Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,143

most secure prison to meet with a murderous Pyrokinetic.

And she wouldn’t be performing any horrible memory breaks—nor would there be any surprise mental breakdowns or shattering consciousnesses.

Her abilities were also working properly this time.

Well… mostly.

“Do you not want to do this?” Grady asked, probably misunderstanding why her lips had dipped into a frown. “You don’t have to.”

“Uh, yes she does!” the blobby brown creature who sounded like Stina insisted as it stalked toward Sophie—but the other two mud monsters dragged her back, even after Stina latched on to Wylie, taking him with her as the four of them became a tangle of thrashing limbs and flying mud in the center of the mud pool.

“See you on the other side!” Biana’s voice shouted from among the chaos, and Dex added, “TEAM VALIANT FOR THE WIN!” Then there were sharp intakes of breath and some strange gurgling sounds as all four teammates sank under the muck.

“They’re going to make quite the entrance into Loamnore,” Grady said—his smile fading when Sophie barely laughed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Of course.” She waved a muddy arm at all the grossness around her. “How could I not be?” But the joke clearly wasn’t going to fly as an answer. So she admitted, “I’m just… nervous. I meant to do more research before we came here, but there’s been so much going on that this visit snuck up on me.”

She glanced at Bronte, wondering if he’d call her out for focusing too much on finding her biological parents. But he was studiously examining his muddy fingernails.

Grady waded closer to Sophie, draping a muddy arm around her shoulders. “I’ll let you in on a secret, kiddo. You could’ve spent the last week rehearsing for this visit every single day and you’d still be nervous—and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m nervous, and I’ve been to Loamnore numerous times! These kinds of assignments are intimidating. So don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? You’re doing great.” He kissed her cheek, leaving a muddy chin print on her neck as he whispered, “And remember, you have lots of backup. Your friends may be goofballs, but they’re also talented and fearless. And you know I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

“Thanks,” Sophie told him, spinning to pull him into a real hug. “Guess we should probably catch up with the others, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure if we don’t, they’ll find a way to destroy something,” Grady agreed.

Sophie had assumed that Bronte would go next, but he held back, so Grady went, telling her, “Point your toes when it’s your turn—it’ll make it go faster. And keep your mouth closed—trust me on that.”

“I will,” she promised, pressing her lips together to prove it.

Then Grady was gone—sucked down the mudhole, leaving Sophie alone with Bronte, and she straightened up, bracing for another lecture.

“Remember what I told you about King Enki,” he said as she followed him to the center of the muddy pool.

Bronte and Oralie had given Sophie a lengthy lesson that morning, once she’d showered and changed, going over all kinds of tedious protocols.

When to bow.

Where to look—and where to not look.

Proper responses to various phrases the king might say.

The importance of using titles—and having good posture.

But above all, they’d emphasized two things.

Authority and confidence.

She needed to display an abundance of both if she wanted the king to take her seriously.

And Sophie had been feeling pretty daunted by all of that back when she had freshly styled hair and a ton of glittering diamonds on her tunic.

She wasn’t sure how to pull it off as Lady Mud Monster.

But… she’d find a way.

“Are you ready?” Bronte asked.

Sophie tried to mean it when she nodded. But she had to add, “I’ll try not to mess anything up.”

“A worthy goal,” Bronte told her. “But I think you should aim higher. I meant what I said earlier. I have no doubt that you’ll be an incredible leader if you stop second-guessing yourself and commit.”

Sophie looked away, not sure what to do with the compliment besides mumble a quick “thanks.”

He nodded and stepped into position. But before the mud dragged him under, he cleared his throat and added, “For the record, Miss Foster, now that it’s just you and me—or I suppose I should say you, me, and your bodyguards—I… may not be your biological father, nor have I ever wanted to involve myself in that kind of experiment. But… if you were my daughter, I’d be very proud.”

His head disappeared into the sludge as he finished the