“What theories?” Sophie pressed.
“This is your last question,” he warned. “The Wildwood Colony has claimed ogre sabotage for centuries. But they’ve never been able to provide proof. I’ll have to rally my sources and see if Oralie has evidence for her suspicions. In the meantime, please put this out of your mind. You know better than most, Miss Foster, how truly powerful our medicine can be. I have no doubt the gnomes will recover soon. Shall we?”
He motioned for everyone to follow him toward one of the stair-wrapped trees, and they climbed to the bridge that connected the two houses.
He pointed to the gazebo in the center, filled with pots of vibrant flowers and a round table with cozy chairs. “Since you’ll be dwelling in separate residences, we arranged this common eating area. Dinner will be served here—and you’re in for a treat. Calla’s starkflower stew is life changing. Otherwise, boys are that way”—he pointed to the tree house across the bridge—“and the girls are just above us. I must return to the Lost Cities and be seen for a few minutes.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of green-and-orange-speckled berries.
“So that’s how you de-Forkle!” Dex said. “I should’ve guessed it was callowberries. My dad uses them in his anti-inflammatory ointments. They smell like flareadon poop.”
“Taste like it too,” Mr. Forkle agreed.
“So all we need to do is crush a few of those into your breakfast, and bam! Instant Forkle-reveal?” Keefe asked.
“I’ve been consuming callowberries for thirteen years, Mr. Sencen. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice the smell?”
“I dunno—I’m really good at hiding things in people’s food.”
Mr. Forkle ignored him, holding up a black crystal with a purple gleam.
“Does that mean we can light leap from here?” Della asked.
“Only with special crystals, which we will provide if needed.”
“What’s this ‘if’ stuff?” Dex asked.
“Yeah, it’s not like we’re prisoners,” Sophie said.
“Of course you’re not. But you are fugitives. And you came here for our protection. This is how we provide it.”
“It sounds like we’re going to have to steal that crystal from you,” Keefe said.
“You would be very disappointed if you did. This crystal leads to my safe house, where I go to change identities. Anyone who does not know the secret for leaving is instantly trapped.”
“So . . . that’s it?” Sophie asked. “Here’s your tree houses, have some stew and good night?”
“Hardly, Miss Foster. First you must get cleaned up and meet me at ground level in an hour. You all have an appointment with the rest of our ruling Collective.”
EIGHT
THANK GOODNESS THEY have decent taste in clothes!” Biana said, twirling in her pale pink gown, which was frilly and ruffled and looked like cupcake frosting with pearl sprinkles.
Sophie was far less excited about hers. The smoky blue dress was dotted with diamonds, like the first glinting stars in the evening sky. But it was so fancy and fitted and screamed Look at me!
“Seriously, what’s with the gowns?” she grumbled. “Aren’t we supposed to be fighting rebels and solving conspiracies?”
“Actually, right now we have an important meeting,” Della reminded her. “So why not look our best?”
“But why do we have to look like pretty pretty princesses when the boys get to wear pants and tunics?”
Della laughed. “Sometimes I forget how much your human upbringing has altered your worldview. Our society has not been plagued by the inequalities you’ve grown up with. No one views gowns as a sign of our gender’s lesser status. We don’t have a lesser status. So if you truly hate wearing a dress, you can choose to wear anything you’d like.”
“Even if I visit a noble city?” Sophie asked.
“Of course. The only mark of noble status is a cape, and even then, some instances do not require them. All of our clothes—male and female—are designed to enhance natural beauty.”
“But . . .”
Sophie had been about to ask, What if someone isn’t beautiful?—until she’d remembered she was talking about elves.
“Okay, but isn’t parading around like this”—she ran her hands over her jewel-encrusted bodice—“sort of shallow?”