Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,62

there, I couldn’t help wondering if someday you’d be standing up here beside us—and now, here you are.”

He snorted when Sophie’s jaw fell open.

“No need to look so stunned,” he told her with a rueful smile. “I never said I was pleased with the idea. I could simply tell that this was where we were heading. Why do you think I pushed you the way that I did? I had to ensure that you were truly someone who could be trusted with the role you were surely meant to play. And I won’t claim that my behavior toward you was always admirable—or fair. But… you bore it far better than I ever would’ve expected. And now, here we are, and I must say… you are certainly worthy.”

Sophie’s eyes burned worse than they had with Wylie’s earlier compliment.

A couple of tears might’ve even spilled over.

She hoped no one noticed.

Oralie took Sophie’s hand, gently twining their fingers together. “Are you ready to make your oath, Lady Sophie?”

Sophie nodded.

But instead of the vow, she found herself blurting out, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Bronte took her other hand, guiding her closer to the beam of light. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Sophie. One that you may or may not find reassuring. None of us know what we’re doing.”

Terik laughed. “No, we certainly don’t.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Sophie told them.

But as the words left her mouth, she realized they weren’t true.

Maybe this was what growing up meant—tackling the huge challenges, whether you were ready for them or not. And trusting that you’d figure out a way to get through it.

“You ready?” Bronte asked.

“She’s ready,” Oralie answered for her, offering a shy smile before adding, “The Empath would know.”

Sophie tightened her grip on each of them—the two Councillors she’d first started her adventure in the Lost Cities with.

It seemed fitting to let them guide her into this next stage.

She only wished Kenric was still with them.

But she’d let his loss fuel her determination.

She owed him a victory. Hopefully this was how she’d get it for him.

“Okay,” she said. “I swear to fight with everything in my power to serve the Council and keep our world a haven of peace, hope, and illumination.”

Then, without a second’s hesitation, she led Bronte and Oralie forward, and they each stepped into the light and let the Sources carry them away.

NINE

SOPHIE HAD ENDURED LEAPS OF all different speeds and sights and sensations during her years in the Lost Cities—but she’d never experienced anything that made her feel so… small.

She was a dust mote swirling in an endless sunbeam.

Plankton riding the crest of a tidal wave.

And yet, somehow, the journey still felt incredibly empowering—and peaceful.

The Sources’ threads of soft warmth and silky cold and subtle tingles moved in perfect synchronization.

None of them tried to overshadow the others.

None fought to take control.

Each force did what it did best and relied on the others to handle their own.

And the unity was so soothing—so steadying—that Sophie’s mind happily surrendered to the flow, trusting the light to keep her safe and cared for during their travels.

She would’ve followed the Sources anywhere as they swirled and spun and soared across the sky. But the powerful triad of light knew exactly when it was time to let her go. And suddenly there was breath filling her lungs and solid ground under her feet, and her eyes were blinking through the too-bright glare as her body pieced itself back together and the light continued its adventures without her.

She wasn’t sure if the test had been meant to remind her that she was both strong and insignificant, or to teach her the importance of balance and cooperation. Either way, she could definitely understand why the Council found it valuable to make that leap year after year after year.

The Sources had shown her a perfect example of how to lead without dominating—and made her feel powerful and humbled all at the same time.

Oralie and Bronte looked just as affected, despite how many times they’d experienced the phenomenon. Bronte’s eyes were even a little bit misty.

“Where are we?” Sophie asked, squinting at the round room, which felt like a cross between a fairy princess’s bedroom and a Middle Eastern palace. Arched windows broke up the shimmering walls, draped with wispy pink curtains and strands of beaded lace, and dozens of pink jeweled lanterns dangled from the domed ceiling. Pink silk cushions were piled across the ornate pink rugs. And the gilded dressing table and chair