Grady’s side was still empty.
She knew if Edaline wasn’t worried about him, she shouldn’t be either. But she couldn’t shake the churny feeling in her stomach as she padded down the hall and slipped into Jolie’s old bedroom.
A soft snap of her fingers made the delicate crystal chandeliers glow, and Sophie carried a trunk to Jolie’s dressing table and set to work packing up the drawers. She found more makeup than any girl could wear in two lifetimes, a dozen hairbrushes in every shape and size, and a huge collection of Slurps and Burps bottles with names like Raven Lovelylocks and Liquid Amber Eyes. But nothing gave her the slightest hint about Jolie’s connection to the Black Swan.
The closet was just as unhelpful. Stacks of shoes. Handbags in all shapes and sizes. Row upon row of frilly gowns. Biana would’ve been in absolute girl-heaven. But clothes weren’t really Sophie’s thing. Her “style” was all about drawing as little attention to herself as possible.
“What about those?” Sandor asked, pointing to two small silver chests on the top shelf.
Sophie had searched them a few weeks before, when she’d first seen Jolie in Prentice’s memories. But she’d been rushing at the time, so it was probably worth a second look.
The first chest was filled with old toys and dolls and dried flowers and all kinds of other things that probably had sentimental stories behind them, but were still really just a bunch of junk. The other chest was filled with letters.
Jolie’s fiancé, Brant, had sent her hundreds of love letters while she was living in the elite towers in her final years at Foxfire, declaring over and over how much he cared for her and missed her and would be useless without her. Reading them felt like eavesdropping on a private conversation—an especially mushy conversation at that. But Sophie skimmed each one, just in case there was something important in them.
“What are you doing up?” Grady asked from the doorway, making her jump so hard she dropped all the letters.
“Sorry,” he said, squatting to help her pick them up. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
His eyes were rimmed with shadows and his blond hair was caked with sand. But the smile he gave her was 100 percent Grady.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispered, hugging him tight.
“Yeah, me too. The dwarven caverns are not my favorite place to visit.” He shook his head, showering them both with sand. “So what’s keeping you up? More nightmares?”
“Kind of.”
She told him about the tracker and the footprints, and Sandor’s worries about the ogres, hating how tense Grady looked by the end of it.
All he said was, “Sounds like you’ve had a strange day. And I can see why you couldn’t sleep. But what are you doing in here?” He scanned one of the letters. “Are these from Brant?”
“Love letters,” Sophie agreed.
Grady read aloud. “‘You’re the spark, the kindling, the flame that never dies. The beauty and the wonder of the ever-burning skies.’ That is some seriously sappy stuff.”
He smiled, and Sophie tried to join him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Brant’s scarred, ruined face. He’d been caught in the fire with Jolie—and even though he’d escaped with his life, his grief and guilt at not being able to save her had destroyed him more than the flames.
Grady cleared his throat as he handed the letters back to her. “So what made you want to get up in the middle of the night and read a bunch of gooey love letters? Did a boy inspire this?”
“No!” Sophie said, probably too quickly. “I just . . . wanted to get to know Jolie—and Brant,” she added, pointing to the letters.
Grady’s brows crunched together, and he opened his mouth to say something. Then shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s late. We can talk more in the morning.”
“Uh, you know I’m imagining a billion terrible things now, right?”
He sighed, tracing his hands down his face before he said, “Fine. I know how vivid your imagination can be. But this is your choice—and Edaline and I will support you one hundred percent, regardless of what you decide.”
“Okay,” Sophie said slowly. “So . . . ?”
Grady bit his lip and turned to stare at the framed pictures on Jolie’s desk. “I’d like to file a petition with the Council, requesting permission for you to heal Brant.”
ELEVEN
SOPHIE KNEW WHAT GRADY WAS hoping she’d say, what she should say, what she wanted to say.
But she couldn’t make her mouth form the words.
“I think it’s high time we both get some sleep,” Grady said after an endless stretch of silence. “We can continue this conversation in the morning—or whenever you’re ready, no matter how long that might be.”
Sophie managed a nod.
Neither of them said anything as they made their way up the stairs to her bedroom. But as Grady tucked her in, he whispered, “I’ll always love you no matter what—and Edaline will too. You know that, right?”
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
She knew he meant every word. But her palms were still sweaty, and her heart was still racing, and when Grady left her alone, she buried her head under her pillow, feeling like everything was spinning too fast.
Healing Brant had originally been her idea—and if she could save him from the shattered mess he’d become, it would be a truly incredible thing.
But there was one word in that statement that was far more terrifying than the others. One that echoed in her mind, long after the sun rose and the darkness faded, ushering in a new day.
If.
“Looks like you had another rough night,” Edaline said as Sophie stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast.
Sophie sank into her usual chair at the table and reached for one of the sugar-covered fluffcreams heaped on a platter, hoping it would erase the bitterness on her tongue. But her stomach lurched at the thought of food—even though the food was a delicious cloud of honey and cinnamon and butter.
She set it on the table, tearing at the flaky edge.
“What if I can’t do it?” she whispered.
