Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 3) (53 page)

Sophie couldn’t nod, but she held her breath, bracing for the worst as Biana dug her fingers into the tender skin, right where Sophie’s neck met her skull.

Pain surged immediately—like Biana had awoken some sort of beast and let it tear around inside her—and when she loosened her grip, Sophie fell to her side, coughing and thrashing and wondering if she was going to be sick.

Biana helped her to her feet, wrapping Sophie’s shaky arm across her shoulders and pulling her back toward Fitz.

“No . . . we . . . Sandor,” Sophie said, between gasping breaths. “He might be . . . need to check.”

“We will,” Biana promised as they came up alongside Fitz. “As soon as Keefe’s ready. How’s he doing?” she asked Fitz.

Fitz could only shake his head and point.

A sheet of white blocked most of the view, but she could vaguely discern two cloaked figures scaling another incline, one in black, the other nearly invisible in white.

Sophie, Fitz, and Biana climbed after them.

Chunks of snow slipped under Sophie’s feet and she wished she had the heavy boots Fitz and Biana were wearing. Their progress was painfully slow until Fitz found icy ropes they could hold on to. He stayed behind her to catch her if she slipped, and they pulled themselves up, stopping at a new ledge that stretched to a relatively flat area.

The whiteout barely let them see five feet in any direction, but they shoved blindly forward until Biana grabbed their arms and pointed to a smear of black among the white.

A few more steps and they could see Keefe and his father, standing in the winds. They weren’t fighting. They were just . . . staring. And when Sophie moved closer, she understood why.

The wind—or maybe Keefe—must’ve thrown back his father’s hood.

But it wasn’t his father facing him.

It was Lady Gisela.

Keefe’s
mom
.

SIXTY-EIGHT

I
DON’T UNDERSTAND,” SOPHIE SAID,
voicing the thought she was pretty sure they all were having. “She sounded like Lord Cassius.”

And then she remembered:
Keefe’s mom can mimic.

“You?” Keefe pointed to the Sencen crest on his cape. “But Dad was the one who gave this to me.”

“And
I’m
the one who gave it to him. Honestly, Keefe”—she stomped her feet, shaking the snow off her heavy boots, even though they immediately sank back into the snowdrift—“Don’t you know your father at all? He never set so much as a hair out of place, especially if it risked all those honors he’s gotten from the Council.”

“But, Dad’s—”

“A jerk?” Lady Gisela finished for him. “Yes, he is. And your hating him has been hugely helpful to me. Every time I slipped and let any emotions that might’ve given me away show through, I could just blame it on your latest mess. In fact, when I return home tonight, all he’ll feel is a mother distraught over her son’s tragic disappearance.”

“You monster!” Biana shouted, accidentally revealing that she’d moved dangerously close to Lady Gisela.

Lady Gisela grabbed Biana’s cloak and pressed her melder against Biana’s head. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you. A blast this close will likely cause permanent damage.”

“Go ahead,” Biana told her, her voice surprisingly steady.

“You can drop the mock bravery, my dear. There are safer ways to impress my son. Just ask that one.”

“SHUT UP!” Keefe screamed as Lady Gisela tilted her head toward Sophie.

“Yes, you’re right,” his mom agreed. “I’m cold. And the altitude remedy the ogres gave me is triggering a headache.” She pointed her melder at Keefe again. “This is your last chance to spare your friends unnecessary pain. Throw down your weapons and come with me.”

“Uh—in case you didn’t notice, there’s four of us and only one of you,” Keefe reminded her.

“That’s my Keefe. Always missing the obvious.”

She covered her face with her hood and stomped her foot again. And when the ground rumbled, Sophie realized what she was doing.

“She’s calling her dwarves!” she shouted, but she was too late.

A dozen furry bodies launched out of the snow and surrounded them.

“Any ideas?” Fitz asked, backing up as the dwarves circled closer.

