Neverseen by Shannon Messenger
King Dimitar laughed, picking bits of something Sophie didn’t want to identify out of the jagged barbs of his blade. “Now you see my new strategy. I don’t have to defeat the elves. You’ll do that yourselves.”
“Why?” Councillor Emery asked, his eyes focused on the Neverseen figure. “Why would you harm so many innocent gnomes?”
“Because sometimes you have to let things burn to let something better rise from the ashes.” He tossed the fireball up and caught it with his other hand a split second before it would’ve ignited the building. “And let’s not ignore the role you’ve played. We’ve been waiting for you to come forward, confess the secrets you’ve kept. We timed each release of the plague in careful stages—and look how many it took to get us here today. Even now, you only stand there because the gnomes pieced things together. That’s become the elvin way, secrets and lies, while those who depend on you suffer in ignorance. But things don’t have to stay that way!”
Sophie tried to think, but every time the flames flickered, her mind was paralyzed by memories of the jeweled buildings melting into glittering lava.
She was too lost in the past to ask the question Dex asked next—the question that changed everything: “There’s no way to grow back a hand, right?”
The logic shattered her panic, and in the brief seconds of clarity she managed to realize, “That’s not Brant.”
In fact, now that her brain was catching up, she recognized the raspy tone of the figure’s voice.
“No,” she whispered. “It . . . it can’t be.”
But she knew it was, even before the figure pulled back his black hood.
“I’m tired of disguises,” he said. “Tired of living like I’m the one with something to hide. Tired of letting you think I fear you. I stand before you now as the future of our world, every bit as unstoppable as my flames.”
Sophie stared in horror at the face that was every bit as real as it was impossible.
Blond hair.
Slender features.
Cold blue eyes.
“Surprise,” he said as Oralie screamed and Terik had to hold her back.
Somewhere in the chaos Sophie could hear King Dimitar laughing. But she was too shocked to feel anything.
Fintan had survived the Everblaze.
SIXTY-TWO
HOW COULD HE be alive?” Sophie asked. “Alden saw the flames overwhelm him.”
“Clearly there was some trick,” Sir Astin whispered.
“Does that mean—”
“No.” He cut her off before she could fully form the question. “Kenric is gone.”
“So was Fintan!”
“Yes. But do you think Kenric would let us mourn his loss? Let that thought go—now. It will only distract you from our actual problem.” He pointed to the roof, where Fintan stood, stroking the smoke around the Everblaze as if it were his pet.
It wasn’t fair—if she had to have Fintan back, why couldn’t she have Kenric, too?
But Sir Astin was right. Kenric would never let Oralie suffer. Just watching her thrash and flail and sob broke Sophie’s heart.
Fintan turned to the goblins, who’d huddled up to work out a plan. “Remember, the only reason these flames aren’t devouring this building is because I’m holding them back. If anything happens to me, this whole city burns.”
“This is madness,” Councillor Terik shouted at Fintan.
“No—it’s called taking action,” Fintan snapped back. “A new concept for you, I realize. I remember when I was a Councillor. Always sitting back, thinking we needed more time, more information, more thorough consideration. We claimed it proved our superior wisdom. But really? We were cowards. Afraid to make the hard choices and do what needed to be done.”
“And what are you accomplishing by killing innocent gnomes?” Emery shouted.
“It’s called getting your attention,” Fintan said. “We have a plan—one I wish I could take credit for, but that’s owed to our previous leader. It’s a shame she couldn’t be here to see her vision realized. In the end, she was a coward too. She wanted to think more. So I removed her to see the Lodestar Initiative through.”
Keefe’s hand fell slack in Sophie’s, and she needed Dex’s help to keep him steady when Lord Cassius shouted, “What have you done to my wife?”
“Nothing more than she deserved,” King Dimitar said, reminding everyone that Fintan wasn’t the only monster among them. “And no more than I’d be willing to do to any of you.”
