Keeper of the Lost Cities

NINETEEN

THE WHOLE SCHOOL HAD PHYSICAL education together every Tuesday and Thursday morning—the only session that wasn’t one-on-one. Sophie was so nervous she couldn’t even think about breakfast. She’d always been a disaster at anything physical. Her goal was to hide in the back and hope her Mentor didn’t notice her.

The locker rooms were outside, sandwiched between a huge field of purple grass and the amphitheater that looked like a domed Colosseum. As soon as she set foot through the door, hundreds of girls stopped talking to stare at her.

Sophie kept her head down and rushed to what she assumed was her PE locker. Instead, the door led to a personal changing area, complete with shower and vanity. Her uniform hung from a hook near the door: blue tunic, black leggings, black sneakers—finally something without a cape. She changed fast, swept her hair into a loose ponytail, and emerged into the main room just as Stina and her minions stalked by like they owned the place.

Stina laughed when she spotted her. “I give the new girl six months before they ship her off to Exillium,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

The word “Exillium” felt like a slap. Sophie couldn’t think of a reply.

Marella’s voice cut across the room. “That’s about how long your dad lasted, wasn’t it?” She stalked over and got in Stina’s face. “Actually, I doubt he even made it that far.”

“You want to compare parents, Redek?” Stina hissed.

Marella was so tiny Stina looked like she could squish her—but she didn’t flinch. “My family may not be nobility, but at least we’re not trying to fool anyone—unlike some people in this room.”

“Take that back,” Stina demanded.

“I will when it stops being true.” Marella dragged Sophie outside and into the amphitheater as Stina shouted idle threats.

All the prodigies were grouped by level, and Marella led her to the crowd of Level Twos.

“I’m sorry you had to get in the middle of that,” Sophie mumbled.

“I didn’t have to. I wanted to. She tromps around here like she’s so special ’cause her mom’s an Empath for the nobility. Meanwhile, her dad never manifested and she only has a fifty-fifty chance of manifesting herself. I can’t wait to watch you put her in her place.”

“Wait—I’m going to put her in her place? Me?”

“Of course you. You’re the new girl with the mysterious past who probably has all these weird powers. I mean, just look at your eyes.”

Sophie shuffled her feet. Marella’s remark hit a little close to things she was required to keep secret. “I’m not special, Marella. Trust me.”

“Whatever. My point is, none of us has been able to take Stina down, not even Princess Prettypants Biana. You’re the new variable—something no one expected—so you get to end Stina’s reign of terror. Everyone’s waiting for it.”

“What do you mean ‘everyone’?” She was stunned to notice several prodigies watching her. They didn’t really think she’d change anything, did they?

“Are you ready for this?” Dex interrupted, jumping up and down—and getting some impressive height. He grabbed Sophie’s shoulders, like he wanted to jolt enthusiasm into her.

Before she could answer, twelve Mentors strode into the room in dark gray capes. Each of the six grade levels had two Mentors to supervise, one for the boys and one for the girls. Lady Alexine, the Mentor who gave Dex and Stina detention the day before, and Sir Caton, who had the muscles of a Titan god, informed the Level Twos that they’d be working on channeling.

“It’s about focusing your concentration,” Dex explained. “Mind over matter. Don’t worry. It’s supereasy.”

It wasn’t.

Sophie was supposed to channel the strength of her mind to different parts of her body: jumping to super heights, running at super speeds, crushing things with super strength. But no matter how hard she tried, or how much Lady Alexine helped her, she couldn’t do anything better than she normally did, which was horribly unimpressive. She could imagine the kind of report Bronte would get.

After several failed attempts she noticed a few prodigies watching her. Then a few more, and a few more after that, until all the Level Twos were watching—and a few Level Threes. She didn’t have to read their minds to know what they were thinking.

If she’d had any doubt, it was settled in the locker room. Stina bumped her into the wall and said, “I take it back. She won’t last six weeks.”

This time, no one came to her defense.

TOO EMBARRASSED TO FACE THE cafeteria after PE—she’d lost her appetite anyway—Sophie used her lunch break to find her next session.

Telepathy training required a special room in the Level Four wing. Her bright blue uniform shone like a spotlight was trained on it in the emerald green halls, so she was glad she found the room before the end of lunch.

“Sorry, am I too early, Sir Tiergan?” she asked as he startled to his feet.

He tugged at the edge of his faded black cape. “Of course not. But please just call me Tiergan. I am not a member of the nobility—Mentor or no.”