“I’m thinking.” Sophie wasn’t sure if she could inflict without taking her friends down in the frenzy—and with the ice clawing up her poorly-dressed legs and feet, she didn’t think she could concentrate hard enough to affect such a large group anyway.

“I’ll give you until the count of three to throw down your weapons and lie in the snow,” Lady Gisela called.

“Never,” Keefe shouted. “Guys, leap out of here!”

“Not without you!” Sophie shouted back.

“One,” Lady Gisela counted. “And you’ll never create a strong enough beam of light in this storm.”

Sophie glanced at the flurries around them, hating that Keefe’s mom was right. Especially when she counted, “Two.”

“Three!” Mr. Forkle shouted, belly flopping onto four of the dwarves closest to Fitz and Sophie, crushing them with his massive girth.

A handful of the Black Swan’s dwarves popped out of the ground and dove into the fray, and Lady Gisela dropped Biana and turned to run away. But Keefe tackled her, sending them toppling through the wall of wind and vanishing into the white nothing.

Sophie, Fitz, and Biana chased after them—or tried to, anyway. The snow was waist deep, and they were climbing uphill again, so it felt like they were dragging heavy chains.

“He’s over there!” Biana shouted, pointing to a flash of black, before it was swallowed again by the blinding white.

They picked up their pace, pushing their bodies so hard they could barely breathe. But by the time they reached them, it was still too late.

Keefe lay facedown in the snow, pinned under his mom’s foot, with her melder pointed at his head.

Sophie had barely screamed, “LET HIM GO!” when Biana pounced, slamming into Lady Gisela and sending them tumbling down the incline.

Keefe scrambled to his feet and chased after them, joining Sophie and Fitz on the way.

“Did you know Biana could fight like that?” Sophie asked as Keefe’s mom tried to stop their tumbling, and Biana shoved her shoulders and sent them both toppling again.

“Actually, yeah,” Keefe admitted. “She’s thrown me down a hill during base quest several times.”

“Me too.” Fitz agreed.

Sophie smiled, trying to picture them—but it quickly faded when she realized how close Biana was getting to the edge.

“BIANA, STOP!” Sophie, Fitz, and Keefe all shouted, but Biana either couldn’t slow or didn’t hear them.

They were seconds away from dropping off the edge when Lady Gisela grabbed Biana’s arms and swung them both into a drift of snow so deep, it seemed to swallow them.

“It’s over, Mom,” Keefe called as she struggled to her feet. He pointed his melder at her heart as she raised her foot to stomp for her dwarves. “I will drop you with this if I have to.”

She shook the snow out of her hair and stomped her boot anyway.

No dwarves jumped out and attacked them.

“Well, I guess they’re busy,” Lady Gisela said, glancing at the cliff behind her.

“There’s nowhere to go, Mom. Just give up and come with me.” He raised the melder at her head. “I don’t want to use this—but I will.”

“I know.” She smiled at him then, but it was a sad smile.

A broken smile.

“I’m not going back with you,” she told him.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Oh, there’s always a choice.”

Her smile faded as she turned to look at the ledge again, and Sophie realized what she was thinking a second too late.

She screamed almost as loud as Keefe when Lady Gisela launched herself backward. And they all watched in horror as she plummeted off the edge of the cliff.

SIXTY-NINE

K
EEFE SANK TO HIS KNEES
and Fitz and Biana gathered around him.

Sophie leaned over the edge, trying to squint through the swirling snow.

“I can’t see anything,” she said quietly, knowing Keefe would need to know for sure.

I’ll have to teleport down there and look,
she transmitted to Fitz.

“Not alone, you won’t,” Fitz told her. “I’m going with you.”

“Me too,” Keefe said, struggling to his feet. Clearly her secret communication hadn’t fooled him.

“I’m
going
,” he insisted.

His voice was shakier than his legs, but his eyes were determined.

“Okay,” she relented, offering him her hand.

He twined their fingers together as Fitz took her other hand and Biana held on to Fitz. Then she pictured what she’d seen of the spot where Sandor had fallen, waiting until the image felt clear in her mind before she ordered everyone to hold on tight and pulled them off the cliff.

