Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,149

yet it burned and burned and burned.

Searing across Sophie’s corneas.

Scorching into her brain.

And she didn’t care one bit, because her thoughts were clear and her body was hers and she could see the rest of her group around her, stretching and blinking out of their dazes.

She wanted to run around hugging all of them—but that probably would’ve been a bad idea. Because as she settled back into reality, she took a longer look at her surroundings and realized they’d stopped in front of a very large, very fancy, very intimidating door made from thousands of pieces of every possible kind of metal intricately welded together.

The kind of door that surely led to the Grand Hall of a dwarven king.

Still, she couldn’t listen to Nubiti’s final instructions, needing to use those brief moments to make eye contact with everyone to ensure that they were okay.

They definitely looked weary, and haunted. But they gave her small smiles—and she gave them the same so they’d know not to worry about her, either.

And then there was an earth-shaking clang and a cringeworthy scraping, and Nubiti was guiding them into another dim, round room—enormous this time. And far more elegant.

The packed white sand making up the floor shimmered like a moonlit shoreline, and the earthy ceiling was flecked with silvery minerals like stars. A chandelier formed from interlocking rings of dangling, flame-filled glass jars cast a flickering orangey glow over everything. And the marbled walls had gorgeous swirled carvings inlaid with gold and silver and copper and lumenite and other metals that shone green and black and purple. Gemstones were set into the marble around the swirls: emeralds and rubies and topazes and sapphires and onyxes—though Sophie had a feeling some of the black stones were magsidian.

And in the center of it all, seated on a glittering black throne, was a small bald creature wearing white furry pants and a crown carved from a single piece of curved opalescent shell.

King Enki.

He snorted at their arrival. And his gritty voice sounded particularly gruff when he told them, “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

TWENTY-FIVE

I’VE NEVER SEEN A DWARF without fur,” Stina whispered—though the words still felt way too loud in the echoey room. “It’s… odd.”

It totally was.

But that didn’t stop Sophie from elbowing Stina in the ribs—and wishing she could do the same to Dex for letting one muffled snicker slip.

Clearly she should’ve warned the rest of her teammates about King Enki’s unusual appearance ahead of time, so they would’ve been prepared for the surprise.

She’d have to add that to the list of ways she wasn’t exactly killing it as team leader.

King Enki might look a lot like a plucked chicken with mottled peach, brown, and black skin. But to the dwarves, the fur-waxing was a statement of their king’s power and strength.

Sophie wasn’t sure why a fur-free king communicated either of those things—but it didn’t matter.

She and her friends didn’t have to understand it.

They just needed to show their respect—especially since they’d already arrived late, and had forgotten to bow when they entered, which Sophie only realized after someone cleared their throat beside her.

Then she turned and saw that Grady had dropped to one knee and Bronte stood stooped at the waist—each position reflecting their titles of Emissary and Councillor.

As Regents, Sophie and her friends were supposed to drop to both knees—which they immediately scrambled to do.

Dex, Stina, Wylie, and Biana were also supposed to lower their heads.

But Sophie had to keep her head held high to show her authority. Which made it a lot harder to not flinch when the king’s gaze focused on her.

“My guards tell me you experienced some challenges on the Path here, Miss Foster,” he called out, making Sophie wince. And even though there was quite a bit of distance between them, Sophie could hear his claws tapping the armrests on his throne.

Tickety tap. Tickety tap. Tickety tap.

She wished she could turn to Nubiti for guidance, since she hadn’t forgotten her bodyguard’s warning about how King Enki would consider her struggles along the Path to be insulting. But she forced herself to remember what Bronte and Oralie had taught her.

“It’s Lady Foster,” she corrected, trying to channel Keefe’s smooth confidence as she held the king’s stare. “Leader of Team Valiant. And yes, your security definitely did pose a challenge. Clearly it’s been brilliantly designed.”

Authority and deference.

That’s what Bronte and Oralie had emphasized.

She needed to speak with conviction.

Demand recognition.

But also defer to the king’s authority—and give praise any chance she found.

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