“Sure,” Sophie whispered.
She got up to change into her pajamas, and by the time she’d brushed her teeth, Biana had already crawled under the covers. The bed was so big she could barely tell anyone else was there. But the soft sound of Biana’s breathing made the room feel warmer.
She’d thought Biana was asleep, until Biana asked, “We’re going to stop them, right?”
Sophie stared at the wall, her mind flashing through all the losses they’d suffered.
Kenric. Jolie. Prentice. The dwarves on Mount Everest. Maybe Lady Gisela.
She had a horrible feeling there would be more casualties before this was over. But she was sure of one thing. “Yes, we’re going to stop them.”
SEVENTEEN
MR. FORKLE SAT ALONE with Della when Biana and Sophie made their way down to breakfast. The tight line of his frown told them he’d already been given a thorough update.
“I’ve asked Sior to help Lur and Mitya,” he said, handing them each a bowl of green porridge.
“That’s one of the gnomes we met the first day, right?” Biana asked.
Mr. Forkle nodded. “This forest will miss him, but Calla feels confident she can cover his absence. And I think it’s important we get answers quickly, don’t you?”
“I do,” Keefe said, striding across the bridge with Dex and Fitz right behind him. “And I have a plan.”
“Do you, now?” Mr. Forkle asked, studying Keefe closer.
The bruiselike dark circles under Keefe’s eyes made it clear he hadn’t slept. But Sophie was much more concerned about the state of his hair.
It hung flat against his head, completely unstyled.
Mr. Forkle handed Keefe a bowl of green sludge, but Keefe set it aside and plopped into a chair.
“I wish you would not punish the body over a troubled heart,” Mr. Forkle told him.
“Fine. How about I eat if you promise to hear me out?” Keefe asked.
Mr. Forkle gave him a spoon.
Keefe devoured his porridge in three giant bites, then wiped his lips and said, “I want to speak to Gethen. I know he’s unresponsive or whatever you called it. But his consciousness can’t just disappear. I’m sure he can hear me. Or, more importantly, he can hear this.”
He cleared his throat and his voice shifted several octaves higher as he said, “Gethen—it’s time to go!”
Sophie cringed at how uncannily he sounded like his mother.
“Your mimicking is very impressive,” Mr. Forkle told him.
Keefe sounded both bitter and sad as he said, “I was trained by the best. And now we can use what she taught me to fool Gethen. If we stage it right, I can make him think he’s being rescued, which should draw his consciousness back. Then we can find out what he knows.”
“You’re assuming he knows something worth all of that risk,” Mr. Forkle said.
“Why else would his capture get my mother . . .” He cleared his throat. “It has to be something important. And I can find out what it is. If he thinks he’s being rescued, he’ll come back. Then you can probe his memories.”
Mr. Forkle stroked his double chin. “Your plan does have its merits, Mr. Sencen. But it’s still far too dangerous. We have already determined what our priorities are at the moment—though we are amending them to include an investigation of Lur and Mitya’s findings.”
“That’s not good enough!” Keefe snapped, pounding the table.
“Keefe,” Della tried.
“No.” He pulled his hand away from her before she could take it. “Aren’t you guys sick of being treated like their little puppets? Go here. Read this. Wait for this. Eat this.”
He whacked his bowl, knocking it off the table and sending it spinning across the floor, spraying the remaining bits of his green porridge.
“Keefe!” Della said again. “I know you’re upset—”
“No, I’m just tired of being ignored,” he interrupted. “This is a good plan—Dex and Fitz agreed.”
Both boys shifted in their seats.
“It does seem like it might work,” Fitz said after a second.
“I never said it wouldn’t.” Mr. Forkle rose and placed his hand on Keefe’s shoulder. “But we’ve been over this with your schemes about Exillium. Just because a plan is feasible does not mean it’s worth the risk. I understand your desire to bring something positive from everything that’s happened. But one should never rely on their enemies to give them hope.”
“I don’t care about my mom—”
“Yes you do. As you should. And while I cannot base this on evidence, I wouldn’t count your mother out yet.”
Keefe snorted. “You say that like it’s a good thing. Yay—she’s alive so she can keep being evil!”
“Evil is better than dead, Mr. Sencen. Evil can change. Though neither is in your power.”