Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,205

one who pushed them to expose my family’s legacy.”

“Oh good—there’s that word again,” Ro grumbled with a huge eye roll.

Sophie ignored her, forcing herself to meet Alvar’s weary stare when he turned back to face her. “Was that really all there was to it?” she asked. “Luzia’s hive and the experiments going on there—that’s what you meant when you talked about the Vacker legacy?”

Alvar shrugged and then winced from the motion, which triggered another raspy cough. “That’s as far as I got with my investigation. But do you really think that’s the only thing my family’s hiding? With all of their power, and all of their noble positions, and all of that history?”

“Why do you care?” Keefe wondered. “It’s not like what they did has anything to do with your life. And you got to reap the benefits of being a Vacker.”

“No, I got to grow up drowning in unrealistic expectations only to have all of that vanish when my parents had another son—as if that was some confirmation that I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever measure up,” Alvar snapped back.

“Woooooooooooooooow, so this was all just about your brother being cooler and prettier than you?” Ro asked. “The whole ‘They don’t appreciate me, so I’ll take them all down!’ story?” She whistled. “Now that’s pathetic.”

“It was more than that,” Alvar spat before lapsing into another round of coughing, and Sophie couldn’t decide if he was actually sick or if he was faking it so they’d underestimate him.

“I don’t care about the rest of the Vackers,” Keefe told him, “or what creepy things you think they did or didn’t do—you had parents who loved you! I’m pretty sure they still love you, even after all of the horrible things you’ve done. And you threw that away to join a group that can’t even make up their mind about who’s in charge, or what they want, or why they’re trying to destroy the world—a group that left you behind when they fled Everglen, and left Umber for dead, and—”

“You want to talk about being left for dead?” Alvar lunged forward, but Sandor and Ro shifted their blades to block him. “I was left floating in a pod of orange goo while my brother and sister stood by watching! The same brother who’d threatened to carve me up with a knife earlier that night! The brother who stopped pressing buttons to try to save me as the pod filled up—did he tell you that? He let the tank fill, waiting for me to drown. He didn’t know I was holding my breath and keeping my body temperature in check—and if he had, I guarantee he would’ve found a way to finish me. But he gets to carry on as the golden child, and I get this.” He gestured to himself—how sickly and scrawny and awful he looked. “He gets to hide behind the Black Swan and their moonlark and pretend that makes us any different—”

“You ARE different!” Sophie shouted. “Fitz only did those things to stop you from hurting anyone else!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Alvar said, coughing so hard he had to lean against the window. “But I’ll tell you this: If anyone’s going to add to the infamous Vacker legacy, it’ll be Fitz. Just wait and see.”

“Well, fun as this is,” Ro said, breaking the seething silence that followed, “we should get this charming prisoner to the Black Swan or the Council or whoever we want to hand him over to.”

Alvar barked a wheezy laugh. “You’re not handing me over to anyone.”

Ro showed him all of her pointed teeth. “Wanna bet, Whiny Boy? That’s what I’m calling you from now on, by the way, because that’s all I’ve heard you do. Wah wah wah, nobody appreciates me—”

“They don’t!” Alvar interrupted. “And it’s always a mistake. You’re making it right now. You should be cutting a deal with me.” His eyes locked with Keefe as he added, “I know things.”

Keefe applauded slowly. “Wow, that was the most desperate bluff I’ve ever seen.”

“Was it?” Alvar asked. “Then how come I know why you’re here? I also know what was in those little black bottles you’re never going to find because they’ve been gone for years.”

“How did—” Sophie started to ask.

“I heard you,” Alvar told her.

“From the hundred-and-thirty-seventh floor,” Keefe noted, raising one eyebrow. “That’s the story you’re sticking with? Need I remind you that I lived here—that I know how soundproof this place is? And don’t try to pretend you were following us—I felt you