Lodestar by Shannon Messenger


  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to be King Dimitar’s friend,” Sophie told her.

  Lady Cadence let out a slow sigh. “And that is a mistake. One I very much hope you’ll reconsider, before it’s too late.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Sophie said, stalking back upstairs. “Can you believe her?” she asked Fitz as soon as they were back in her room. “She wants me to be friends with someone who’s tried to kill me at least two different times—someone who’s the reason Calla had to sacrifice herself!”

  Fitz let out a long sigh as he sank back to the floor. “If it helps, I doubt she meant you should invite him to your Winnowing Gala.”

  “Ugh, now there’s a mental picture I didn’t need,” Sophie grumbled, imagining King Dimitar standing among her long line of matches.

  Then again, the idea of a long line of matches felt equally terrifying.

  “I think her point,” Fitz said quietly, “is that the ogres would cooperate more if we didn’t treat them like they’re our enemy. And that does make sense. If the Council walks into the Peace Summit planning to boss the ogres around and put them in their place, it’s only going to make King Dimitar dig in his heels that much more.”

  “Don’t ruin my pouting with your logic,” Sophie mumbled.

  Fitz laughed. “That sounds like something Keefe would say.”

  “Does it? Ugh, he must be getting in my head.”

  “Not too much, I hope.” Fitz’s tone was teasing. But there was a heat in his eyes that made her cheeks feel warm, even when he added, “I’m not sure the world can handle more than one Keefe Sencen.”

  Sophie’s heart was pounding so loudly, she only caught the last word of his next question.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  He picked up their still-blank plan for tricking Gethen. “I said, what if friendship is the answer? Instead of treating Gethen as your adversary when you meet with him, what if you made him think you came there because you want to be friends?”

  “I’d never be able to pull that off,” Sophie told him. “Remember, this is the guy I Sucker Punched in the face.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m never going to forget that. But I’m not talking about becoming BFFs. What if you asked Gethen to be our ally? Reminded him that the Neverseen have left him rotting in that cell for months and have no plans of rescuing him? And then offer a trade?”

  “The Council will never cut a deal—and I wouldn’t want them to.”

  “I know,” Fitz said. “But we’re only aiming for a distraction, remember? And what could be more distracting than getting offered a chance at freedom? Tell him about Wylie. Tell him we’re ready to do anything to stop something like that from happening again. If he makes other demands, pretend to consider them. You’ll have a Councillor with you—get Oralie to back you up. It doesn’t have to be real. Just convincing enough to make him think. Because the more he thinks, the more he’ll let his guard down, and Mr. Forkle will be able to sneak in and learn what you need. Think it’ll work?”

  “I think . . . you’re a genius.”

  Fitz’s grin curled wider at that, and his eyes sparked with that same hint of heat, making Sophie’s cheeks blush again.

  “Not a genius,” he said, tracing his fingers over his Cognate rings. “But we make a great team. Don’t we?”

  Sophie nodded. “The best.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  I CAN’T BELIEVE you guys were serious about the blindfold,” Sophie grumbled as she clung to the rough hands of the goblins guiding her through Lumenaria. Descending a stone spiral staircase without falling to her death was hard enough when she could see where she was going.

  She’d already tripped so many times, there’d been serious discussion about carrying her piggyback. And they’d barely begun their journey to the dungeon.

  Sandor had escorted Sophie to the island at dawn, per the instructions Oralie had sent them, and they’d found Mr. Forkle and the golden-haired Councillor waiting on the rocky shore. Dark waves crashed in the distance, and the glowing castle sat silhouetted against the gray-pink sky as a dozen heavily armed goblins had marched out to greet them.

  The guards had patted everyone down, taking any weapons, gadgets—even jewelry—before leading Sophie, Oralie, and Mr. Forkle into the main courtyard. The gates clanged closed behind them, sealing them in the fortress, and the last thing Sophie saw was Sandor’s I’ll-be-waiting-right-here stare before the guards covered her eyes with the starched blindfold.

