“No you don’t,” she promised, rushing over to give him a hug.
Fitz and Biana joined in, and after a moment she felt more arms add to the group as Grady, Edaline, Elwin—even Dex—held everyone tight. Sophie glanced to where Keefe sat alone and glared at him until he reluctantly got up and hugged his friends. Tam and Linh were the last to wrap their arms around the group, but they fit right in.
“What happened?” Della asked, sending everyone scrambling back.
She stood with all five members of the Collective, but Sophie could only focus on Della. She knew in a few seconds Della would go from worried to utterly devastated, and Sophie wished she could stop time so it wouldn’t have to happen.
Alden cleared his throat. “There’s much to discuss, my love. But we should go home.”
Della shook her head. “Where’s Alvar? What’s going on—”
“It’s not what you think,” Alden interrupted. “He’s . . .”
His voice faded away. Fitz and Biana couldn’t seem to say it either.
Grady stepped forward. “Alvar has . . . lost his way. Like Brant. And Lady Gisela.”
Sophie could see the moment of understanding dawn in Della’s eyes. Grief turned to shock—then fury and confusion, all of the chaos spilling out in thick tears.
“No,” Della whispered. “He wouldn’t . . .”
“Oh, he would.” Fitz’s voice was black ice.
“Come on,” Alden said, hooking his arm gently around his wife. “They can handle this one without us.”
He turned to Mr. Forkle, who nodded gravely.
“If it helps,” Granite said quietly, “this changes nothing for us. We trust your commitment implicitly—same for Fitz and Biana. Whenever—if ever—you’re ready to return to our cause, there will always be a place.”
Except now they’d be working to capture their son and brother, Sophie realized.
And when Fitz and Biana had fought the Neverseen on Mount Everest, there was a good chance they’d been fighting Alvar without realizing it.
But Keefe was facing that too, and he was doing okay. Ish.
Now they could band together, once they recovered from the shock of it.
Fitz took his dad’s free hand, Biana clung to her brother, and the four Vackers leaped away as a family.
“The Council is on their way, I assume?” Mr. Forkle asked Grady.
“Oralie said they were going to make sure the fire was contained in Wildwood before they came here,” Grady said.
At the mention of the devastated colony, all eyes turned to Calla, who was leaning against a tree, her ear pressed to the bark.
“There is so much life here,” Calla whispered, her eyes turning to the pastures. “More than I’ve felt anywhere.”
Havenfield was one of the rehabilitation centers for the Sanctuary, so the expansive grounds were divided into pastures for all manner of impossible creatures.
“This is where you live?” Calla asked Sophie.
“When I’m not banished,” she said, forcing a smile.
Calla turned to the rows of bulbous trees in the distance, where the Havenfield gnomes normally lived. “I like it here. This will be good.”
“What will?” Sophie asked.
“I’ll explain when the Council arrives,” Calla promised.
She stood to wander the grounds, humming to the various trees, and the adults murmured among themselves, discussing things Sophie couldn’t make herself pay attention to. She sat with her friends, the five of them lost in their own worries as the sky faded from sunset to twilight.
The evening star had just risen when the Council glittered into the clearing.
“Still wearing disguises?” Councillor Alina said, frowning at the Collective.
“We would love to work with you openly,” Granite told her. “You’re the ones who’ve denied us the privilege.”
Councillor Emery held up his hand, silencing Alina before she could respond. “We have more important things to discuss than our divisions.”
“Indeed we do,” Mr. Forkle said. “I assume you know about Ravagog.”
“We’ve seen the damage,” Councillor Emery agreed.
He didn’t sound furious. He sounded impressed.
Still, Sophie had to ask, “Does this mean we’re going to war with the ogres?”
“It’s possible,” Councillor Emery warned. “But too early to tell. You have dealt King Dimitar a heavy blow. You’ve demolished Ravagog’s gate and removed the only bridge connecting his city. Our goblins are already forming a perimeter around the city to remind the ogres that we are far more prepared for battle than they are at the moment. And now that the king has lost his secret weapon with the drakostomes, our hope is that he will finally negotiate a real treaty—one that gives us the level of control we expect.”
“This is assuming, of course, that they truly have lost their secret weapon,” Councillor Terik chimed in.
All eyes shifted to Calla.
She finished the song she’d been humming and took a slow breath, keeping her shoulders square. “The ogres’ cure was a fake,” she said, allowing them a second to process. “But it doesn’t matter. I will be the cure.”
SEVENTY-FOUR