Keeper of the Lost Cities (6 page)

Kenric was built like a football player, with wild red hair and a big, toothy grin. Oralie looked like a fairy princess—rosy cheeks and long golden ringlets. And then there was Bronte.

As Sophie met his cold gaze, she could see what Alden meant about Bronte being hard to impress. He was the smallest of the three, with cropped brown hair and sharp features. He wasn’t bad looking, but there was something strange about his appearance she couldn’t put her finger on.

She gasped when she realized what it was.

“What?” Bronte demanded.

Five pairs of blue eyes focused on her and she stared at the floor as she mumbled, “Sorry. I was surprised by your ears.”

“My ears?” Bronte repeated, confused.

Fitz’s whole body shook with laughter. Sophie squirmed as one by one the others joined him. Bronte did not look at all pleased to be left out of the joke.

“I think she’s surprised that your ears are . . .
pointy
,” Alden finally answered. “Our ears change shape as we age. Eventually it’ll happen to all of us.”

“I’m going to get
pointy ears
?” Her hands darted to her head, like they might have already transformed.

“Not for a few thousand years,” Alden promised. “By then I doubt you’ll mind.”

Sophie sank into a chair, barely noticing that Fitz sat next to her. Her brain was on autorepeat:
Thousand years, thousand years, thousand years
. “How long do elves live?” she asked. Everyone looked young and vibrant—even Bronte.

“We don’t know,” Kenric said, scooting his chair a touch closer to Oralie’s than he really needed to. “No one’s died of old age yet.”

Sophie rubbed her forehead. It actually hurt her brain trying to understand this. “So, you’re saying elves are . . . immortal?”

“No.” A trace of sorrow hid in Alden’s voice. “We can die. But our bodies stop aging when we reach adulthood. We don’t get wrinkles or gray hair. Only our ears age.” He smiled at Bronte, who glowered back. “Bronte belongs to a group we call the Ancients, which is why his ears are so distinct. Please, help yourselves,” he added, pointing to the domed platters in front of each guest.

Sophie uncovered hers and fought to hide her grimace. Black strips and purple mushy glop didn’t exactly scream
Eat
me
. She forced herself to take a bite, stunned when the purple goop tasted like the juiciest cheeseburger ever. “What is this stuff?”

“That’s mashed carnissa root. The black strips are umber leaves,” Alden explained.

Sophie took a bite of umber leaf. “Tastes like chicken.”

“You eat animals?” Fitz asked in a tone that would have made more sense if she’d said she ate toxic waste.

Sophie nodded, squirming when Fitz grimaced. “I take it elves are vegetarians.”

Everyone nodded.

She took another bite to hide her horror. It wasn’t that she liked eating animals, but she couldn’t imagine living off only vegetables. Of course, if the vegetables tasted like cheeseburgers, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“So, Sophie
.
” Bronte sneered her name like it bothered him to say it. “Alden tells me you’re a Telepath.”

She swallowed her mouthful, and it sank into her stomach with a thud. It felt wrong discussing her secret so openly.

“Yes. She’s been reading minds since she was five. Isn’t that right, Sophie?” Alden asked when she didn’t respond.

She nodded.

Kenric’s and Oralie’s jaws dropped.

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Bronte argued.

“It’s
unusual
,” Alden corrected.

Bronte rolled his eyes as he turned to Sophie. “Let’s see how good you are, then. Tell me what I’m thinking.”

Sophie’s mouth went dry as everyone fell silent. Waiting for her.

She glanced at Fitz, remembering his warnings about the rules of telepathy.

“He gave you permission,” Fitz told her.

She nodded, taking a deep breath to stay calm.

Apparently, the test had begun.

S
OPHIE NEEDED TO PASS.
SHE WANTED THE
proper education Fitz had mentioned. She wanted to learn how
the world really worked. So she closed her eyes, trying to relax enough to
concentrate.

She reached out with her mind like she had the day before. Bronte’s
mind felt different from Fitz’s—deeper somehow, like she was stretching her mental
shadow much further. And when she finally felt his thoughts, they were more like an icy
gust than a gentle breeze.