  Two sets of hands had pulled her forward then, one stumbling footstep after another. The air shifted as they walked. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold, sometimes sweet or salty scented, depending on the room. The staircase they were currently tackling was damp and sour. The only sound was the echoey thud of footsteps, which swelled louder in the tighter spaces.

  Sophie counted every step, trying to create a mental map of the mazelike fortress. It seemed like the kind of information she might be glad to have someday—though with so many twists and turns, she hardly got an accurate picture.

  “You’ll be able to see again once we reach the main dungeon,” the goblin holding her left hand told Sophie. She wasn’t allowed to know any of the goblins’ names, so she’d decided to call her guards Lefty and Righty.

  Lefty caught her as she tripped again, and Sophie used the opportunity to steady herself against the wall. The surface felt wooden this time, and creaked with the impact.

  Another door.

  The fourth door she’d felt in the last few minutes—though there could’ve been others in the interim.

  “We’re almost there,” Righty promised, her voice hoarse and wheezy. “Just a few more hallways and a final descent.”

  “That doesn’t sound like ‘almost,’ ” Sophie noted. “I knew this place was huge, but it didn’t look this massive.”

  “Another part of the security,” Oralie explained. “Lumenaria’s dungeon was designed to house diplomatic prisoners—those who hold too much value to be stashed in the center of the earth in Exile. But it had to be just as unreachable.”

  “How many prisoners are there?” Sophie asked.

  Oralie seemed to hesitate before she admitted, “I’m not certain.”

  “There are two,” Righty told them.

  “I assume your ignorance means the other prisoner belongs to a Forgotten Secret?” Mr. Forkle asked.

  “It must be,” Oralie said quietly.

  “If it’s a Forgotten Secret,” Sophie asked, “how do the guards know?”

  “Because we have to care for the prisoner,” Lefty told her. “And because we need to know all possible threats and dangers. But we are under strict orders not to divulge any specific details, even to the Council. This way.”

  He pulled Sophie into a hallway that felt wider than the others. The darkness seemed thinner, fuzzing with gray.

  Sweat trickled down Sophie’s spine as they navigated several more twists and turns before her guards pulled her to a stop.

  “I’m going to carry you for the last part,” Lefty said as he lifted her by the waist and draped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sophie could feel her feet brushing against cold metal, and Lefty’s shoulder muscles straining under her stomach as they dropped slowly down. The air smelled damp and rusty, so she assumed they were descending a ladder.

  “We can take the blindfolds off now,” Righty said when Lefty set her back on the ground, “but I’d recommend opening your eyes slowly.”

  Sophie took her advice—but the vivid white glow still sliced across her corneas like a hot blade. She’d been expecting a shadowy stone room with iron bars and other dungeony clichés. Instead, the room they stood in was round, clean, and every silvery-white stone glowed like it had been carved from the sun.

  The only thing her eyes could focus on were six arched silver doors lining the room, none of which had any visible locks or handles.

  Three of the goblins who’d escorted them placed both of their palms against
one of the metal doors, making some sort of combination panel appear.

  “Do you know the code they’re entering?” Sophie asked Oralie.

  “Not at the moment. The codes change three times a day, and are passed along to the Councillors in a random order to make it impossible for anyone to predict who will have access at any given moment.”

  “Clever,” Mr. Forkle said.

  “You have no idea,” Righty told him.

  “Your fifteen minutes will begin as soon as they open the door,” Lefty said. “And there will be no extensions.”

  “Don’t worry,” Righty added. “He won’t be able to get near you. You’ll have a force field that will shift as you move.”

  “I still want you to stay by my side,” Oralie told Sophie, taking her hand. “I’d like to keep contact so I can monitor your emotions.”

  “And remember,” Mr. Forkle added, “do not, under any circumstances, attempt to read his mind. No matter how much he may goad you.”