They landed in a pile of slushy snow.

Red
slushy snow.

Sophie scrambled back, nearly tripping over the body as she tried to get away.

But it wasn’t Keefe’s mom.

“Sandor!”

Sophie dropped to her knees beside him, begging him to open his eyes.

He didn’t.

But his injuries didn’t look nearly as bad as she would’ve expected. There was a gash on his forehead and another on his chin. But most of the blood seemed to have come from the deep scratches on his chest and neck. His legs and arms looked like they were bent the wrong way, but his spine seemed straight. And when she pressed her ear against his chest, she could feel the rise and fall of shallow breaths.

“He’s alive! Though only barely. We have to get him to Elwin. Fitz, if you take his feet, I can get his arms, and if we all hold on to him as we fall I should be able to get us all . . .”

Her voice trailed off when she met Keefe’s eyes.

“I don’t see my mom,” he whispered. “Do you?”

Sophie turned to the wider part of the ledge, which was solid white, except for a few dark rocks.

No red anywhere.

“We all watched her jump, right?” Keefe asked.

He craned his neck, probably checking to see if there was another ledge above them that could’ve caught her. Sophie did the same, and it was hard to tell with the limited visibility.

“But Sandor’s here,” Fitz said quietly. “So she’d have to be, wouldn’t she?”

“Where’s the ogre, though?” Sophie asked.

She went back to Sandor, using the last of her strength to roll him to his side.

All she found underneath him was more red snow.

“An ogre knocked Sandor off the ledge and they went over together,” she explained. “So where’s the ogre?”

“My guess is he force-shifted,” Mr. Forkle said, limping toward them from a snowdrift Sophie was sure had been empty a second earlier.

“How did you . . . ?” she started to ask, but Mr. Forkle waved the question away.

“Your mother
jumped
off the edge, right?” he asked Keefe. “You didn’t push her?”

Keefe nodded blankly.

“Then I’m sure she tried to force-shift. It’s a method of ogre transportation I’d thought was simply a rumor—something about a special device they use that helps them shift the force of gravity to launch themselves to safety.”

Keefe sounded both hopeful and horrified as he asked, “So . . . she’s alive?”

“It would appear so. Though I’m only assuming she knew about force-shifting.”

“She did,” Sophie told him.

Mr. Forkle nodded. “I think it’s best if you all go. Get somewhere safe. I’ll clean up here.”

“How many did we lose?” Sophie forced herself to ask.

“Three dwarves, so far. But there might be a fourth.” He wiped his face, and Sophie wondered if he was drying tears or clearing the frost off his cheeks.

“But . . . that’s better than I’d feared, honestly,” he said after a second. “And it wasn’t all for naught this time.”

He stomped his foot and two limping dwarves slowly emerged from the snow, dragging a black-cloaked figure.

“You caught one?” Sophie asked.

“Actually, I believe you three caught this one. We found him paralyzed from a melder blast up above. I only woke him up a few minutes ago, and, well, he’s less than pleased to be our guest. But we have lots of getting to know each other to do, don’t we?”

The figure responded only with a curse, and Sophie watched him thrash against his silver bonds.

“Can I see his face?” she asked.

“Quickly,” Mr. Forkle agreed.

She held her breath as she stepped closer, giving herself three seconds to steady her nerves before she swept the hood back.

Her mouth fell open.

“This was the jogger who came to my house and tried to grab me!”

“Yes, I remember,” Mr. Forkle murmured. “It took all of my mental energy to hold him back from snatching you off the street that day. And if I hadn’t known Fitz would be coming for you momentarily, I would’ve had to take you into hiding.”

“Whoa,” Fitz whispered. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.” Sophie stalked closer, remembering the way he’d slung Dex over his shoulder on the bridge in Paris, ready to dispose of him like trash. “What are you going to do to him?”

“Whatever we must to find out what he knows.”

“It won’t work,” the rebel snarled. “I’ve trained for this.”