Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,140

Oralie?”

Oralie didn’t respond.

Bronte cleared his throat and turned back to Sophie. “The rest of your teammates should be here within the hour, so I suggest you hurry. We have much to discuss before their arrival. And then together, we’ll all need to go over the protocol for meeting with King Enki, as well as some fundamentals for what to expect in Loamnore. In many, many ways the city is unlike anywhere you’ve been before. In fact, it can be downright disorienting. So the more you prepare ahead of time, the better.”

Sophie nodded, knowing it probably didn’t help instill Bronte with a lot of confidence when she gathered up her blankets, pillows, and Ella and stumbled toward the house with the giant bundle, tripping over her feet several times.

But she didn’t feel right leaving all of that outside.

And it wasn’t like she needed to impress him.

He wasn’t her father.

Never before had those words been such a happy thing, and she repeated them with every step, feeling her smile grow wider and wider.

But it faded when Bronte called after her, “Remember who you are now, Miss Foster. And when you return, make sure you’re wearing your crown.”

TWENTY-THREE

ANYONE ELSE REALLY HATE THIS?” Stina asked, scrunching up her face as she took a cautious step onto the soggy ground in front of her. The mud suctioned around her foot, and she screamed and jumped back, nearly falling when her boot stayed lodged in the sludge. “Seriously,” Stina grumbled, using telekinesis to retrieve her goop-covered shoe. “It’s disgusting.”

Sophie definitely wasn’t going to argue with Stina’s assessment of the situation—particularly as she waded another step into the bog and the squishy ground slipped away under her feet, leaving her with the thick, stinky mud now up past her knees. She could feel its curdled texture through the thin fabric of her leggings and was not looking forward to having the same muck directly on her skin. Her gloves stopped at her wrists, and the blue tunic she’d worn was unfortunately sleeveless, leaving lots of exposed arm—and she didn’t even want to think about the fact that she was going to have to dunk her face and head under.…

The desert was also glaringly bright and annoyingly windy, and the temperature had to be at least a million degrees—even in the small oasis they’d reached after several long minutes of hiking. The patch of green and blue had seemed so mysterious and inviting when Sophie had first spotted it among the endless sea of rippled dunes—the kind of place where she might find a magic carpet. Or a genie’s lamp.

But of course Bronte and Grady had led them past the cool, shimmering lagoon without even pausing to dip a toe in. They’d also ignored the much-needed shade formed by the clumps of lacy palm trees, instead heading straight for an icky brown quagmire on the far side of the oasis, bordered by scraggly grass.

The area kind of looked like something that’d be used as a camel potty spot—and it very well might be.

Sophie was trying really hard not to wonder about that as her next step sank her even deeper into the mud.

But she couldn’t help glancing longingly at Sandor, who’d managed to find a place that was both well shaded and a little breezy to stand as sentinel while they went on without him. Goblins weren’t allowed to enter the dwarven city, so Sandor was restricted to guarding Loamnore’s entrance—and Woltzer and Lovise had been forbidden from joining them at all.

Sandor had been complaining vigorously about the restrictions—right up until he saw the mire of steaming mud they all had to sink through.

Then he’d become much more cooperative.

“You’re sure this is the only way to get to Loamnore?” Stina asked, earning several heaving sighs from Grady and Bronte.

Oralie had decided to stay behind when they’d left Havenfield, and at first Sophie had found that to be a little strange. But now that she was experiencing the mud-drenched method of entry into the dwarven city, Sophie was pretty sure she understood why the pretty Councillor had decided to skip the visit to King Enki.

“For the fifth and final time, Miss Heks, yes—this is our path,” Bronte snapped as he strode into the muck in all of his jewel-encrusted finery. Within three steps, he’d sunk past his waist. “Do you honestly think I would use it if there were any alternative?”

“Well, there should be an alternative,” Stina muttered, stomping her boot to clean off as much of the gunk