She rubbed her throbbing head. “Some are a little too strong right now.”
“Then let me give your mind a boost.” Fitz reached for her temples, and as soon as his fingers touched her skin, a burst of energy rushed into her consciousness. It felt like her brain had guzzled about fifty of Elwin’s healing elixirs and then got showered with caffeine.
“Is that better?” he asked, his hands shaking as he lowered them.
Sophie nodded. “What did you just do?”
“He shared his mental energy,” Mr. Forkle said. “Impressive, Mr. Vacker.”
Fitz blushed. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Got it!” Dex shouted, and they all spun toward the door.
Something passed between Granite and Mr. Forkle then, a look equal parts fear and hope as they pulled open Prentice’s cell.
The room was massive—easily as big as Sophie’s bedroom at Havenfield, which took up the entire third floor of the house. And it was empty, save for a large bubble of glass in the center, lit by silvery spotlights. Curled on the floor inside, lying on a thin blanket, was Prentice. His dark skin glistened with sweat and his hair was a tangled, matted mess. Drool streamed from his lips as he whispered words they couldn’t hear.
“Is there a way in?” Sophie asked as Dex placed his palms against the bubble.
“I don’t know. This glass feels solid. But there has to be a door.”
“Perhaps underneath?” Mr. Forkle suggested.
Dex dropped to his knees and put his ear against the floor.
The room made Sophie’s nerves prickle. Why waste all this space if they were going to keep Prentice locked in a bubble? And why was the ceiling a web of roots and wires and metal rods? Everything else in Exile was solid metal, to prevent anyone from tunneling in.
And now that she was thinking about it, hadn’t the Collective said that today was some sort of special day, before extra security arrived?
“I can’t figure out how this stupid cage works!” Dex shouted over the still blaring alarm. “It’s like they designed it specifically to resist Technopaths. But don’t worry, I came prepared.” He pulled open the left side of his cloak to reveal a half-dozen small metal cubes strapped to his chest. “I wasn’t sure what we’d need, so each of these does something different. And at least two of them should be able to shatter the glass.”
“Wouldn’t Prentice get speared by the raining shards?” Fitz asked.
“Perhaps we could shield him using telekinesis,” Granite said to Mr. Forkle.
“I do not like leaving so much to chance,” Mr. Forkle said.
Sophie shook her head, no longer able to ignore the prickles. “This is wrong. It has to be a trick.”
“Finally, someone who sees wisdom,” a voice said behind them.
The alarm went silent as they turned to face all twelve Councillors, blocking their only escape.
TWENTY-NINE
SURRENDER IS YOUR only option,” Councillor Emery told them, his eyes looking as dark as his skin and hair.
Once upon a time, Sophie had counted the spokesman for the Council among her advocates. But she heard no trace of compassion in his velvet voice.
“We designed this trap most carefully,” he said. “Nothing was missed—including your inflicting ability, Miss Foster.”
Sophie unclenched her fists, but held fast to the frenzy she’d been brewing. “How are you going to stop me?”
“Councillor Bronte will. Should you attempt to inflict, he will be obligated to respond. And we are confident his power will overshadow yours.”
Several Councillors nodded, though a few looked apologetic. Surprisingly, Bronte fell into the latter category.
For months the sharp-featured, pointy-eared Councillor had fought to make Sophie’s life miserable. But something had changed between them, and now she believed Bronte when he traced a hand across his cropped hair and said, “I am bound by my oath. If forced, I must protect the Council, regardless of how distasteful it may be.”
“Distasteful,” Councillor Alina scoffed. “Look around you, Bronte. These children were attempting to steal a prisoner from Exile!”
“A prisoner you should’ve pardoned weeks ago,” Fitz argued.
Councillor Alina sighed as she tucked her wavy, caramel-colored hair behind her ear. “Clearly this is your mother’s influence, Mr. Vacker. She’s hiding here somewhere, isn’t she? Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
It was no secret that Councillor Alina had tried to stop Alden and Della’s wedding, begging Alden to marry her instead. Alden had dodged a bullet there—though she hadn’t been as bad when she was principal of Foxfire. The power of being a Councillor had gone to her head.
“I feel you trying to invade my mind, Emery,” Mr. Forkle said. “Having any luck?”
“Enjoy your last moments of anonymity,” Councillor Emery told him. “They will soon end rather dramatically.”
“Perhaps.” Mr. Forkle twirled the ring on his finger, and terror boiled through Sophie.