do to her?”

Gethen wheezed for breath.

“Let him go,” Mr. Forkle ordered.

Keefe hesitated before he dropped him. Gethen doubled over, clutching his throat as he hacked and coughed.

“You’d make this a lot easier on yourself if you’d just answer our questions,” Sophie told him. “Tell us what the Neverseen were doing in Brackendale.”

“Brackendale?” Gethen asked.

“Don’t play dumb. We found your stupid force field around the tree,” Keefe snapped.

Gethen’s brows shot up. “That is . . . unexpected.”

“We also met one of your buddies,” Sophie added. “He thought he was so special with his Psionipath tricks.”

“He is special,” Gethen said. “I recruited him myself.”

“But he’s not supposed to be taking action yet,” Mr. Forkle said. “Is he?”

Gethen’s eyes narrowed. “Very good. Your pathetic telepathy scraped out one secret—a worthless one you already know most of. Yes, we have many timelines. And yes, it looks like one has changed. All that means is everyone’s roles will soon be much clearer.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Keefe asked, backing up a step.

“Why do you sound so afraid?” Gethen countered. “Wouldn’t it be nice to finally feel useful—not that you haven’t had your moments. But someday you’ll be more than just the wannabe rebel. Once you stop trying to impress the Black Swan’s little doll.”

“SHUT UP!” Keefe shouted.

“Oh, come on. Haven’t you always wanted to hear that someone believes in you?” Gethen asked. “We do. Or rather, your mother convinced us that we should.”

“Maybe we should go,” Sophie said when she noticed how hard Keefe was shaking.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Mr. Forkle agreed.

“Not yet,” Keefe said, stalking closer to Gethen. “How long have you known my mother?”

“She joined us not long after she got pregnant with you. Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? All the lies you believed. All the clues you missed. And now she could very well be gone and you’ll never get to know why. Unless I tell you.”

“You’re a monster,” Sophie growled.

“Said the living lab experiment. Tell me, did he spark your life and then freeze you and keep tweaking?”

“Of course not!” Mr. Forkle turned to Sophie. “Any tweaks I made to your DNA were done before your inception. I implanted your embryo immediately.”

“Okay,” Sophie said, not sure why he seemed so upset by the idea. Humans froze embryos all the time. And either way, she was still an experiment.

But for the first time, she didn’t care.

She stalked closer. “If whatever they did to me makes it so I can stop you, it’s worth it.”

“You may inconvenience us occasionally,” he sneered. “But you will never stop us.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Forkle told him. “She’s done an excellent job keeping you distracted. And now I’ve found the information we came for. Looks like the next stage of your timeline will be in Merrowmarsh.”

Gethen’s jaw dropped.

“I can divide my consciousness,” Mr. Forkle said with a smile. “One part of my mind was being rather obvious while the other slipped past and dug out what I needed. Clever enough for you?”

“It’d be more clever if you had any chance of stopping what’s happening.”

“There’s always a way,” Mr. Forkle said, dusting off his hands. “Oh, and we’ll also be removing that bludgeblot from your nails so we won’t have to worry about your friends tracking you.”

Gethen snorted. “There’s no way to remove bludgeblot—that’s why the ogres use it. Burned like the sun when they painted it on.”

“Well then. I guess we’ll just have to remove your nails entirely. Our Froster will be by soon to freeze them off. So I’d recommend you go back to that place you’ve been hiding and hope your pain receptors stop working.”

Gethen shouted threats as they left, but the warnings were as empty as his sandy cell.

His final words to Keefe were the only ones with any impact.

“You’re choosing the wrong side, boy. You’ll regret it when you see your mother’s vision realized. But then it’ll be too late.”