keep your friends close

(22)

"How are you not boiling alive?"

Sophie glances up and smiles in greeting. "Temperature regulation," she explains, gesturing at herself. Admittedly, it's hard to focus on keeping cool under the hot desert sun while wearing a long-sleeved Foxfire uniform, but Tiergan would appreciate her putting in the effort to practice.

Alvar is being kept in the Black Swan's most secure base, which just so happens to be in a sweltering desert hideout just outside of Exile. Conveniently, the hideout is tucked away in a tropical oasis of colorful birds and glittering lakes. Inconveniently, it's hot as hell, even underneath the widespread palm trees.

Livvy sighs dramatically and sinks onto the bench beside Sophie. "I never did great in my skills training. You'll have to teach me someday."

"Right after you tell me what's taking Forkle so long," Sophie retorts playfully, but under the surface she's brimming with anxiety and anticipation. She wonders what Alvar knows about the Neverseen's plans with the Everblaze. She also wonders what he would know about Lodestar, but quickly erases the thought as soon as it comes.

"Yeah, about that," Livvy sighs as she fans herself with a delicate hand. "Um, Alvar's still not talking."

Sophie frowns. "Then let me see him. I can get into his head—"

Livvy waves the suggestion away. "Forkle tried. Alvar slows his own breathing until he passes out. When we wake him, he does the same thing again. I tried to give him something to keep his heart rate up, but he flung the vial back at me. He's unpredictable."

She sighs. "I'm going to be a puddle on the ground by the time Forkle lets me in."

Livvy's eyes flick to something just behind Sophie's shoulder. "Well, you might not have to wait much longer."

Sophie turns and catches sight of a familiar figure trodding through the palm trees towards them.

"Hey Soybean," Wylie calls with a grin.

She jumps to greet him with a hug, but backs off when she realizes his clothes are soaked through with sweat. "Ugh, you look gross."

"You're not so great yourself," he snorts, and they both settle for a high-five.

"How's it going with Alvar?" Livvy asks eagerly.

"No luck," Wylie replies with a shake of his head. "I'm actually here to take Sophie to see him." He turns to her. "Ready to go?"

After a quick goodbye to Livvy, who promises to be on standby just in case, Sophie follows Wylie through the desert oasis. She should probably review the interrogation techniques Sandor taught her, but another question burns in the back of her mind.

"So...," Sophie begins. "I had a question."

"One moment," he says, and stops walking. He pokes around the sand with a careful boot. "Aha!"

Sophie watches in amazement as Wylie's boot disappears into the sand—and he steps down into it as casually as wading through water, the ground swallowing his legs and torso.

"Mirage illusion," he explains when Sophie leans down to dip a tentative hand in. Her fingers pass through the sand like nothing was even there, just cool air. "Trick of the light. Neat, huh?"

"No kidding," she says. She's relieved to find solid stone steps under her feet, and follows Wylie down them until they're both fully underground, hidden from view. He waves a hand, summoning a glowing orb in his palm that casts brilliant rays of light, revealing the walls of a dark underground passageway.

"So what was that question?" he prompts as they continue walking.

"I've been thinking about getting Maruca more involved in my assignment with the Vackers," Sophie says. "She did really well in the Himalayas and I think—"

Wylie sighs. "No, Sophie."

"But why not? She wants to help the Black Swan, she set up an introduction with the Vackers for me—"

"That's exactly why she can't be a part of this," Wylie says, his shoulders tensing. "Maruca hasn't even completed her ability training."

"I was still in ability training when we raided Ravagog," Sophie protests. "In fact, I was still in ability training when I healed your dad. I think it's hardly fair to judge—"

Wylie turns around abruptly. The orb's luminescence washes over them, highlighting his stern expression. "That's because you're the Moonlark, Sophie. Maruca isn't. She's bright and talented, yes, but she lacks experience and these are dangerous circumstances. You were made for this."

His words sting more than they should—maybe because everything he said was right. "I've been reminded every second of my life since I was five what I was created for!" Sophie snaps. "But Maruca has a choice in this. Why can't she make that decision for herself?"

"The Black Swan is not some fun, exclusive club. My entire family fell apart when Dad's mind was broken." Wylie's hands shake, and the orb of light shakes with him. "Maruca was too young to remember, but the fear still runs deep in our family. They refused to take me in. Many of them still don't talk to me. They're either scared for their lives, or their reputations."

Sophie blinks. "Wylie, I had no idea—"

"I can't let the same thing happen to her. I know you want to include your friends, but when you do, remember that they're just one more person you put in harm's way."

"I know," she replies carefully, "and I'm sorry that happened to you. But... Maruca isn't a kid anymore. I think you should at least respect that, and talk to her instead of shutting her down."

To her dismay, Wylie just shakes his head and turns his back to her. "You don't get it, Sophie," he says quietly.

"But—"

"We're done with this conversation," he says, and she falls quiet. She knows she probably pushed it too far, but she had a point. Right?

She can tell that Mr. Forkle knows something is up once they meet him at the other end of the tunnel, but luckily he chooses not to comment on it. "Thanks for all your help, Wylie," he says, then turns to Sophie. "Alvar is being kept behind this doorway. Are you ready?"

The doorway in question is a sand-colored slab of stone, inset with simple bordering lines and squares. It reminds Sophie of a tomb door—no way in, no way out. She shivers, then nods.

Mr. Forkle knocks twice, and the door sinks slowly into the ground, shaking the walls around them.

"I can't promise you'll get anything out of him that I haven't already," Mr. Forkle tells her. "Just give it your best shot."

"Okay." She glances over her shoulder, looking to Wylie for reassurance, but he's already disappeared back into the tunnel's winding darkness. Her heart sinks. I'll fix things later.

She steps into a large room. In the center, a forcefield bubble hovers over the form of a man dressed in dark clothes, appearing to sleep peacefully on the sandy floor. The room is dimly lit, and it takes her a while to realize that the light is coming from the sand itself, embedded with tiny flecks of glowing amber. It's both beautiful and disorienting.

"Alvar," she calls out. No response.

Warily, she steps closer and crouches down beside the bubble. With a jolt, she sees Fitz's face.

She shakes her head. They're brothers; of course they'd look similar. Fitz's boyish handsomeness clashes with Alvar's disapproving scowl and scruffy facial hair. He looks vicious. He looks tired.

Alvar's eyes fly open. They're bright as seaglass.

"I was wondering when you would show up, little Moonlark," he chuckles.