“I have to be. Otherwise no one tells me anything.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She sank into one of the armchair-shaped shrubberies. “Have either of you studied the Wildwood Colony in multispeciesial studies?”
They both shook their heads.
“I guess I should’ve figured that. I think everyone would prefer the Colony didn’t exist. As Mr. Forkle said, the gnomes who live there often blame their problems on the ogres. And the timing of this plague seems especially deliberate. If the gnomes grew sick a few weeks ago, that would mean it started right around the time Sophie tried to read King Dimitar’s mind—”
“Wait—it’s my fault the gnomes are sick?” Sophie interrupted.
“There’s no fault,” Della promised. “You aren’t responsible for the actions of a hostile species.”
“Besides,” Biana added, “how can ogres control disease?”
Clearly Biana had never heard of ‘germ warfare.’ And if humans were capable of it, Sophie was sure the ogres were. Lady Cadence, her old Linguistics mentor who used to live with the ogres, had even told her that ogres were experts in biochemistry.
“We have to find out more,” Sophie said, running to get her soggy clothes. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that Oralie’s Imparter—and Kenric’s cache—were in her pockets before she’d stepped into the river.
“Show me Councillor Oralie,” she whispered, wiping water spots off the Imparter’s silver screen. Several agonizing seconds passed before Oralie’s face appeared in the center.
“Is something wrong?” Oralie asked. “Did you make it safely to the Black Swan?”
“We did,” Sophie said. “But I need to know what’s happening with the Wildwood gnomes. Did ogres attack them? Is that why you said the Neutral Territories aren’t safe?”
“Clearly I shouldn’t have said anything,” Oralie murmured. “I meant to keep you away from danger, not draw you into our investigation.”
“So you are investigating?” Della asked, coming up behind Sophie.
“Ms. Vacker,” Oralie said. “I suppose I should’ve figured you’d be there. Alden’s explanation for your absence felt rather thin.”
“Is the infection at Wildwood connected to me trying to read King Dimitar’s mind?” Sophie asked, getting back to the question that was making it hard to breathe.
Oralie let out a sigh. “The situation with the gnomes is far more complicated than you, or anyone, realizes. No single act is the cause for anything—and I cannot tell you anything more than that. But there’s a chance the ogres aren’t even involved. So far the only tracks we found at Wildwood—besides gnomish footprints—were made by elves.”
“Does that mean the Neverseen are behind it?” Biana asked.
“We do not know,” Oralie said. “But it’s possible.”
The idea was too horrible for words.
“This could crush Keefe,” Sophie whispered.
“A good reason to keep this information quiet,” Oralie told her. “Nothing has been confirmed. The only lesson you must take from this is to stay out of the Neutral Territories. And please don’t let yourself carry the blame. Our problems go much further than anything you’ve done.”
Sophie tried to believe her. “Will you keep me updated about the investigation?”
“I’ll do my best. For now, I must go.”
“Well,” Della said, as Oralie clicked away. “I know your minds are flooding with theories, but we need to decide what to do about Keefe. If this is true, Sophie’s right, it will devastate him. Do we want to put him through that without proof?”
Sophie glanced at Biana, relieved when she shook her head.
“I think we should wait until we know more,” Della agreed, hooking her arms around Sophie and Biana. “For now, let’s go meet the Black Swan’s Collective.”
NINE
OKAY, I FIGURED you guys were going to be weird,” Keefe said, “but I wasn’t expecting this weird.”
Sophie knew she should probably elbow him, but all she could do was stare.
The whole time she’d followed Mr. Forkle to the meeting point—a black pavilion hidden deep in the heart of the subterranean forest—she’d been imagining a group of pudgy, wrinkly elves who ate too many ruckleberries. Instead they found . . . she wasn’t sure what.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Squall, Blur, Wraith, and Granite,” Mr. Forkle told them.
“I know the titles might seem strange,” Squall said, “but we’ve found it’s easier to remember code names when they match the disguise.”
A heavy shiver obscured Squall’s voice, and she was clearly a Froster. She’d covered herself head to toe in a thick layer of foggy ice.