“Um . . . okay,” she agreed, not sure what to say to that. She scanned the round green room. Other than two silver chairs that looked like they belonged on a spaceship, the place was bare and unremarkable.

She waited for Tiergan to tell her what to do, but he just stood there, studying her superintently, like he was searching for something. “Uh, should I sit?” she finally asked.

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. “Actually, I prefer to probe thoughts standing up. I think better on my feet.”

She tensed as he moved toward her, the coarse fabric of his cape scraping across the floor. Fitz had told her probing would be part of telepathy training, but the whole concept still freaked her out.

Their eyes met as he reached for her forehead, and he must’ve noticed the fear in them because he hesitated. “I know this process is unsettling, Sophie, given your background. But a crucial step to telepathy training is to establish a connection between Mentor and prodigy.”

She nodded, forcing herself to hold still as he placed a hand on each of her temples and closed his eyes. The bells chimed the end of lunch. She counted eighty-seven more seconds before his eyes popped open and a wrinkle puckered his brow.

“I take it you couldn’t hear anything either,” she mumbled.

“If you weren’t so obviously alive, I would assume I was probing a dead mind.”

Well, there was a cheerful thought. She scraped together the courage to ask her next question. “Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”

He frowned, like his mind had wandered somewhere else again. “I have no doubt you are exactly the way you were intended to be.”

She’d heard people use that expression before, and it was usually reassuring. But the way he said it made the hairs on her arms stick up. Especially when she noticed the way his hands had started shaking.

“Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?” he asked quietly.

She stretched out her consciousness, feeling for his thoughts. “You’re wondering how to train me if you can’t probe my mind.”

All color drained from his face and he turned away, steadying himself against one of the chairs. “In that case, I suggest you have a seat. We need to have a very long talk about ethics.”

GRADY WAS OUTSIDE WHEN SOPHIE leaped home to Havenfield, holding a thick cord that floated into the sky and appeared to be attached to nothing. She squinted at the clouds and then at Grady. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Giving the meganeura some exercise.”

She didn’t want to annoy him, so she decided not to ask what it was.

Grady fidgeted and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she stood there in silence. “How was your second day?” he eventually asked.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” He cocked his head and gave her a look like he could see right through her. “Wanna talk about it?”

He seemed so much like her human dad at that moment, it felt like her heart dropped into her stomach. “Well—”

Loud buzzing cut her off.

“Step back!” Grady locked his legs as something big and green with iridescent wings circled above, then dived straight down. Sophie screamed and jumped out of the way seconds before a vulture-size insect landed where she’d been standing.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of dragonflies,” Grady said as he patted the freaky-looking bug on the back.

“I don’t mind them when they’re normal size.” Blown up to gargantuan proportions was a whole other story. The eyes were pretty much the creepiest things she’d ever seen—like disco balls on the sides of its head.

“This is the normal size for a meganeura. Well, this one’s a baby. He’ll probably get twice this size when he’s full grown.”

Sophie shuddered. Grady cracked up and motioned for her to follow him as he steered the monster insect into its enclosure. “So, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing really. I’m awful at phys. ed. and telepathy was . . . intense.”

“I’m guessing Tiergan gave you the ethics lecture.”

She nodded.

Being a Telepath had serious restrictions. She wasn’t supposed to block her thoughts, especially from the elvin authorities, which was a problem considering she didn’t know how she was doing it, much less how to turn it off. She also wasn’t supposed to read minds unless someone gave her permission—just like Fitz had told her. Not unless it was an emergency, or she was on an assignment from the Council.

And that was the weirdest part: Telepaths were in high demand. Once she’d proven trustworthy, she’d receive assignments from the Council. But Tiergan warned her that her impenetrable mind would make it hard for anyone to trust her—she could hide something too easily. Which made her wonder about Quinlin’s “joke” about her being a Keeper. The Council didn’t think she was hiding something, did they?

“Wait,” she said as Grady’s words clicked. “Are you a Telepath?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“How else would you know about the ethics lecture?”

“Everyone gets lectured on ethics when it comes to their talent. Manifesting a special ability comes with great responsibility. Not everyone gets one, you know.”

She did know. She’d already learned that having a special ability was a big deal. In fact, while she was in her telepathy sessions, Dex—and all the other prodigies who hadn’t manifested—was taking ability detecting, hoping to discover his talent. If a prodigy hadn’t manifested by Level Four, they might be expelled—and even if they stayed at Foxfire, they couldn’t take the elite levels, which meant they’d never be nobility. Most ended up working class.

But once again it didn’t escape her notice that Grady avoided telling her what his special ability was. It couldn’t be something bad.

Could it?