Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,227

And also know that my cooperation comes with one requirement.”

“Does it now?” Sophie asked. “And what’s that?”

He waited for her to meet his eyes. “You have to take Ro with you—you guys are going to need her way more than I do. And don’t look at me like this is all part of my evil plan to sneak into Loamnore. I’m the one who volunteered to stay back, right?”

“I’ll keep an eye on my son,” Lord Cassius offered, making both Sophie and Keefe cringe. “And I’ll ensure he stays where he should.”

“How convenient that it means you won’t have to risk your life either,” Keefe noted.

Lord Cassius shrugged. “Physical confrontation with your mother is something I’d prefer to avoid.”

Sophie couldn’t necessarily blame him for that.

And miraculously, it didn’t take that much longer to settle the groups.

Dex, Stina, Fitz, and Biana would go with Councillor Bronte, Councillor Darek, and Councillor Zarina to the dwarves’ main marketplace, along with Woltzer, Lovise, and Grizel.

And Sophie, Maruca, and Wylie would go with Councillor Noland, Councillor Liora, and Councillor Oralie to the Grand Hall, along with Ro, Sandor, and Flori. They’d have one less person—but they’d also have a Psionipath, which Sophie felt a little guilty about, since the other team was likely heading straight into a trap.

Then again, she also wasn’t sure how having Councillors who were a Vociferator, a Conjurer, and an Empath was going to do her group a whole lot of good—and she really wished she could think of an unsuspicious way to trade Councillor Lyingcurls to the other group.

“All right,” Mr. Forkle said, and then seemed to realize that he wasn’t technically a part of the mission—and definitely wasn’t in charge—before he turned to Councillor Bronte.

“Everyone should go change, gather any weapons, and say your goodbyes,” Bronte told them, being his usual uplifting self. “We’ll notify Elwin to make sure he’s on standby at the Healing Center, and meet back here in an hour and head to Loamnore. That should allow us to be in position about an hour before the Neverseen’s deadline.”

“And we’ll notify King Enki about what’s happening,” Emery added.

With that, everyone scattered to do as Bronte had suggested.

And it all felt very real as Sophie changed into one of the outfits that Flori had designed for her before their last showdown with their enemies, with all the extra pockets to hold goblin throwing stars and tiny daggers.

She also donned her Regent Articles—even the crown.

It was time to show the Neverseen that she was a leader.

And the glow from the lumenite would come in handy in the dark.

Keefe was still waiting for Sophie when she came back downstairs, his eyes widening as he studied her outfit. But instead of commenting on it, he asked, “So, what’s going on with you and Fitzy?”

“Seriously?” she asked, wishing she didn’t feel so much heat burning her face. “This could—potentially—be the last time you ever see me, and that’s what you want your final words to be?”

“I can think of plenty of things he’d rather say,” Ro offered from where she sat perched on the bottom stair. “One thing in particular.”

Keefe rolled his eyes at both of them and told Sophie, “This will not be the last time I see you, Foster. Don’t even say that!”

“I agree,” Grady said from the doorway, where he stood with Edaline before striding closer and dragging Sophie into a strangle-hug. “You will come home safely.”

“I’ll do my best,” she told him, wanting to stick with promises she could actually keep.

Edaline joined the embrace, whispering how proud she was, and how she knew Sophie could handle anything.

Then they were gone, and it was just Sophie and Keefe again. Alone—well, if they ignored Sandor and Ro.

And Keefe chose to ask, “Seriously, what’s up with you and Fitzy?”

And maybe it was because this really could be the last time they ever talked to each other—but Sophie didn’t want to lie, or dodge the question.

She just couldn’t seem to make herself say the words either.

So she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her collarbone—as close as she could get to her heart without it getting awkward—and said, “You’re the Empath. You tell me.”

Keefe closed his eyes, and his forehead got all crinkly.

And he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, unable to talk—but proud of herself for not crying.

Their eyes met, and she could see the worried questions he wasn’t asking.

But all he said was, “Head in the game, Foster. Don’t you dare let this distract you.”

“I won’t,” she promised, dropping his