No one said yes, but no one argued.
They marched in silence the rest of the way, until they reached a web of roots. Calla pulled a specific thread and the whole web unraveled, revealing a wooden door.
“It begins now,” Mr. Forkle said as Calla removed a pouch from her pocket. Sophie smelled anise, saffron, and something smokier as Calla sprinkled them each with dried leaves.
“These herbs are the gnomes’ version of magsidian,” Granite explained. “Hopefully the dwarves will scent them and assume we’re here for a food delivery. It will not buy us long, but it should give us a few precious minutes.”
“From this moment on the mission begins,” Mr. Forkle said. “Trust yourselves. Let your talents aid you. And above all, remember your promises.”
Sophie remembered her promise all right—but she’d silently made a new one.
She was getting everyone safely out of Exile, no matter what.
TWENTY-EIGHT
SOPHIE HAD FORGOTTEN the sharp, bitter smell of Exile. But this time there was an underlying sourness, masked by something artificially sterile—as if the whole place were a carelessly bandaged wound, oozing beneath the surface.
The hallway they’d entered was plain, cold metal. No windows, no doors, and thankfully no blaring alarms or guards. Mr. Forkle closed the door behind them and it vanished seamlessly.
“That was supposed to happen, right?” Keefe asked. “Because it feels like we just got locked in.”
His voice was barely a whisper, but the sound felt like a T. rex roaring. Sophie remembered Exile being filled with muffled moans. But she heard nothing except the rush of their hurried breathing.
“We must not linger in the somnatorium,” Granite warned. “These prisoners are the irredeemable cases, brought here for permanent sleep.”
“So . . . basically they’re dead,” Sophie said.
“If you want to see it that way,” Blur told her. “But they’re also very much alive, which is what keeps the guilt from shattering the Councillors’ minds. It’s also why we need to move quickly. We shouldn’t test the thoroughness of the sedatives.”
Sophie wasn’t sure the whole sedate-the-evil-people plan sounded all that solid—but what did she want the Council to do? Kill them?
“That light up ahead is the main corridor of Exile,” Mr. Forkle told them. “That’s where we must separate. I’d also advise you to keep your eyes on the floor from here on out.”
Sophie had used that trick last time, avoiding any glimpse through the porthole windows into the cells. But she was determined to face whatever waited for her.
“What’s so scary about—” Keefe started to ask. Then a face slammed against the glass.
The ogre’s lumpy skin was so swollen that it could barely open its eyes—and yet, the glare it fixed on them burned with rage as it licked its bloody teeth.
“Ooooooooooooookay, looking down now,” Keefe whispered, pressing his chin into his neck. “So . . . are we going to be messing with creepy dudes like that?”
“Worse,” Blur said, clapping Keefe on the back. “Welcome to the land of monsters.”
And Prentice, Sophie thought.
One weak star, tucked among the suffocating darkness. She wondered if any other innocents were trapped in these metal cages.
“Your group goes that way,” Mr. Forkle told Blur, pointing to the left as the hall forked.
“Come on,” Blur told Keefe and Squall. “Time to see who can cause the most chaos.”
“Well . . . when you put it that way!” Keefe rubbed his hands together.
“Please be careful,” Sophie begged.
“There you go caring about me again, Foster. Your fan club is going to get jealous.”
He zipped away with the others before anyone could respond.
Granite pointed down the opposite path. “The Room Where Chances Are Lost is that way. Avoid the adjuncts and the hall will dead-end there.”
Wraith and Biana turned to leave, but Della hesitated.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Fitz promised. “Just take care of yourself—and Biana.”
Della strangled him with a hug and pulled Sophie and Dex in. “Take care of each other.”
“We will,” they promised.
Della held them a second longer, then took Biana’s hand and they ran after Wraith, vanishing down the hall.
“I guess that means I’m up,” Sophie whispered.
She leaned against the wall to hold herself steady, then gasped as a shock of cold stabbed through her cloak.
“A Froster froze the walls,” Mr. Forkle explained. “After Fintan, the Council is not taking any chances with excess heat.”
“Is there a Pyrokinetic here?” Sophie asked.
“Two,” Granite said.
Sophie hoped her path to Prentice kept her far away.