“Thank you,” she said.
“It is my honor.” Calla wove a loose strand of the vine carefully in with the others. “I must confess, it feels very strange to talk to you, after all these years.”
“Years?” Sophie repeated.
Calla smiled her green-toothed smile. “I know this might be hard to believe, but I’ve been part of Project Moonlark since the beginning.”
TWELVE
YOU WERE PART of project Moonlark?” Sophie repeated, needing to hear it one more time.
Calla nodded. “I was the one who chose the project’s name.”
Moonlarks were incredibly rare because they didn’t nest with their eggs like other birds. They laid them in the ocean and let them drift at sea, so that only the strongest made it to shore. Once they hatched, the babies had to survive alone. It was a fitting metaphor, though Sophie wished it didn’t imply so much struggle.
“I know it must sound strange,” Calla said, “a gnome helping with elvin genetics. But much of the project reminded me of cross-pollinating. Like these reveriebells. I blended dreamlillies, sweetshades, and aethrials, keeping the best traits of each.”
“So . . . you helped tweak my genes,” Sophie clarified, hoping Calla wasn’t about to tell her she was part plant. It was hard enough knowing her genes had been modeled off alicorn DNA. She didn’t need to be the horse girl and the tree girl.
“?‘Helped’ is the wrong word. I was there to keep the Black Swan grounded, and ensure they never strayed from what was natural, or lost sight of the fact that they were sparking the life of an innocent girl.”
“Does that mean you know what they’re planning for me?” Sophie asked.
“?‘Plan’ is also the wrong word. I know their hopes—mostly because I share them.” She turned away, humming under her breath and making more reveriebells blossom. “Did you like the pin I gave you?”
It took Sophie a second to realize Calla meant her Prattles’ pin.
She reached for her allergy remedy necklace, where the silver bird was still pinned through the cord. “How did you know the box would have the moonlark?”
“I have a friend who helps at the Prattles’ bakery, and I’d heard that a baby moonlark hatched recently. I asked her to save me the box with the new pin. I wanted to show you that elves aren’t the only ones who believe in you.”
“Why?” Sophie had to ask. “I mean . . . I’m just one girl.”
“All it takes is one to stand where others fall. Think of the way you defied the ogre king. No one on the Council was willing to take such a risk.”
“But . . . wasn’t that a bad thing?” Sophie needed a deep breath before she could mumble her next sentence. “It sounds like the attack at the Wildwood Colony happened right after I read King Dimitar’s mind—”
“Are you blaming yourself for the plague?” Calla interrupted.
“It seems like they must be connected—assuming the ogres are responsible.”
“Oh, they’re responsible,” Calla said darkly. “And someday we’ll finally be able to prove it. But that doesn’t mean you should put the blame on yourself.” She took Sophie’s hands, and her green thumbs felt warm and smooth, like stones heated by the sun. “You are a sprout, fighting to take root among the rocks of our world. It’s going to cause a few cracks, but that is the only way for you to grow strong.”
Sophie tried to feel the comfort Calla wanted her to feel. But all she found were more reasons to worry. “How bad is the plague?”
“I wish I knew. It’s been very hard to get information.”
“Mr. Forkle said the same thing. Why would the Council keep it secret?”
Calla released her hands, turning back to her blossoms. “I’m sure they’re trying to spare us unnecessary panic. Hopefully Gora and Yuri will return with a happy report soon.”
“They’re the gnomes you mentioned earlier, who had family in the Wildwood Colony?”
Calla nodded. “Yuri’s sister lived there, along with her husband and two daughters.”
“Daughters,” Sophie repeated. “So . . . they’re kids?”
“Not as young as you,” Calla said. “Though they are still far too young . . .”
. . . to die, Sophie’s mind finished.
“The physicians should be able to find the cure, though, right?” she asked.
Calla smiled. “That is the plan.”
Sophie tried to think of something else to say. All she could find was half a sentence.
“If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“There may very well be,” Calla said. “That’s why you’re the Moonlark.”
She curtsied and turned to leave, then whipped back around. “Look at me, forgetting the reason I came here!”
She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a fist-size black cube. “This is the package you were promised, to swear fealty to the Black Swan. There’s a sensor on the top that will respond to your DNA. Only when you truly mean your oath will the latch open.”