“You’re thinking that you’re the only one at this table
with any common sense,” she announced. “And you’re tired of watching
Kenric stare at Oralie.”

Bronte’s jaw fell open and Kenric’s face turned as red as his
hair. Oralie looked down at her plate, her cheeks flushing pink.

“I take it that’s right?” Alden asked, hiding his smile
behind his hand.

Bronte nodded, looking angry, chagrined, and incredulous all at the same
time. “How can that be? An Ancient mind is almost impenetrable.”

“The key word in that sentence is ‘almost,’” Alden
reminded him. “Don’t feel bad—she’s also breached Fitz’s
blocking.”

Guilt tugged at Sophie’s conscience as she watched Fitz flush red.
Especially when Bronte grinned and said, “Sounds like Alden’s golden boy
isn’t as infallible as everyone thinks.”

“It’s more likely that Sophie is exceptionally special,”
Alden corrected. “Fitz also saw her lift more than ten times her weight with
telekinesis yesterday.”

“You’re kidding!” Kenric gasped, recovering from his
embarrassment. “At her age? Now
that
I have to
see.”

Sophie shrank in her chair. “But . . . I don’t
know how I did it. It just sort of happened.”

“Just relax, Sophie. Why not try something small?” Alden
pointed to the crystal goblet in front of her.

That didn’t sound
too
hard—and maybe it
was like her telepathy. Another sense she had to learn how to use.

She replayed the accident, remembering the way she’d found the
strength deep inside, and pushed it out through her fingers. Could she do that
again?

She raised her arm and imagined lifting the goblet with an invisible hand.
Nothing happened for a second, and her palms started to sweat. Then something pulled in
her stomach, and the glass floated off the table.

Sophie stared at the goblet in wonder. “I did it.”

“That’s it
?”
Bronte
scoffed, unimpressed.

He needed more? Seriously?

“Give her a second. She’s still getting used to her
ability.” Alden put his hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath—relax—then
see what else you can do. And remember, your mind has no limitations—unlike your
physical body.”

Alden’s calm confidence gave her the courage to try harder. She
tried to think about the clue he was giving her. No limitations. What did that mean?

Maybe she could lift more than one thing at once. She blew out a breath,
pretending she had five more imaginary hands to extend. The tug in her gut felt sharper,
but it was worth it when the other five goblets rose like crystal flying saucers.

Kenric applauded. “Excellent control.”

Her cheeks grew warm with the praise. “Thanks.”

Bronte snorted. “It’s a couple of glasses. I thought she was
supposed to be able to lift ten times her body weight.”

Sophie bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how much more she could handle,
but she was determined to impress Bronte.

She must be stronger than she realized—how else could she have stopped the
lantern? She took another deep breath and shoved every ounce of the force she could feel
in her core toward the empty chair next to Bronte.

A collective gasp rang in the air as three chairs floated off the ground,
including the one Bronte sat on.

“Incredible,” Alden breathed.

Sophie didn’t have time to celebrate. Her stomach cramped from the
strain and her hold broke. She screamed as the goblets shattered against the table and
the chairs crashed to the floor, knocking Bronte flat on his back with a thunderous
collision.

For a second no one said anything; they just stared in open-mouthed shock.
But when Bronte hollered for someone to help him up, everyone burst into a fit of
laughter.

Except Sophie. She’d
dropped
one of the
Councillors. She was pretty sure she’d sealed her future with that mistake.

Kenric clapped her on the back, pulling her out of her worries.
“I’ve never seen such natural talent. You’re even a natural at our
language. Your accent is perfect. Almost as perfect as these guys’.” He
pointed to Alden and Fitz.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, assuming she’d heard
him wrong.

Fitz laughed. “You’ve been speaking the Enlightened Language
since we leaped here—just like you did yesterday.”

She was speaking a different language—with an
accent?

“Our language is instinctive,” Alden explained. “We
speak from birth—I’m sure people thought you were an interesting baby. Though to
humans our language sounds like babbling.”

Her parents were always teasing her about what a noisy baby she was. She
gripped the table. “Is there a word that sounds like ‘soybean’ in
English?”

“Soybean?” Alden asked.