  “I know the plan,” Sophie told him.

  And it was a good one. She just had to commit.

  Please let it work.

  She squared her shoulders, counting to three for courage before she tightened her hold on Oralie and said, “Let’s do this!”

  FIFTY-SIX

  SOPHIE HAD REHEARSED what she’d say to Gethen at least a hundred times. And yet, when she stepped into his too-bright, freezing cell, the first words that came out of her mouth were, “Is that the sword in the stone?”

  “Glad to hear we haven’t crushed that earnest curiosity—yet,” Gethen purred from the center of the floor. He sat with his head bowed and legs crossed, as if he’d been meditating—but his wrinkled gray clothes and greasy blond hair betrayed his peaceful composure. And while his bruise had healed, his nose looked permanently crooked from Sophie’s punch.

  He seemed thinner, too.

  Paler.

  Wilder.

  Behind him, a waist-high stone pillar provided the round room’s only ornamentation, with a gleaming silver sword jutting from the center.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by the sword,” Oralie told Sophie, “but each cell has a blade trapped permanently in stone.”

  “It’s my entertainment,” Gethen said, his piercing blue eyes studying them one by one. “Though I suspect it’s mostly for the guard’s enjoyment. I’m sure they’ve placed bets to see how long I’ll keep trying. I always thought I’d be able to resist, but . . .” He held out his right hand, revealing blisters in the same pattern as the diamonds on the sword’s hilt. “Sometimes I can’t resist a challenge.”

  “It’s not a challenge,” Oralie told him. “It’s an ever-present reminder that any power you once had is now as useless as that blade.”

  “So you say. But wouldn’t it be ironic if someday I used that blade to chop off your pretty head?”

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed the sword, sending Sophie stumbling back.

  Oralie didn’t blink. “The blade isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Are you sure?” Sophie whispered. Humans had a legend about a sword in a stone, and the sword totally ended up killing people. She wondered if this was where the story came from. Lumenaria did have a Camelot-esque feel.

  Gethen gave the hilt a halfhearted tug before brushing one finger down the inch of exposed blade, slicing a thin line of red into his pale skin. “Better hope I never find a way to crack this stone.”

  “I won’t be losing any sleep over it,” Oralie told him.

  “No, you Councillors never do. Tell me—how’d that work out for Kenric?”

  Oralie’s grip tightened on Sophie’s hand, stopping her from lunging for Gethen’s throat. “He’s not worth it.”

  “How can you say that?” Sophie asked, desperate to see if her inflicting was strong enough to batter Gethen through the force field.

  But her fury faded when Oralie whispered, “Because Kenric would’ve wanted me to.”

  Gethen smiled. “Clearly this meeting is going to be worth the energy I’m using—though if you think I don’t feel you in my head, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought,” he told Mr. Forkle. “If you truly want to learn something, you should let the moonlark give it a go.”

  The hunger in his eyes was enough to convince Sophie that everyone had been right when they told her not to search his mind.

  “I only came here to talk,” she said, trying to get back to the script.

  “Well, then I assume this is the part where you try to distract me?”

  “Actually, it’s the part where I ask you for help,” Sophie corrected.

  One of Gethen’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned casually against the curved wall. “Something big must’ve happened, then—not sure I can guess what. The timeline’s been reset so many times, it could be nearly anything.”

  Sophie bit her lip, steeling her nerves before delivering the next line. “They took Wylie.”

  “My goodness—they’re full of surprises lately” was all Gethen had to say. “And a little bit desperate, if they’re back to Cyrah.”

  “Desperate for what?” Sophie asked.

  Gethen tapped his chin with his bleeding finger, stippling it with red. “Same thing we all are. Fintan just has a different approach. Gisela was all about cause and effect. Strategy and patience. Fintan’s driven by impulse—not that either affects me way down here.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” Sophie asked. “Don’t you hate that they’re carrying on with their plans while they leave you rotting in this cell?”

