Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(83)

“We’ll travel deeper than normal, and I’ll steer clear of the Neutral Territories,” Calla promised, heading outside and down the winding stairs. When they reached ground level, she sang a deep, earthy song to create a tunnel and tangled the roots around them. The journey was faster than ever—so fast Sophie was sure she lost her stomach several times. But it was worth the nausea when they arrived at the Stone House after only a few minutes of journeying.

Sophie had assumed it would still be sunny, but when they climbed out of the tunnel the sky was bruised by twilight, the only light coming from the early stars and the hideout’s windows.

“Should we knock?” Biana asked as they crept toward the cottage’s door.

“No need,” Blur said, phasing through the wall and making them all scream. “But you do need to explain what on earth you’re doing here. How . . .”

His voice trailed off when he noticed Calla. “Better come in.”

They squeezed into the room, trying to find places to stand in the small, crowded space. Sophie’s heart twisted when she saw that Prentice hadn’t changed at all since the last time she’d seen him.

He also had guests.

Della stood with three figures that Sophie recognized right away, even though her brain kept telling her they couldn’t possibly be there.

“Magnate Leto?” Keefe asked, sounding equally confused to see Foxfire’s principal in a Black Swan hideout.

Next to him stood Tiergan, Sophie and Fitz’s Telepathy mentor. And on his other side was his adopted son, Wylie.

Prentice’s son.

Sophie had only talked to Wylie twice, and both times had been a disaster. She’d never forget their fight at his mother’s grave, when he’d told her, “You were supposed to make it right.” That was when she’d realized she’d been designed for healing minds, and that something must be wrong with her if she couldn’t. She’d gone to the Black Swan and risked her life to reset her abilities. And yet, there Prentice rested, farther from being healed than ever.

Wylie resembled his father even more than Sophie had realized. His skin was a slightly lighter shade of black, and his features a bit sharper. But he had his father’s hair and lips and eyes.

“I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to find us here,” Magnate Leto said.

“It’s weird,” Biana admitted. “Are you part of the Black Swan?”

“That would be rather impossible.” Magnate Leto smoothed his black hair, even though it was coated with so much gel it couldn’t possibly move. “I’m here to cover for these two.”

Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that Magnate Leto would help—he’d protected her when he’d discovered the ability-restricting circlet didn’t completely stop her telepathy.

“The Council is watching us,” Tiergan said, tugging on the sleeves of his simple gray tunic. His usually deep olive skin looked almost as pale as his blond hair as he added, “The Collective hopes that if Prentice hears our voices, it might reach him.”

“So they pretend to be meeting with me in my office every evening,” Magnate Leto added. “And instead we come here.”

“Our pendants have to stay near each other or the Council won’t believe we’ve been together,” Tiergan explained.

“I might be able to fix that,” Dex offered.

“Maybe another time,” Blur said. “Right now you need to tell us why you’re here.”

“Should we wait for the rest of the Collective?” Sophie asked.

“They can’t get away from their other identities right now,” Blur said.

Calla asked everyone to head downstairs, not wanting to reveal the bad news in front of Prentice. The round bedroom below was simple but cozy—a bit too cozy once they’d all squeezed in. Sophie was surprised Blur let Tiergan, Magnate Leto, and Wylie join them.

She spent most of Calla’s update staring at her feet so she wouldn’t risk meeting Wylie’s eyes. Every time he looked at her, she could see such heartbreaking sadness and disappointment. She was trying to think of something to say to him when she realized the room had gone quiet.

“Calla was wondering if you could transmit to Lur, Mitya, and Sior,” Keefe whispered to catch her up.

“I can try,” Sophie said, hoping her voice sounded less shaky than she felt. “What do you want me to say?”

Calla cleared the thickness from her throat. “Tell them we’re not giving up, so they must not give up on themselves. And remind them that the good in nature is always stronger than the bad. Ask them if there’s anything they can share that might help us find the cure. And . . . tell them we love them.”

Sophie translated the message to gnomish and transmitted it in every direction. Her brain hurt from the strain, but she kept repeating the call, stretching out her consciousness and listening for any trace of a response.

For several endless minutes all she found was a headache. Then a voice that sounded like Mitya’s filled her mind.

“They say the plague works in stages, and that they’re only stage one,” Sophie whispered.

“How many stages are there?” Magnate Leto asked.

Sophie transmitted the question and the room seemed to hold its breath.

“They don’t know,” Sophie said. “So far the healers have counted six. But they won’t know the final count until someone dies.”