“Then that’s fine,” Grady promised as Edaline reached for Sophie’s hand. “If you don’t think you can handle it, we totally understand.”
“No, it’s not that.” Sophie stared out the window, watching the feathered, colorful dinosaurs graze in the pastures. “I mean, what if I can’t do it? Mind healing only works if some of the person’s consciousness is left to save. And Mr. Forkle told me the Black Swan had to train all their Keepers to preserve their consciousness a special way—a way Brant wouldn’t know. So what if the Council grants permission and I go there and get everyone’s hopes up, and . . . I can’t save him?”
“Then at least we’ll know we tried everything we could,” Grady told her.
“We would never blame you or be disappointed in you—if that’s what you’re worried about,” Edaline added.
Sophie was a little afraid of that—not that she’d admit it.
But . . . what if the grief made Edaline go back to crying herself to sleep in Jolie’s room?
Or worse: What if Grady’s guilt and anger finally broke him?
“Hey,” Edaline said, tucking Sophie’s hair behind her ear. “Sometimes I think you’re the oldest thirteen-year-old I’ve ever met. You shouldn’t have a worry crease between your brows.” She traced her finger along a line in Sophie’s forehead, her soft touch making Sophie relax. “You should be thinking about what dress to wear or how you’re doing in your Foxfire sessions or which boy you like best.”
“Edaline’s right,” Grady said, scooting his chair closer to them. “Though I’m not sure how I feel about that last one. Especially if it involves that Sencen boy.”
Edaline elbowed him.
“Sorry,” Grady mumbled, not sounding sorry at all.
Sophie focused on the table, wishing she could crawl under it.
“So it’s settled, then,” Edalin
e said after a second. “We’ll drop all of this for now and come back to it when you’re older?”
Sophie smushed more of her fluffcream, tempted to take the easy way out and agree. But it wasn’t fair to make Brant keep suffering—not if there was a chance she could help him.
She just wished there were a way to know if it were possible before everyone was counting on her.
Or maybe there was. . . .
“Do you think you could take me to see Brant?” Sophie asked.
“Why?” Grady was probably remembering Sophie’s last encounter with Brant, which had been erratic at best and terrifying at worst.
But when Sophie had probed Prentice’s mind—even though her abilities weren’t working right and she wasn’t able to heal him—she could tell that there was a glimmer of his consciousness left.
If she could probe Brant’s thoughts, she might be able to find the same thing. Or she’d know once and for all that his mind was too far gone.
Either way, it was better than waiting on if.
“It’s the only way to know for sure,” she said, turning to Grady.
He glanced at Edaline, who nodded slowly.
“Okay, then.” Grady stood so quickly he shook the table. “Finish your breakfast and get dressed. We’ll go see him today.”
TWELVE
BRANT’S STARK, WINDOWLESS HOUSE WAS just as bleak as Sophie remembered. Everything was gray—the dull stone walls, the jagged, dusty ground. Even the sky seemed to be in a perpetual state of gloom.
“There’s something off about this place,” Sandor said, pulling Sophie closer to his side. He’d insisted on coming, and after what happened last time, Grady had agreed—but he’d warned Sandor that he’d have to wait outside, doubting Brant could handle the sight of a goblin.
Sandor sniffed the frigid wind. “I can’t detect a single sign of life.”
“We burned everything before we built this place,” Grady explained, leading Sophie up the crooked path. “The only thing that lives here is Brant. The rest is just dust and ash.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” Sandor muttered.
Sophie didn’t either. But Brant was afraid of fire and heat and any kind of kindling. She could understand his reason for the phobias, but she couldn’t imagine living somewhere so cold and empty.
Grady paused at the narrow steps that led to the metal front door. “You need to wait here, Sandor—and stay out of sight.”
Sandor reached into one of his pockets and handed Grady a bladed throwing star. “Do not be afraid to use this.”
“I can handle Brant. I’ve been taking care of him for sixteen years.”
Sixteen years.
Sophie had never thought about what a burden taking care of Brant must be. His parents had been too mentally fragile from their grief to handle visiting their broken son, so Grady and Edaline had been the ones to find him somewhere to live and check on him from time to time—all while coping with their own loss.
“Take it for extra security,” Sandor insisted. “You’ve said yourself that this elf is unpredictable.”
Grady sighed as he shoved the blade into his cape pocket. “You’re sure you’re up for this?” he asked Sophie.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, as they started up the stairs.
They both hesitated at the top, taking several deep breaths. Then Grady pulled the dangling chain, making a low chime echo through the silence. The tone was still ringing when the metal door flew open, slamming into the stone walls.
Grady clutched his chest. “I think you just gave me a heart attack, Brant. You’ve never met us at the door!”
“Well, you’ve never stopped by between anniversaries,” Brant replied, his voice as hoarse and wheezy as Sophie remembered. “So I guess it’s a day of firsts.”
Don’t stare at his scars, Sophie reminded herself, focusing on Brant’s strange yellow-orange, bathrobelike shirt. But her eyes still darted to the bumps and dents and red splotches that ruined one side of his chin and cheek. Bitter souvenirs even Elwin couldn’t erase.
