Шеннон Мессенджер - Keeper of the Lost Cities

And that was the weirdest part: Telepaths were in high demand. Once she’d proven trustworthy, she’d receive assignments from the Council. But Tiergan warned her that her impenetrable mind would make it hard for anyone to trust her—she could hide something too easily. Which made her wonder about Quinlin’s “joke” about her being a Keeper. The Council didn’t think she was hiding something, did they?

“Wait,” she said as Grady’s words clicked. “Are you a Telepath?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“How else would you know about the ethics lecture?”

“Everyone gets lectured on ethics when it comes to their talent. Manifesting a special ability comes with great responsibility. Not everyone gets one, you know.”

She did know. She’d already learned that having a special ability was a big deal. In fact, while she was in her telepathy sessions, Dex—and all the other prodigies who hadn’t manifested—was taking ability detecting, hoping to discover his talent. If a prodigy hadn’t manifested by Level Four, they might be expelled—and even if they stayed at Foxfire, they couldn’t take the elite levels, which meant they’d never be nobility. Most ended up working class.

But once again it didn’t escape her notice that Grady avoided telling her what his special ability was. It couldn’t be something bad.

Could it?

H E’S A MESMER,” MARELLA TOLD HER THEnext day during lunch. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s weird that he won’t tell me, isn’t it?” Sophie asked.

“It’s Grady and Edaline—everything about them is weird. I still can’t believe you’re living with them. Are they adopting you?”

“I . . . don’t know. What exactly is a Mesmer?” she asked, changing the subject to something that didn’t make her nauseated.

“Wow, you really don’t know anything, do you?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m just teasing—sheesh. A Mesmer can put you in a trance and make you do anything they want while you’re in it. It’s rare. Not as rare as inflicting, but close.”

She really didn’t want to have to ask another stupid question, but curiosity won out. “And inflicting is . . . ?”

“When someone makes you feel things. Makes you laugh, makes you cry, causes you incredible pain—whatever they want. It’s extremely rare. I only know of one, and he’s on the Council. But there might be another. Your history Mentor would know.”

Sophie cringed at the word “history.” She’d had her first session with Lady Dara that morning, and it was . . . strange.

Impossible pictures flashed across the walls during the entire lecture: elves using telekinesis to help the humans build the pyramids, a tidal wave swallowing Atlantis, an army of hairy, brown dwarves hollowing out the Himalayas to build the Sanctuary. But the strangest part was Lady Dara. She kept losing her train of thought every time her eyes met Sophie’s. Then she’d mumble something about “history in the making” and return to the lecture. It had totally creeped Sophie out.

“Hey, did you hear?” Marella interrupted. “Sir Tiergan’s back.”

“Who’s he?” she asked, relieved she’d remembered to lie.

“Only like the most famous telepathy Mentor ever. He retired when his friend Prentice ended up in exile—it was like a protest or something.”

“Prentice?” She tried not to sound too interested, but she’d been dying to know more about him since Alden had told her the information was classified.

“Yeah. He was this supertalented Telepath, but he got exiled like twelve years ago.”

“How do you get exiled?”

“You have to break a fundamental law. The Council holds a tribunal, and if you’re found guilty, they lock you away deep underground for the rest of eternity.” Marella shrugged. “I don’t know what he did, but I think it had to do with him being a Keeper. It had to be pretty bad for the Council to ruin his life. Especially since it ruined his family’s life too. His wife died in a fluke leaping accident not long after, and his son, Wylie, was adopted by Tiergan.”

Sophie’s lunch churned in her stomach as Quinlin’s words flashed through her mind.

So this is why Prentice sacrificed everything.

Quinlin had also implied she was a Keeper. So if Prentice was a Keeper, could that mean they were . . . related?

Could he be her father?

The pieces fit. Abandoning a child was illegal for humans—she doubted it was any less of a crime here. And if Prentice was a talented Telepath, maybe he was a Washer. Maybe he could alter the minds of two human parents and make them believe the child was theirs.

But why? He didn’t get rid of Wylie—so why dump her? Was there something that wrong with her?

Unless it had something to do with her eye color. Or the way her brain worked . . .

“Do you know Wylie?” Sophie asked quietly. She doubted she’d be brave enough to meet someone who could be her brother, but she was still curious.

Marella shook her head. “He’s in the elite levels, so he’s secluded from the rest of us, in the elite towers. We’re not allowed to go over there and interrupt their studies.”

Sophie couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved. Most likely he didn’t know anything. No one else seemed to. Except Alden—and he wasn’t telling. She’d have to figure it out on her own.

She sorted through the scrambled bits of information in her head. Searching for the clue that would finally put the pieces together.

“You okay?” Marella asked, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

“Yeah. Sorry.” She tried to sound casual when she asked her next question. “Have you ever heard of something called Project Moonlark?”

Marella frowned. “Is that a Sanctuary effort to rescue moonlarks?”

“I have no idea. I heard it somewhere and didn’t know what it was. I thought you might know.” She’d tried to find out more, but Grady never brought the scrolls out again—and she was too afraid to search the house. What if they caught her and kicked her out?

“Nope, never heard of it. But I doubt it’s anything interesting. I know everything cool that goes on around here.” Marella opened a can of strawberry flavored air and took a deep breath of the pink flumes that spritzed around her. She licked her lips. “Want some?”

Sophie shook her head, deciding to shove the disturbing questions to the dark corner of her mind, where she’d pushed everything else that was too painful to think about. She had enough to deal with already.

“Worried about your next session?” Marella asked.

Sophie nodded. Dex’s warning about Lady Galvin failing prodigies had her terrified. It didn’t help when Marella smirked and said, “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“That bad?”

“Uh, yeah. Lady Galvin only Mentors for the title. Being good at alchemy isn’t the same as having a special ability, so unless she wanted to run some crazy apothecary like the Dizznees, it was Mentor or nothing. She hates it—and she takes it out on her prodigies. But who knows? Maybe you’ll become her new star pupil.”

The words would have been encouraging—if Marella hadn’t burst into a hysterical fit of giggles right after. She was still cracking up when the bells chimed their intricate melody.

Maybe Sophie imagined it, but the tone sounded ominous.

THE WIDE, ROUND ALCHEMY ROOMsmelled like burning hair, and the walls were lined with curved shelves. Half were filled with tiny pots of ingredients, and the other half were filled with what Sophie thought were trophies, but up close she realized they were just random gilded items. Hats. Books. Pieces of fruit. A pair of curved, pointy-toed shoes that looked suspiciously like the ones she’d grown up believing elves wore. It was like King Midas had come through and turned everything he touched to gold.