“Huh, I figured he’d be pink and purple,” Sophie admitted, pointing to Ro’s colorful pigtails.

Ro tossed her head, swishing her hair in the process. “Uh, no, I’m not sharing my fabulous style with anyone—much less a creature who spent the last hour eating his own toenails. But I thought it was only right to save your imp from being sparkle-fied—and I was going to be nice and turn him your favorite color. But apparently your favorite color is teal—and yeah, yeah, we all know why. But, um, do you realize how many of the nastiest little microbes are that color?” She shuddered. “I couldn’t do that to you—or the little dude. So I went with a nice ice blue. The kind of color you can’t help but love. Classic. Reliable—”

“We get it,” Keefe interrupted. “Iggy’s blue. Good job. Can we please talk about anything else?”

“Okay,” Sophie said, slipping her fingers through the bars of Iggy’s cage and scratching his fuzzy cheeks until the room was filled with the sound of his squeaky purr. “How about you tell us what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Keefe insisted.

“Then why are you being Lord Grumpypants?” She’d hoped the tease would snap him out of it, but he just went back to fidgeting with his sleeves. “Come on, Keefe. Something’s clearly up. You haven’t even made any Lady Fos-Boss jokes yet.”

“Or Team Prodigious jokes,” Ro added.

He shrugged. “They’re not my jokes to make. I’m not part of the team.”

“And that bothers you?” Sophie guessed. “No, don’t shrug again—I’m serious.” She stepped closer, forcing him to look at her. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”

“Well, I mean, it kinda does,” he corrected. “You’re in the nobility now. You have a crown! And Councillors to report to! And I have… a bunch of mostly empty notebooks.”

“They won’t stay empty,” Sophie assured him. “And the more you fill them, the more valuable they’re going to be.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“So you never told us,” Ro said, filling the tense silence. “What team name did you go with? Team Awesomesauce?”

“Dex campaigned pretty hard for that,” Sophie admitted. “And Biana tried for Team Sparkles a couple of different times. But I sold them on Team Valiant—and I know it’s not super clever or exciting. But the Council said they’d only approve something respectable.”

“Respectable,” Ro scoffed. “That’s always the problem with you elves. You like to be so dignified and diplomatic. This is war! If you want to send a message to your enemies, you form Team Ruthless. Or Team Bloodbath—though I guess you also don’t put a bunch of scrawny kids in Team Bloodbath.”

“No, you don’t,” Sophie agreed.

She honestly would’ve rather been Team Prodigious.

“But then what’s the story behind the wolf patch?” Ro asked. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m hoping it’s because Team Valiant has a howl-y battle cry.”

Sophie had to disappoint her again.

And as she explained the Council’s reasons for choosing her new mascot, she couldn’t remember why the dire wolf had felt so cool or empowering.

“Hey,” Keefe said, fanning the air as her mood plummeted, “don’t let us ruin this for you, Foster. It’s a big deal. I’m sorry I’ve been grumpy. I was just surprised, is all. And I was up way too late, so I think I’m tired.”

“Were you drawing more of your memories?” she asked, grateful for the subject change—and the apology.

“I did a few. Nothing important. But… I was mostly working on something else. That’s why I stopped by—but… maybe it’s not a good time. You’ve had a crazy day and—”

“It’s about my biological parents, isn’t it?” Sophie interrupted.

Her heart felt like someone tied it to a massive anchor as he reached into a pocket hidden in his tunic and pulled out the blue notebook they’d started their planning in the day before.

“Wow, that’s even more dread than I felt yesterday,” he mumbled, fanning her emotions away. “Are you sure you want to keep looking into this?”

“Honestly, I have no idea what to do,” she admitted. “Bronte gave me this whole long lecture on why I shouldn’t find out who my genetic parents are, and it kinda got in my head.”

Keefe stood up straighter. “Does that mean you told the Council you’re unmatchable?”

“Only Bronte and Oralie.” She made her way over to her bed and sank onto the edge. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything. But I kinda freaked out when they were crowning me—started imagining giant crowds of elves chasing me through the Lost Cities with torches and pitchforks, shouting, ‘Burn the unmatchable girl!’ And I figured it’d be less humiliating to risk losing the title now, before anyone even knows it was an option.”

“And Bronte freaked out?” Keefe assumed.

“Of course he did—but… not the way I’m sure you’re thinking. He was actually strangely awesome about the unmatchable part.”

Ro snorted.

“No, really. I mean, he didn’t offer to order the matchmakers to make my lists even without having my genetic parents’ info or anything—and of course he brought up the whole ‘it’s not a problem if you just stay single forever’ argument. But… he also said the Council would stand by me if people made a fuss about it. And it kinda sounded like he meant it.” She picked up the circlet she’d tossed aside earlier, tracing her fingers over the symbol for her new team. “It’s a little hard to believe him, but… I don’t know. I kinda do.”

“I can feel that,” Keefe said, sitting down beside her. “So why all the extra dread?”

“Because he also brought up something I hadn’t thought of before, and now I’m not sure what to do about it.” She stared at her reflection in her circlet’s ruby, feeling just as fragmented as she repeated Bronte’s warnings about what the Black Swan might do to protect their secrets.

And she’d expected Keefe to agree that they truly were valid concerns—or to at least need some time to think about it.

But he was already shaking his head before she’d even finished. “Nah, I don’t buy it. For one thing, it’s not like the Black Swan did the memory break on Prentice. That was all on the Council. They kept pushing and pushing and pushing, no matter the consequences—and that’s totally different than the kind of digging you’re doing. I’m pretty sure you’d never shatter anyone’s sanity to find out what you want to know.”

“I wouldn’t. But it doesn’t have to be as drastic as a memory break for someone to get hurt. And that’s what makes this so hard. Because if you really think about it, I’m the only one who’ll get any benefit out of finding my biological parents. Everyone else gets a ton of drama. And there really is a chance that the Black Swan might try to stop me, so who knows what kinds of problems that might cause? And if I’m aware of all of those risks, and I still search out my genetic parents anyway, I’m… being selfish, aren’t I?”