“No Edaline?” Brant asked, stepping aside to let them pass.
“We’re expecting a pair of apatosaurs to arrive this afternoon, and someone had to be there to assist.” Grady explained. “Is that okay?”
Brant said nothing as he slammed the door and led them into his sparse sitting room. He motioned for them to take their pick of the four metal stools bound to the floor on large springs, but Sophie waited for Brant to choose his first. Then she sat in the one farthest away.
“No custard bursts either, I see,” Brant said, shaking his head with a sigh. “So far this surprise isn’t a very good one.”
“No, I suppose it’s not,” Grady admitted. “But perhaps this might help.”
He reached into his cape and pulled out a silver pouch tied with bright red string.
Brant leaned forward. “Is that . . . ?”
“Yep. A whole bag of Indigoobers, just for you.”
Grady held it out to him, and Brant eyed it for a second, like Sophie’s old cat used to do when she first showed him a new toy. He pounced just as quickly, snatching it away and tearing into his treasure.
It took him several seconds to untangle the string, shredding it to bits as he sank into his chair, pulled out a fist-size blue cluster, and shoved it into his mouth. Blue drool trickled down his lips and he struggled to chew the oversize mouthful, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “I guess this is almost as good—but next time I want custard bursts.”
“Edaline will bake a double batch,” Grady promised.
“And I want more of these, too.”
Brant shoved another in his mouth, covering his bottom lip with blue slime. Sophie had no idea what Indigoobers were, but she was pretty sure she never wanted to try them.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Brant asked, spraying spittle with each word. “Or do I have to guess? Actually, that might be fun.” His sharp blue eyes bored into Sophie’s like laser beams. “It has to do with her, doesn’t it? You never made surprise visits before she came along. So what would she want?”
He rubbed his chin, smearing blue drool into his scars.
Sophie had to look away.
She studied the room, looking for any clues to how Brant spent his long, lonely days. There were no books or paper. No gadgets or tools. Nothing but bare walls and empty space, like a really clean prison.
“You can’t have it!” Brant screamed, sending Sophie scrambling to her feet.
Grady rushed in front of her, but Brant was backing slowly away.
“You can’t have it,” he repeated, sinking to the floor in the corner. “It’s mine. Mine.”
He said the word over and over, making Sophie realize what he meant. The last time she’d been there, Brant had tackled her and stolen her Ruewen crest pin.
“I gave the pin to you,” she reminded him. “I don’t want it back.”
“Mine,” Brant agreed, rocking back and forth. “Mine mine mine.”
“Yes, Brant, it’s yours. So can we calm down and get back to why we’re really here?” Grady asked him.
Brant’s eyes slowly cleared. “Sorry,” he mumbled, crawling back to his chair. “Carry on.”
Grady wrapped his arm around Sophie, keeping her at his side as he said, “Okay. You know how you get headaches sometimes? Sophie might be able to find the cause of them.”
They’d decided not to tell Brant what they were really doing, not wanting to get his hopes up until they knew if the healing was a possibility.
Brant shoved another Indigoober into his mouth. “Oh, really?”
Sophie nodded. “It’s a trick I learned a little while ago, and I think it might work on you.”
“And what would I have to do?” he asked as he licked the blue slime off his lips.
“Just hold still for a second while Sophie sends a little warmth into your mind,” Grady told him.
Brant shook his head, whipping it from side
to side so hard it looked like it would detach from his neck. “Nothing warm! Nothing nothing nothing—”
“It’s not really warm,” Sophie jumped in. “More like a tingle. Like if you’ve ever had your leg fall asleep.”
She had no idea if that was true. But that was how she imagined it would feel, and it seemed like a good enough explanation. It was enough to make Brant stop shaking.
“Okay,” he said, a hint of a smile curling one side of his lips. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Grady squeezed Sophie’s shoulder as she closed her eyes, reaching out with her consciousness for the feel of Brant’s mind.
All she could find was heat.
A fire inside her head.
Sweat beaded on her skin as she stretched her mind further, but no matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t break through the wall of flames to make contact.
“I need to place my hands on your temples,” she told Brant. “It won’t hurt. It’ll just help me focus the energy.”
She moved slowly as she reached for his temples, like she was reaching to pet a wild dog that could bite her hand any second. But Brant held still, not even flinching when her fingers came to rest on his fever-hot skin.
The rush of heat was stronger this time, but Sophie was able to shove her way through, collapsing into a suffocating darkness with sharp edges that scratched at her mental barriers. She ignored the pain and rallied her concentration, pushing deeper into the mire.
A vivid scene rampaged into her mind.
Jolie, clinging to Brant as a firestorm explodes around them. The force tosses Brant backward, but Jolie is surrounded, the wild flames strangling tighter and tighter until her face is lost in the smoke and her screams fade to nothing.
“Stop!” Brant screamed, grabbing Sophie’s wrist.
Pain launched up her arm as she tried to pull free, but she couldn’t get away until Grady grabbed Brant and tossed him backward, slamming him into the wall.
Brant crumpled to the floor, pressing his hands over his ears and mumbling, “Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop.”