  “Oh, I’d hardly say I’m rotting. The food is far tastier than anything the Neverseen grew, and the guards bring me a squishy pillow every night to sleep on. And who would complain about having so much time to rest and recharge?”

  “You really expect us to believe you don’t mind being here?” Sophie asked.

  “Why not? You expect me to believe the offer you’re about to make is real.”

  “I don’t have an offer,” Sophie said. “I came here hoping I’d find a shred of decency left.”

  He sucked his bleeding finger. “Sorry to disappoint. And nice trick, Forkle. You might’ve had me there a few weeks ago, but all this rest made me so much stronger. Good to know that’s the information you’re interested in, by the way. I assume that means they snatched Wylie from the Silver Tower? What’s the matter—can’t figure out how they got in?”

  “We’re working on it,” Sophie snapped.

  “I’m sure you are. But if you haven’t figured it out already, I don’t imagine you will. And even if you did, you’d need an ability you don’t have to make it work. Seems shortsighted of you,” he told Mr. Forkle. “If you gave her extra powers, why not give her one of everything?”

  “More isn’t always better,” Mr. Forkle told him. “Sometimes it’s simply more. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “I might, if you take the time to enlighten me.” Gethen sank to the floor again, staring up at the curved ceiling. “Go ahead. Tell me a story.”

  “Never mind,” Sophie said, turning to Mr. Forkle. “Save your energy. He’s never going to help us rescue Wylie.”

  This was the turning point in their plan.

  Gethen could either let them walk away, or . . .

  “Are they holding the boy hostage?”

  Sophie nodded, letting the memory of Wylie’s wounds turn her eyes teary—selling the lie. “He’s been missing for over a week.”

  “You don’t approve,” Mr. Forkle noted when Gethen cursed.

  “Not that it matters, but no, I don’t. I think it’s a horrible play—sloppy and reckless and will surely end as well as Sophie’s kidnapping. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you.”

  “Why not?” Sophie asked.

  “The Council would be prepared to show their gratitude,” Oralie added.

  “Yes, I’m sure they’d be happy to unlock this cage and let me go free. Maybe they’d pull that sword from the stone and give it to me as a sou
venir.”

  “They’d be willing to offer you an improved situation,” Oralie corrected. “There are other places you could be held. Places where it’s possible to feel the passing of time.” She tapped her toe against the glowing stone floor. “The lumenite keeps your world an endless day.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yes you have,” Mr. Forkle said. “I can see the twitch in your eye. I bet you have no idea how long you’ve been in here. Maybe you should’ve thought to count the seconds.”

  “Well, Miss Foster still has that fresh-faced bloom of youth about her, so I’m guessing it hasn’t been that long. Besides, each time they bring me a pillow it’s a dead giveaway.”

  Oralie smiled. “They never bring the pillow at the same time. It’s part of their instructions. Sometimes they go days before they cue you to sleep again. Sometimes only hours. Meals are just as scattered. Haven’t you noticed how sometimes the hunger pains feel like they might tear you apart, or morning comes only minutes after you close your eyes?”

  “Our bodies run on rhythm and routine,” Mr. Forkle added. “Without it, we deteriorate.”

  “Lovely picture you both paint.” Gethen cleared a catch from his voice. “But I’m still quite happy where I am.”

  “Then why is your mind frantically trying to guess the date?” Mr. Forkle asked. “Perhaps you’re starting to realize just how long you’ve been abandoned?”

  “They’re not going to rescue you,” Sophie pressed. “Oralie’s offer is the best chance you have. And all you have to do is tell us where you think they would’ve brought Wylie.”

  “It won’t do you any good. You’ll never be able to find the hideout.”

  “Actually, we will.” Sophie glanced at Mr. Forkle, needing his reassuring nod before she rattled off everything they’d pieced together about the Lodestar symbol. It was a risk, giving away how much they’d learned. But they needed to make an impression.

 
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