“I better make sure Fitz is still talking to me,” she said.
“You should be worried about me,” Keefe told her, stalking back into the room. “You deprived me of the Snuggles—that cannot be forgiven! Actually it can, but you have to convince Fitz to call himself Lord of the Snuggles from now on.”
Sophie laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Fitz’s door was closed, so she knocked before going in.
“I told you, Mr. Snuggles’s visiting hours are over,” he called through the door.
“What about your visiting hours?” she asked.
“Oh! I thought you were Keefe.”
Sophie pushed open the door. “I get that a lot.”
“YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY!” Keefe shouted from the main room.
Fitz had Mr. Snuggles perched on his lap, and the sparkly dragon looked almost defiant. Like, Yeah, I’m cute and glittery—what’s it to you?
“So . . . I guess the secret’s out,” she said.
“Looks like it. You’d think almost dying would earn me a little slack.”
“NOT WHEN YOU’RE CUDDLING WITH A GLITTERY DRAGON, DUDE!” Keefe shouted.
Fitz smiled.
“So you’re not mad?” Sophie asked.
“Nah. It’s good to see Keefe acting normal again.”
“It is,” Sophie agreed, hoping it would last. “But what about you? How are you feeling?”
Fitz shrugged, then winced again, which made it a little hard to believe his “Fine.”
“I’m mostly embarrassed,” he promised. “I mean, who gets impaled by a giant bug? And I’m feeling guilty for all the times I’ve teased you about almost dying. It’s not a lot of fun.”
“It really isn’t.” Sophie sat on the edge of his bed. “Don’t do it again, okay?”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
Sophie sighed, knowing it was a deal neither of them could honestly make.
He yawned, and she patted Mr. Snuggles on the head as she stood to leave.
Fitz mumbled something, the words too sleepy to be coherent. But Sophie could’ve sworn he’d said, “Miss you.”
“How is he?” Mr. Forkle asked as she entered the hallway.
She shrugged. “Resting.”
“You should do the same. We have an early morning tomorrow. You’re coming with us to make the exchange for Prentice. And then we’ll start the process of learning what he’s hiding.”
THIRTY-FOUR
THE LAST TIME Sophie had stood outside the glowing castle in Lumenaria, she’d been with Fitz, learning that the world was not at all what she’d thought it was.
Somehow, it didn’t feel any less surreal to be standing in the cold ocean breeze again, waiting for the Council to deliver Prentice.
All five members of the Collective waited at her side, along with four dwarven guards, each holding one corner of the cot Gethen had been bound to. He seemed as lifeless as before, and Sophie wondered if he realized he was being moved, or if he’d retreated so far into his mind he’d lost connection with his body.
Squall checked the sun, which had risen well beyond the horizon. “The Council’s late. I don’t like leaving Gethen in the open.”
“I thought the Neverseen can’t track him now,” Sophie said, looking anywhere but at Gethen’s hands.
“It bothers you that we removed his nails,” Mr. Forkle said.
“Well, you did torture him,” she mumbled.
“Is that what you think?” Granite asked.
“The process was painless,” Squall promised.
“I only said otherwise to frighten him,” Mr. Forkle added. “It does raise an interesting question, though, doesn’t it? How far are we willing to go in this fight? For instance, would you have been willing to hand your cache over to the dwarves or goblins if the Council had called your bluff?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said—but that was a lie.
You would’ve done it, Mr. Forkle transmitted.
Is that bad?
Quite the opposite. It’s a sign that you’re close to being ready.
Sophie knew better than to ask, Ready for what?
“Where are the gnomes under quarantine?” she asked instead.
She’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the treatment area, but all she could see was the solid stone and metal of the castle’s walls and gates.
“There’s a small grove behind the inner tower,” Mr. Forkle said. “I hear they’re being contained there.”
“You haven’t seen them?” Sophie asked.
“Only physicians are allowed to enter, and they haven’t been allowed to share any details.”
The castle bell ended their conversation, followed by the echo of heavy footsteps. When the gates creaked open, ten goblins stood arm in arm to block them from entering.
Sophie searched for Sandor among them, knowing it was a vain hope. She found only strangers, and none who looked friendly enough to ask if they’d heard any news about her recovering bodyguard.
Behind them, the Four Seasons Tree stood proudly on a small patch of grass. As Sophie studied its colorful branches, Bronte and Emery leaped into the courtyard.