“No, you’re not,” Della said, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes looked shadowed as she studied the uniform Biana was modeling. “You’re sure sending them to Exillium is a good idea?”
“We’re going,” Biana said before Mr. Forkle could answer. “And we’ll be fine.”
She adjusted the collar of her vest and her fingers grazed a button-style pin. It had a cloudy sky as the background with a black outline of half of a standing figure. Squiggly lines in all the colors of the spectrum had replaced the other half of the figure.
“Is this because I’m a Vanisher?” she asked.
Granite nodded. “You each have pins to reflect your abilities.”
“So Sophie’s going to have four?” Fitz asked. “Won’t that kind of ruin her anonymity?”
“We raised that question with the Magistrate,” Mr. Forkle said, “and were told the ability pins are mandatory.”
“But I thought Exillium was about skills over abilities,” Sophie argued.
“It is,” Granite agreed. “And that’s why you have to wear them. The Coaches need to see what you’re naturally able to do, in order to ensure you’re not using your abilities to cheat.”
“It’s also a safety measure,” Mr. Forkle added. “To warn what strengths the other Waywards have. The Coaches keep careful records of what everyone can do.”
“Speaking of which,” Granite said, reaching into one of the trunks and pulling out a stack of thick gray envelopes with the same X symbol. “We need you to verify that we filled out these forms correctly so we can return them to the Magistrate.”
“Should we really give them this much personal information?” Della asked, reading over Biana’s shoulder.
“We have to,” Mr. Forkle said. “The records must exist in case you are ever granted a return to Foxfire.”
Sophie snorted. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”
“You never know,” Granite told her. “Timkin Heks managed it, and he’d been caught up in quite the scandal.”
Sophie frowned, remembering some gossip she’d once heard. “I didn’t know he went back to Foxfire after he was expelled.”
“Only for his final weeks, so he could graduate with his class,” Granite said. “It was a rather strange case. Perhaps someday Timkin will share the story with you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll have me over for lushberry juice and mallowmelt,” Sophie mumbled. “Right after he tells me to call him Uncle Timkin.”
The Heks family included most of Sophie’s least favorite people in the Lost Cities. Their daughter Stina was one of the biggest brats at Foxfire, and both her parents had spread more slander about Sophie than anyone.
“You might be surprised,” Granite insisted. “Timkin has a challenging personality, no doubt about that. But you both see problems with the Council’s current methods. And perhaps you may understand him further after your time in Exillium.”
Sophie seriously doubted that.
She also didn’t want to think about what the Hekses must be saying about her. Stina had predicted she’d end up in Exillium, and now here she was, with “Sophie Elizabeth Foster” printed across an Exillium registration form, along with her height, weight, hair color, eye color, and all kinds of other personal information.
“Why does it say my address is the Crooked Forest?” Keefe asked.
“They all say that,” Mr. Forkle explained. “They needed to know where you’d be going after you left campus. We could hardly mention Alluveterre, so Calla will meet you in the Crooked Forest every day and escort you home.”
“That’s not in the Neutral Territories, right?” Sophie asked, worried about the plague.
“No, it’s actually in the Forbidden Cities,” Mr. Forkle said. “It’s one of those ‘unsolved mysteries’ humans are always spinning out wild theories for. Calla requested it specifically.”
He passed them each a leaping pendant with an oval crystal cut with only a single facet. Sophie tied it around her neck along with her Exillium bead. She was getting quite the necklace collection.
“How come Foster’s form says ‘et cetera’ on the line for special abilities?” Keefe asked, making Sophie wonder when he’d grabbed her pages. “On mine it says ‘Empath.’ But on hers it lists the four and then has an ‘et cetera.’ That means she has more hidden abilities, doesn’t it?”
“You cannot read too much into a simple ‘etcetera.’?” Mr. Forkle told him.
“Psh, with you guys we can,” Keefe insisted as Sophie snatched her forms back. “And please tell me she’s not a Beguiler—that would get way too complicated.”
Keefe kept listing talents he hoped Sophie did or didn’t have and Sophie knew she should probably be listening. But her eyes had found a much more life-changing line on her form.
Written in clear block letters, on the line designated for the names of her family.
MR. ERROL L. FORKLE.
FORTY