“I used to say it as a baby. My parents thought I was trying to say
my name and mispronouncing it. They even turned it into a nickname—a really annoying
one.” She blushed when Fitz chuckled beside her.

Kenric shrugged. “I can’t think of what that would
be.”

Fitz and Oralie nodded. But Alden looked pale.

“What is it?” Bronte asked him, still dusting off his cape
from his fall.

Alden waved the words away. “Probably nothing.”

“I’ll decide if it’s nothing,” Bronte insisted.

Alden sighed. “It’s . . . possible she was
saying
suldreen
—but it’s a stretch.”

Bronte’s mouth tightened into a hard line.

“What does
suldreen
mean?” Sophie
asked.

Alden hesitated before he answered. “It’s the proper name for
a moonlark, a rare species of bird.”

“And that’s bad because . . . ?” She
hated the way everyone was looking at her—like she was a puzzle they couldn’t
solve. Adults were always looking at her that way, but usually she could hear their
thoughts and know why they were so bothered. She missed that now.

“It’s not bad. It’s just interesting,” Alden said
quietly.

Bronte snorted. “Troubling is what it is.”

“Why would it be troubling?” Sophie asked.

“It would be an uncomfortable coincidence. But most likely you
were
trying to say your name. You were hearing it all the
time so it’s natural that you would try to repeat it.” Alden said it like he
was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Well, I think I’ve heard quite enough to make my
decision,” Bronte barked, shoving all thoughts of moonlarks out of her mind.
“I vote against—and you will not convince me otherwise.”

Sophie wasn’t surprised, but she couldn’t fight off her panic.
Had she failed?

Kenric shook his head. “You’re being absurd, Bronte. I vote in
favor—and you won’t convince
me
otherwise.”

She held her breath as all eyes turned to Oralie for the final vote.
Oralie hadn’t said a word the entire time, so Sophie had no idea where she
stood.

“Give me your hand, Sophie,” Oralie said in a voice as fragile
and lovely as her face.

“Oralie’s an Empath,” Fitz explained. “She can
feel your emotions.”

Sophie’s arm shook as she extended her hand. Oralie grasped it with
a delicate touch.

“I feel a lot of fear and confusion,” Oralie whispered.
“But I’ve never felt such sincerity. And there’s something
else. . . . I’m not sure I can describe it.” She opened her
huge, azure eyes and stared at Sophie. “You have my vote.”

Alden clapped his hands together with a huge grin. “That settles it
then.”

“For now,” Bronte corrected. “This will be revisited.
I’ll make sure of it.”

Alden’s smile faded. “When?”

“We should wait till the end of the year. Give Sophie some time to
adjust,” Kenric announced.

“Excellent,” Alden agreed.

“Fools,” Bronte grumbled. “I invoke my right as Senior
Councillor to demand a probe.”

Alden rose with a nod. “I’d planned as much. I’ve
arranged to bring her to Quinlin as soon as we’re done here.”

Sophie knew she should probably celebrate, but she was too busy trying to
decipher the word “probe.” That didn’t sound fun.

“What’s a probe?” she asked Fitz as Alden led everyone
else out of the room.

Fitz leaned back in his chair. “Just a different way to read your
mind. It’s no big deal. Happens all the time when you’re in telepathy
training—which it looks like you’ll be. I can’t believe you passed. It
looked iffy there for a minute.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Why did Bronte demand a
probe?”

“Because he’s a pain. Well, that and I think he’s
worried that my dad couldn’t read your mind.”

“Worried?”

“I guess maybe ‘bothered’
is a
better word. My dad’s
really
good. And so am
I.” He flashed a cocky smile. “So if we can’t read your mind,
it’s kind of like, who can?”

“Okay,” she said, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“But why does he care if no one can read my mind?”

“Probably because of your upbringing.”

She took a deep breath, reluctant to say the next words. “You mean
the fact that my family is human. And I’m not.”

A second passed before he nodded.

Emptiness exploded inside her. So it wasn’t a mistake. She really
wasn’t related to her family—and Fitz knew. He wouldn’t look at her, and she
could tell he was uncomfortable.

She choked down the pain, saving it for later, when she’d be able to
deal with it in private. She cleared her throat, trying to sound normal. “Why
would that concern him?”