“Is that a threat?” Councillor Bronte shouted.
“It’s an end to the ridiculous charade we keep playing,” King Dimitar told him. “Aren’t you as tired of it as I am? You despise us every bit as much as we despise you. And were your minds not so pitifully weak, you would’ve attacked us long ago.”
“And if you didn’t know we could beat you, you would’ve attacked us,” Councillor Emery snapped.
“For the moment,” King Dimitar agreed. “But let’s see what happens when we cut off your resources.”
“Yes, let’s,” Fintan said, turning to the gnomes. “Everything the Council told you about the drakostomes is true—with the exception of one crucial detail.” He paused to make sure he had their full attention before he added, “There is a cure.”
King Dimitar reached into his metal diaper and pulled out a narrow test tube filled with a muddy liquid. Sophie wasn’t sure which disgusted her more—where that test tube had been, or the fact that the ogres had withheld the cure all this time.
“You didn’t honestly believe we wouldn’t save some of the Panakes bark, did you?” King Dimitar asked the Council.
“So here’s how this is going to work,” Fintan told the gnomes. “You agree to our deal, and we’ll give you the cure to save your ailing kinsmen. There should be enough time to save them—no thanks to the Council and their stalling.”
“And what is your deal?” Councillor Emery asked.
“I’m not talking to you. This decision is entirely up to the gnomes. Are you listening?” he asked them. “I’m only going to say this once. We’re willing to share the cure on a single condition. You must leave the Lost Cities and serve in Ravagog.”
“The gnomes do not serve us,” Councillor Zarina shouted.
“I love that you’ve managed to believe that lie after all this time. Perhaps you leave their chores to their discretion. Perhaps you tell them they can leave anytime. But they’ve been trapped by their ignorance, and those who dared to live beyond the Lost Cities had no knowledge of the danger of their situation. You also left them without a homeland, by your choice, not theirs, and your word that it was the request of their leaders.”
“It was!” Bronte shouted. “Every decision we made was in an effort to protect your people. We can see now that there were flaws in our reasoning—but don’t confuse the situation. The villains are not those who shielded you from the truths of these revelations. It’s those who broke the treaty and unleashed the plague. Those who stand before you now ready to enslave you, not save you.”
“It’s true,” Fintan told the gnomes. “Our offer isn’t one of freedom. You will serve the ogres in Ravagog. But your loved ones will survive this infestation.”
“I have a project for you,” King Dimitar added. “One that requires your special talents. Serve me well and you have my word that I’ll never unleash the drakostomes again.”
“Why should we believe you?” someone shouted, and again, Sophie wondered if it was Calla’s voice. “How do we know the cure is even real?”
“We’re willing to prove it,” Fintan said, nodding at King Dimitar.
King Dimitar flung the test tube toward the Pures, and the gnomes scrambled to catch it before it shattered.
“Test it,” Fintan told them. “And as you watch it work, keep in mind that—by their own admission—the Council has tried to create a similar remedy for nearly five thousand years. They can’t provide you with a cure. And you can’t cure yourselves. We’re the only ones who can
“You have one week to make your choice,” King Dimitar added. “Either I will find you at the gates to Ravagog, ready to serve, or I will unleash the plague. And I wouldn’t count on the protection of the elves. The distribution system is already in place. Hide here, and the drakostomes will contaminate the Lost Cities.”
“A life serving the ogres is no life at all,” Oralie shouted to the gnomes.
“Funny, I thought death from disease was far less of a life,” Fintan corrected. “But as I said, it’s your choice. You have a week.”
With that, Fintan leaped away—but not before tossing his sphere of Everblaze at the Council. The silver stage burst into flames, and the Councillors scattered as the goblins rushed to pull them to safety. Others cried for the reserves of frissyn. Through the chaos, Sophie caught the briefest glimpse of King Dimitar laughing as he vanished into the ground.
