“You were at Wildwood?” Calla called from the treetops.
“Are you worried I’m contaminated?” Sophie asked. “I tried to be careful. The only time I got close was to check the roots. Linh said she’d seen the Neverseen inspect them, so I almost took a sample, but then I—”
“Describe them to me,” Calla interrupted, jumping to the ground.
By the time Sophie had finished, Calla looked as green as her thumbs.
“The roots were red?” she whispered.
“What does that mean?” Biana asked, draping an arm around Calla’s shoulders to hold her steady.
“It means their time is almost up,” Calla said. “Red roots are the end. Always. Every time.”
“How long does that mean the colonists have?” Sophie whispered, clutching her stomach, trying to fight down the nausea.
“It’s hard to say,” Calla murmured. “Trees have simpler systems than us. But the path is the same. Once those infected see red, they will only have days.”
“Lur and Mitya said none of the colonists are showing any red,” Sophie told Mr. Forkle as his pacing wore a groove in the rugs of the girls’ common room.
“Yet,” he added.
Calla had asked Sophie to transmit to Lumenaria as soon as they’d returned to Alluveterre, to find out if any of the gnomes had reached the final stage. None had, and Sophie had been careful not to tell Mitya what the red meant. But everyone could guess. And the gnome she’d found in Bosk Gorge was still progressing through the stages at a much faster rate. Sophie asked if he remembered what happened to him, or anything that might be useful. But he only remembered blacking out, and then the pain of the plague.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder to make sure Calla was gone before she said, “Now we have proof that the Council knew about the plague.”
“Do we?” Mr. Forkle asked. “I thought we had the word of two banished teenagers—one of whom is a Shade and known for insubordination.”
“You think Tam and Linh are lying?” she asked.
“Of course not. But their word doesn’t hold the weight you think it does. Especially when you consider how vague the conversation was. All they heard was ‘this could happen,’ and the Council will claim they didn’t mean the plague.”
“They did also say, ‘No one can know,’ didn’t they?” Dex asked.
“Which applies to everything the Council does,” Mr. Forkle said. “The majority of their investigations are classified.”
“And that’s their problem,” Sophie mumbled. “Too many secrets.”
She thought about Kenric’s cache, wondering what horrors it contained. How many tragedies could that knowledge prevent?
“I’m often the last to defend the Council, Miss Foster,” Mr. Forkle said, pausing to stare at the waterfall. “But if they’ve chosen to keep this secret, they must’ve had their reasons. Over the centuries the Councillors have shown deep affection for the gnomes. I can’t believe they would intentionally endanger them. Which is why we should focus on the larger discoveries you gained today, and keep our other suspicions to ourselves until we have actual, concrete proof. The lights in the forest could’ve been many things, but I suspect the Psionipath is involved—which would mean the tree you saw before likely has more to do with the plague than a cure. We need to figure out how. And why the tree within had appeared greener and healthier.”
“Okay, so how do we do that?” Sophie asked.
“I say we storm Ravagog,” Keefe said. “Who’s in?”
Mr. Forkle ignored him. “Honestly, Exillium is still the best answer. Look at how much we’ve learned from your attendance there.”
Keefe sigh-growled. “So we’re wasting the whole weekend?”
“We never waste anything,” Mr. Forkle told him. “You all have very important things you should be studying and learning. But first, we must address Miss Foster’s plan.”
“My plan?” Sophie asked, feeling just as confused as her friends.
“You were going to suggest having the twins join our order, were you not?”
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “Were you reading my mind?”
“I could have,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Your reckless actions today more than called for it. But no. I simply know you too well. I was there when you found the starving kitten in the bushes and begged your parents to let you keep him. What did you name him?”
“Marty.” Sophie was surprised at the way her voice caught. He used to sleep on her pillow every night, even though his big fluffy body stole most of the space for her head.
“Tam and Linh aren’t a cat,” Sophie said. “And I don’t want to keep them. I just thought . . . we have these huge houses, and plenty of food, and they’re really talented, and—”
“And it’s a phenomenally bad idea,” Mr. Forkle finished. “They know nothing of our organization, or the sacrifice it requires. We need members who are committed and understand the heavy responsibility, not who are looking for a good meal and warm bed.”