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SIXTEEN

I’M OKAY! SOPHIE PROMISED.

But cold waves of Silveny’s panic crashed into her mind anyway,

and she locked her jaw, fighting to remind her brain that the emotion

wasn’t hers.

I just needed to know you’re safe, she added, repeating the last word

until relief flared like mental sunshine, sending the monster

scattering.

Too bad Silveny wasn’t so easily subdued.

She shoved her consciousness into Sophie’s memories, and when

she got to the parts with black cloaks . . .

I’m okay, Sophie insisted as a fresh wave of emotion slammed into

her head—this time a mix of rage and horror and disgust.

She fought back with images of herself in the Healing Center:

drinking medicine and smiling at Keefe and Fitz and generally looking

much healthier than she really was.

Elwin’s taking care of me—see?

But Silveny’s thoughts fixated on Sophie’s bandages. NOT OKAY!

NOT OKAY! NOT OKAY!

And with each repetition, she filled Sophie’s mind with images of

silver-tipped hooves kicking and stomping the black cloaked figures

into the ground.

Dude, Fitz transmitted. Remind me to never make an alicorn angry.

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