“This was my mom’s vision,” Keefe said, shaking so hard Sophie knew he would collapse any second. His skin felt cold to the touch and his eyes looked glazed.
“What’s wrong with him?” Dex asked.
“I think he’s in shock.” Sophie hoped that was all it was, but she couldn’t help thinking about how Alden had looked after he first saw Prentice in Exile—when his mind first started to shatter.
Keefe had just seen his father. And King Dimitar pretty much confirmed his mom was dead. And Fintan had claimed that this horrible mess had been her idea. And thanks to Lady Gisela’s note, Keefe knew she did it all for him.
“Keefe needs help,” she told Sir Astin.
“I agree,” he said. “Your disguises are also nearly gone. But it would be unwise to head straight to Alluveterre, in case the ogres are tracing any leaps.”
“So where are we supposed to go?” Dex asked.
“With me,” a sharp voice said behind them. “I can hide them at Sterling Gables.”
Sophie spun around and found Timkin Heks. Her confusion morphed into disbelief when Sir Astin agreed.
“Wait,” Sophie said as Timkin tried to take Keefe from her.
“It’ll be okay,” Sir Astin promised, holding a crystal up to the sunlight. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I speak with the Collective.”
He was gone before she could argue.
“Come on,” Timkin said, dragging her, Dex, and Keefe toward his wife, who had a path already created for them.
“We can’t leave Fitz and Biana,” Sophie argued.
“Alden already took them away,” Timkin said.
“And why should we trust you?” Dex asked, locking his knees to slow their momentum.
“Because Mr. Forkle isn’t the only one with multiple names.”
It took Sophie a second to figure out what he meant—and also who he could be.
She squinted at Timkin, trying to imagine him covered head to toe in white curly fur as she asked, “Coiffe?”
“Yes. Now come with me.”
SIXTY-THREE
TIMKIN BROUGHT THEM to an expansive manor made of silver and crystal, surrounded by lush pastures filled with grazing unicorns.
“This is where you live,” Sophie said, not sure what surprised her more—that she was at Stina’s house, or that it was so bright and lovely. She’d always imagined the Hekses lived somewhere with blackened windows and crumbling walls, surrounded by gargoyles and craggy trees and a bunch of growling animals.
“We need to get him to lie down before he gets any paler,” Timkin said, dragging Keefe toward the house.
Dex grabbed Sophie’s arm. “Do you really think we can trust him?”
“He’s Coiffe,” she reminded him, still trying to wrap her head around it.
“But it’s the Hekses,” Dex said.
“I know. But . . . Fintan is alive. The Neverseen and the ogres are trying to force the gnomes into slavery. I think it’s time to admit the world no longer makes any sense.”
Dex couldn’t argue with that.
So they followed their enemy into his house, which was decorated in pale blues and greens, like grass and sky. The furniture was plush, and the crystal walls were hung with family portraits. It wasn’t as grand as Everglen, or as pristine as Havenfield, but it was the most homey house Sophie had encountered in the Lost Cities.
“Do you have an Imparter on you?” Timkin asked as he brought Keefe to the couch.
Sophie shook her head. “I left it back at Alluveterre.”
“Fine, wait here,” Timkin told them, “And don’t touch anything.”
Sophie dropped to her knees next to Keefe and tried to get him to look at her. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, taking his clammy hand.
Keefe didn’t blink.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Dex said, studying a humongous portrait of Stina on the wall. “Nothing about it makes any sense.”
“You don’t make sense,” a snotty voice said behind them.
Sophie cringed, allowing herself one breath before she turned to face Stina—and found a fun bonus to put the cherry on top of the awkward moment.
Marella looked anywhere but at Sophie as she asked, “What’s wrong with Keefe?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted.
Keefe didn’t seem to have a headache—which was a good sign. When Alden’s mind broke, he’d clutched his head and cried out in pain.
But guilt affected people in different ways.
