Flashback (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #7)

by Shannon Messenger

Anger was often Fitz’s crutch in emotionally fraught situations—and nothing brought out his fury more than his traitorous older brother.

“We have too many villains,” Sophie said through a sigh. Keefe snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

His smile really was a beautiful thing. But it didn’t last. “None of that’s like… world changing, though,” he mumbled, staring at the orangey clouds. It had been for her—but saying that felt too sappy. And he obviously didn’t care. So she told him, “It will be when we take down the Neverseen. You’re still with me on that, right?” “Of course.” “Then we need a plan—and Fallon gave me an idea.

All this time—all our planning and scheming and searching. All the risks we’ve taken. All the times we’ve almost died. And we still don’t know anything about our enemies or what they’re planning or what they want. We don’t even know who’s actually in charge right now! And we’ve never figured out what the Lodestar Initiative is—or maybe I should say was, since we also don’t know if they’re still going by it. Just like we don’t know why Fintan was keeping a list called Criterion, or why they made all those barrels of soporidine, or what the Nightfall facility my mom built was supposed to be used for, or why Vespera and Fintan abandoned it and moved to the facility under Atlantis—we couldn’t even find my mom’s stupid Archetype, remember?”

No one wants to be made of darkness—not with the warped views we hold of it. Everyone would rather sweep the knowledge away, bury it with the other bits and pieces that don’t fit within the neat box we use to define our world. But that won’t stop it from existing. Just like it won’t stop a few brave souls from reaching for the sky, calling for that pure, raw darkness.

Tam sighed. “Okay, but… isn’t there someone with more training who should do that? I’ve only been at Foxfire a few months.” “And you’ve shown more potential in our sessions than any Shade I’ve ever worked with,” Lady Zillah insisted. “And with the right discipline—” “See, that’s the thing, though: I’m bad with discipline. Ask my Exillium Coaches. They hated me.” “From what I’ve heard about the conditions you endured in that struggling program, I’d say any defiance you demonstrated was both deserved and necessary,” Magnate Leto assured him. “Maybe,” Tam conceded. “But… I still don’t think I’m the right guy for this.

Lady Zillah stepped closer, cupping his cheeks the way a grandmother would. “This isn’t doubt I’m hearing. This is fear. And you should never fear your power, Tam. Or yourself. I know our world makes it hard not to. Very few value our talent the way they should. But darkness is vital—and not because it teaches us to appreciate the light. It’s part of everything we know, and we’ve only begun to harness its potential. And if shadowflux respects you, that is significant. I won’t call it a gift, because it may very well end up a burden, as is so often the case when it comes to immense power. But it’s important—and if I had any worries about your ability to handle it, I would never offer to teach you.”

“Light is not the answer,” Lady Zillah interrupted. “It rarely is.”

And it was so much easier to pretend she wasn’t that weak little girl that Gethen— Nope. She shut the memory down before it could wake the monster. She’d been having to do that a lot. Constant mental self-editing.

What if they wanted to make sure the Black Swan’s most valuable Telepaths weren’t available when they needed them?

“I hailed them before I came to speak to you,” Magnate Leto explained. “Not for their permission, since I believe you’ve earned the right to make this choice without restrictions—but out of respect for the fact that they deserve to know what’s going on with their children. And you should know that both of your families are willing to support whatever you choose—provided that you keep them informed and promise not to fight any efforts for your security if you decide to agree to the meeting.

But none of that was very romantic, and she really didn’t like the idea of having that part of her life controlled.

Young Keefe’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s in human?” “There is no human language—honestly, what is that school teaching you? Humans insist on dividing themselves into different groups, which I’ve always found strange. If they united, they’d likely have progressed much further as a species—but I suppose it’s better for us that they haven’t.

She was a little pale. A little haggard. A little scrawnier than she had been. And her injured arm definitely showed signs that she was still healing: fading bruises and darker blue veins, and the way it didn’t hang as straight as her other arm. There were also a few thin white lines along her right hand’s knuckles, and she had a feeling they wouldn’t be going away. “But they didn’t break me,” she said out loud as she stepped under the colorful streams and let the hot water rinse away the grime and tangles. Showering had always been a way to center herself. A way to regroup and start again. “They didn’t break me,” she said again. “They’ll never break me.”

She wasn’t the weak, predictable girl the Neverseen thought she was. She was Sophie Foster. She was the moonlark. And starting tomorrow, she was learning to fight back.

They just drove a harder bargain than I expected. They made me and Biana promise to cooperate for the next ten days and do whatever they tell us to do. But once the ten days are up, they can’t ask us to do anything else, so… it’s worth it, I guess.

When he put it like that, she really, really, really didn’t want to do it. But that was exactly the kind of weakness the Neverseen were always calling her out on. So she focused on the painted eyes, channeling her hate and fury into her lunge as she slashed across the dummy’s neck, feeling a sickening squish as the blade sank into the cloth—followed by a burst of horrifying red.

“I think… without his memories, he’s a different person—the person he should’ve been if something hadn’t made him go all creepy.” “Do you really think anything could make him that creepy, though?” Keefe wondered. “Or do you think there was something in him that was just waiting to snap?” “I have no idea.” She also couldn’t decide which thought was scarier: that there could be something fundamentally evil in someone that guaranteed they’d turn bad someday, or the idea that any person, under the right circumstances, could end up a villain.

“STOP!” Fitz shouted, stalking over to his brother. “Stop trying to make everyone feel sorry for you!” “I’m not.” “Yes you are—and you know how I know?” Fitz leaned closer, getting right in his face. “If you were actually sorry, you’d volunteer to spend the rest of your life in that horrible cell. Same goes for if you really wanted to make sure you never hurt anyone again. But you don’t care. All you care about is yourself. And that’s how I know that even if you don’t recover your memories, someday you’ll go back to being that same creepy murderer.” Alvar had no answer. He just blinked hard and turned back to stare out the window at his unimpressive view.

Before them, we used to lose a few babies every year. It’s strange how nature sometimes isn’t enough, don’t you think? Strange that we have to invent ways to survive something that should be automatic—like what’s happening with your alicorn. You would think her body wouldn’t have become pregnant with twins unless it could support them. But… sometimes nature needs a little help.”

But the good news is, you’re growing more confident with each passing day. And I know I speak for the entire Collective when I say that we trust your judgment.

She hated letting the adults handle all the preparations, but she didn’t have the kind of power and resources that they did.

“DON’T!” Biana shouted. “Don’t let them break you the way they broke him.” “There has to be another way,” Linh added. “And if there isn’t?” Fitz asked, tears gleaming in his eyes. “Can you live with yourselves if someone else dies tonight?” “Yes,” Tam said immediately. “Because we’re not responsible for what they do. Only what we do.”

“She’s right,” Biana said, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it—but not this. This will break you—that’s what they want.” Fitz stared at her for a long second, then at each of his friends, before his gaze settled on Sophie. “If I let him go,” he whispered, “we’re going to regret it.” “Maybe,” she admitted. “But if you kill him, we’ll regret it more. Even you.” Please, she transmitted. Don’t let them do this to you. It’ll ruin you, and… I don’t want to lose you. He sighed, and for a long second she couldn’t tell what he was going to do. Then he lowered the dagger.