Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(96)
“We really need to work through some Cognate exercises,” Fitz reminded her. “We lost a whole week when I was sick.”
The old Dex would’ve glowered and muttered something about Telepaths. But the new Dex just nodded and said, “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Can I go with you?” Biana asked him. “If I don’t let Iggy get some exercise, he’s going to shred another one of my favorite shoes.”
Biana must really love the little imp if she was willing to forgive footwear destruction.
“At least he’s doing well on his diet,” she told Sophie. “I think he’s finally getting a taste for vegetables!”
It turned out Iggy had most definitely not gotten a taste for vegetables, and Biana stomped back an hour later, muttering about “stubborn imps.” Sophie assumed it had something to do with the giant moth wing Iggy was crunching on.
Della returned not long after, looking uncommonly frazzled. Her hair was tied back in a sloppy bun, and her gown was stained and wrinkled.
“Everything okay?” Sophie asked.
Della shook her head. “Physic had done some research on human comas, and she’d come up with a treatment plan for Prentice, with cold and hot compresses and balms and elixirs. We tried it today, but somewhere in the process he stopped breathing and everything unraveled. We got him breathing again—don’t worry. But . . .” Della stared at the ceiling. “I think we’re officially out of ideas. Nothing seems to matter.”
If words could cast a shadow, they would’ve darkened the whole house.
“I’m sorry,” Della said, heading toward her room. “I don’t mean to despair. I’m just tired of sitting at Prentice’s bedside telling happy stories and trying to pretend I’m not partially there for completely selfish reasons. I want him to get better, but . . .”
Sophie knew what she meant.
Della was still worried about how Prentice’s condition would affect Alden.
“Anyway, good night.” Della kissed her son on the top of the head, then did the same to Sophie before she headed for her room. “Don’t stay up too late working. You’ll need plenty of rest before another day at Exillium.
Sophie knew Della was right, and went to bed an hour early. She also ate a double portion of breakfast the next morning in case they were in for another round of appetite suppression. She was prepared for anything Exillium could throw at her—until they leaped to campus and arrived in the heart of a plague zone.
FORTY-FIVE
NOW SOPHIE KNEW what the ancient gnomish songs had meant by their warnings of a great Withering and an endless Fall.
The Exillium tents had been set up along the edge of a sheer cliff, overlooking a blackened, shriveled woodland. The tree trunks were twisted and cracked, their branches sagging and drooping, and their speckled leaves blanketed the ground in heaps of mold green and sallow yellow.
“Where are we?” Sophie whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” her purple Coach said behind her.
The five friends turned to find all three Coaches looming over them. Waywards milled nearby, pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.
“How can you say that?” Biana asked the Coaches. “Don’t you know what’s happening down there?”
“We don’t,” the red Coach said, “and we aren’t supposed to.”
“That’s not our world,” the blue Coach added. “It’s simply scenery.”
“So you don’t care that—” Sophie started.
“We don’t,” the blue Coach interrupted.
“We can’t,” the purple Coach clarified. “We know our place, and the role we’re expected to play. The five of you need to learn yours.”
“You’re no longer part of a community,” the red Coach added. “You’re fighting for survival and redemption.”
“But how is it redeeming to only care about ourselves?” Sophie asked.
The silence that followed felt like it was breathing down their necks, probably because the whole school was watching.
The Coaches’ eventual reply was to order everyone to their Hemispheres.
Sophie kept her head down as she ran to her purple Ambi tent and sat near one of the tent poles. A shadow passed over her, and she looked up to find the Shade and the Hydrokinetic standing beside her.
The Shade’s whispery voice filled her head. “You’ll get in huge trouble if you keep talking to the Coaches like that.”
Probably, Sophie transmitted. But someone needs to tell them they’re wrong.
The way he tilted his head made her wonder if he was smiling. It was impossible to tell between the mask and the hood.
“This place is called Bosk Gorge,” he whispered, “and it’s not the worst we’ve seen of the desolation.”
Where was the worst?
“Wildwood. There’s pretty much nothing left.”
Before Sophie could reply, the purple Coach stormed into the tent and clapped her hands.
“Everyone rise!” she ordered.
Sophie moved to stand, then realized the Coach meant a different kind of “rise.”
The rest of the Waywards floated off the ground as the Coach announced they’d be practicing levitation-in-motion.