“Elwin will be here soon,” Timkin said, stalking into the room, carrying a blanket. He froze when he noticed his daughter. “Where’s your mother?”
“She stayed to make sure no one noticed you taking them away.”
“Probably wise.” Timkin draped the blanket around Keefe and placed his palm over Keefe’s forehead to check his temperature. “I wish she’d kept you with her. I don’t want you involved in any of this—”
“Why not?” Stina asked. “If she can be a part—”
“Unlike others in the Black Swan,” Timkin interrupted, “I do not endanger children. Especially my children.”
Sophie had seen the look on Stina’s face many times, and fully expected a screaming match to follow. But after a second, she tossed her hair and stomped upstairs.
Marella turned to follow, and Sophie rushed to her side, taking her chance before her former friend could walk away.
“I’m sorry for anything I said before I left,” she mumbled.
Marella frowned. “Huh. I thought you were going to apologize for leaving without me.”
“I . . .” Sophie didn’t know how to finish her sentence. She’d never realized Marella would’ve wanted to go with her to the Black Swan. And . . . if she was being honest, she wouldn’t have ever thought to include her.
She liked Marella—she did. But she didn’t know her that well.
So she let Marella follow Stina upstairs, hoping Stina would be a better friend than she’d been.
“She’s better off,” Timkin said, echoing her thoughts.
“If you hate the Black Swan so much, why are you one of them?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t hate the Black Swan.”
Sophie snorted. “You’ve said nothing but horrible things about them.”
“Yeah, I always figured you’d join the Neverseen someday,” Dex added. “If you weren’t part of them already.”
Timkin smiled at that. “I’d wager you think anyone who dares not to like Miss Foster has allied themselves with evil. And truth be told, I still see no value in Project Moonlark. But our world needs change. And while I don’t agree with all of the Black Swan’s politics, I can agree that they’re the best chance we have of surviving. So if that means spending my days pandering to a group of children who will surely never live up to the Black Swan’s foolish expectations . . . so be it. I’m hoping to be proven wrong.”
Sophie sighed, marveling at Timkin’s gift to insult her in every possible way while still sounding logical. And she couldn’t fault him for doubting her capabilities. She often doubted them herself. Plus, she r
She was spared from further musings by a familiar voice saying, “Look who’s back in the Lost Cities again and already needing a physician house call!”
She rushed to hug Elwin, grateful for a friendly face. And as he patted her shoulders, she felt her knots of panic loosen. Elwin would fix Keefe. Everything was going to be okay—if she didn’t think about the Neverseen and the gnomes and the million other catastrophes.
“Okay, let’s tend to the runner up for Most Frequent Patient,” Elwin said, turning his attention to Keefe. He flashed orbs of different color around Keefe’s face to examine him.
As the minutes stretched on, Sophie forced herself to voice her worry. “Could his mind be breaking?”
“I can’t tell,” Elwin admitted. “That’s doesn’t show up medically.”
“Then I’ll have to check,” Sophie whispered.
“Is that safe?” Dex asked.
“If I survived the madness in Exile, I should be up for this.” Still, her hands trembled as she reached for Keefe’s temples.
She braced for chaos and confusion, shards of memories and pockets of emptiness. Instead, Keefe’s mind looked like a long, shadowy hall, leading to a single memory.
The scene was cracked and distorted, as if the memory had been repressed—or damaged. Keefe was only a kid, no older than five or six, and he’d climbed the endless staircase in Candleshade, following his mother’s voice. He found her on the roof, standing in the moonlight, talking to two figures in black hooded cloaks. Keefe hadn’t recognized the voice when the taller figure spoke. But Sophie did.
Brant.
“We need to move up the timeline on the Lodestar Initiative,” he whispered.
“Why?” Lady Gisela turned to the other figure. “You said the girl had brown eyes.”
Sophie’s mind buzzed, realizing she had to be looking at the Boy Who Disappeared.