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 were inlaid with enormous pink tourmalines. Golden chests of all different shapes and sizes were stacked neatly around the table, along with two floor-length mirrors, which gave Sophie a rather pitiful glimpse of her now greatly disheveled appearance.

Her hair had morphed into a tangle-monster, and the smoky powder she’d brushed across her eyelids had gooped up in the corners.

“This is one of the readying rooms in the Seat of Eminence,” Oralie told her, removing the pins from her bun and letting her long blond ringlets fall free. “To ensure that we’re always able to present ourselves at our best. The rest of your friends are in four of the other rooms. There are twelve in all—one for each of us on the Council. I doubt it surprises you that this is mine.”

“Are you sure?” Sophie teased. “This place really feels like Bronte to me.”

Bronte snorted. “Mine has an empty mahogany table and a sturdy chair.”

“It’s one of the bleakest places I’ve ever been,” Oralie noted, shaking her head. “Hence why we decided it would be better to leap you here.”

“But I don’t understand,” Sophie admitted, remembering what Grady had told her earlier. “I thought the Seat of Eminence was designed to block light from coming into the building.”

“It is,” Bronte agreed. “But as Councillors, we have secret access points, in case we need to make a private visit or a hasty exit.”

“And don’t worry—you’re perfectly safe here,” Oralie assured her. “This room is protected by an abundance of security measures.”

“We also won’t be here long,” Bronte added. “I can only handle so much pink.”

“You’ll tough it out as long as you have to,” Oralie informed him. “Sophie needs to look her best when she returns as a Regent.”

She pulled out the dressing table’s chair and motioned for Sophie to sit.

“Uh… please tell me you’re not giving me a makeover,” Sophie mumbled.

The number of pots and vials and brushes and powder puffs on the dressing table was downright terrifying. And they’d already lost enough time.

“It’ll be painless,” Oralie promised.

“Somehow I doubt that will be the case—for both Sophie and myself,” Bronte muttered.

Sophie had never felt such a strong bond with the pointy-eared Councillor in all her life.

Oralie clicked her tongue at both of them and patted the chair’s cushion—which was, of course, pink—and Sophie realized there was no way she was getting out of there without a little primping.

So… time for a makeover.

From a Councillor.

Definitely the Weirdest. Day. Ever.

“Nothing too sparkly,” she begged as she slumped into the chair, and Oralie spun her around and crouched in front of her.

“I’ll stay true to who you are,” Oralie promised, tilting Sophie’s chin from side to side, studying each of her features for what felt like an eternity. Sophie had to start counting the passing seconds to stop herself from squirming.

She made it to seventy-three before a pucker formed between Oralie’s perfect eyebrows. “Is something wrong?” Sophie asked, since forehead puckers were rarely good news.

Oralie shook her head. “Of course not! You just look so…”

“So…?” Sophie prompted.

“It’s hard to explain. You’ve changed since the first day I met you. You’re… not a little girl anymore. Which is how it’s supposed to be. I just wish…” Oralie bit her lip and looked away. “Never mind. We should get started.” She straightened up and grabbed a silky cloth from the table, spritzing it with something that smelled like jasmine. “I know you and your friends are eager to get to work.”

“Are Dex, Biana, Stina, and Wylie getting makeovers too?” Sophie asked, hoping Dex would show up with his hair dyed black and styled all shaggy—because Emo Dex would be hilarious—and that Stina would end up with giant hair-sprayed bangs.

“I doubt it,” Bronte told her, killing her dreams. “So you need to hurry, Oralie.”

“I’ll do my best. But this is important. Sophie’s the leader. She needs to look the part. Especially for her big debut.”

Sophie frowned. “I thought you guys hadn’t decided when you’d be announcing our appointments.”

“We haven’t.” Oralie wiped Sophie’s eyes with the cloth she’d prepared, then set to work brushing out Sophie’s tangles. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t start building buzz. We’re going to have you and your friends and family leap home from outside the Seat of Eminence. That way people will see you in your finery and wonder what’s going on. Should get the rumors and gossip spreading.”

“Oh. Great.”

Bronte barked a laugh. “I think you and I understand each other far better than we realized, Miss Foster. But try to remember that there’s been a turning of the tide, so to speak. Gossip can now be a good thing for you. You’re no longer a girl steeped in suspicion.”

“Why is that?” Sophie asked, turning to look at him, even though she could tell Oralie wanted her to hold still. “I mean… what happened at Everglen was a disaster—and I barely did anything except run around trying not to get eaten. I don’t really get how seeing that could’ve inspired people to trust me.”