“And saw how much we look alike?” Wylie finished for her, grinning as he pointed to his dark skin.

Sophie laughed and nodded. “So after I ruled him out, I thought it might be Mr. Forkle, since he’s a Telepath and he was the one who rescued me from the kidnappers and healed my abilities and stayed in the human world to keep an eye on me. But… he says it’s not him.”

“He could be lying,” Stina noted.

“Oh, I know. But… the longer I’m around him, the more it doesn’t feel like he’s the one—especially when you consider the whole ‘secret twin’ thing. The Forkle brothers were the only people who could do most of the stuff they did for me, which makes those good deeds seem way less significant and more like… they were just doing their job, you know?” Sophie shrugged. “I also wondered if it was Councillor Kenric, since he was always so nice to me and he was a Telepath and he gave me his cache. But Forkle said he’s not—and with Kenric being dead… I don’t really see why he’d bother lying.”

And now that she’d fully realized what it would mean if one of the Councillors had been a part of Project Moonlark, she really hoped Kenric was not her biological father. The thought of him letting Prentice get hurt to keep his secret safe made her insides churn.

Plus, it would devastate Oralie.

Then again, she supposed all of that could be a reason for Mr. Forkle to lie to her about Kenric. Maybe she shouldn’t rule him out as her biological father after all.…

“What about your biological mother?” Stina asked, and Sophie pulled her legs into her chest, needing to be in another Sophie-ball.

“You already had your turn,” Biana reminded her.

“Yeah, but Wylie asked her about ‘other theories’—that covers both parents,” Stina argued. “Besides, I’m sure this little search is going to keep popping up in all kinds of messy ways, so we should be prepared.”

Sophie went back to arranging fallen flowers, definitely not loving when Stina made good points. “I’ve only had one theory for my genetic mom,” she said through a sigh, “and you can’t repeat it to anybody. I don’t want it getting back to Grady and Edaline.”

Stina’s eyebrows practically launched off her forehead. “You think it was Jolie?”

“I thought she was,” Sophie corrected. “Past tense.” She glanced at Biana and Dex, trying to remember if she’d ever told them that as she explained, “Everyone kept telling me I look like her—and she was part of the Black Swan, so… I had to wonder. But Forkle said no, and I don’t think he’d lie about something that close to home.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he would,” Dex agreed.

“Me neither,” Biana added. “I also don’t think he would’ve let you live with Grady and Edaline without them knowing—that would be too weird for them when they found out.”

Sophie nodded. “Exactly. The Black Swan is difficult, but… they’ve never been cruel.”

At least, she hoped they hadn’t been.

Once again, her mind strayed to the awful implications of Bronte being her biological father—and the list seemed to be getting worse the more times she went through it.

“You don’t have any other theories for your biological mom?” Stina asked.

Sophie rested her chin against her knees. “I guess it’s possible that Keefe came up with some and hasn’t told me yet, because we got sidetracked by the Bronte thing. But otherwise, nope. I can’t think of anyone.”

Everyone got really quiet, and Sophie decided to focus on adding another layer to her circle of Panakes blossoms—anything to stop her brain from wondering who they might be considering.

She’d moved on to a third flower level, and it was starting to look more like a leaning pile when Stina clamped her hands over her mouth and gasped, “I bet I know who it is!”

Just like that, every part of Sophie was sweaty.

“An actual theory?” Biana clarified. “Because this isn’t something to joke about.”

“I know. One look at Little Miss I’m-Gonna-Vomit-Any-Second over there—and her team of surly bodyguards—makes that pretty clear. So of course it’s an actual theory—and a good one too.” Stina squinted at Sophie, as if she was mentally comparing her against whoever she was imagining. “Wanna hear it?”

Sophie curled into an even tighter ball. And she knew she was going to hate herself for this, but… “Who?”

Stina grinned, dragging out her dramatic pause until even Wylie was groaning and saying, “Never mind.”

Then she told them, “Lady Cadence Talle!”

If Sophie’s life had been a movie, the soundtrack would’ve screeched to a stop right there—and the narrator would’ve chimed in with a comment like, Definitely didn’t see that one coming!

“Lady Cadence,” Sophie repeated, testing the words on her tongue.

They tasted sour and disappointing, like a low-calorie human dessert.

And there were plenty of shocked murmurings in the background from Sandor.

“I mean, I guess she’s technically Master Cadence,” Stina corrected. “But yeah—she’s your linguistics Mentor, right? Think about it! You’re both Polyglots. And she saved your butt when King Dimitar tried to haul you off to an ogre work camp for breaking into his brain. And she was off living in Ravagog until the Council dragged her back to mentor you, so no one would ever suspect her. It’s perfect!”

“That… actually does kinda make sense,” Dex admitted.

“She doesn’t look like Sophie, though,” Biana argued. “Her hair is, like, raven-feather black.”

“So? Maybe Sophie looks like her dad,” Stina countered. “Or maybe Sophie’s hair color is another one of the things that comes from what the Black Swan did to her genes—like her eye color. And who knows? If we put Sophie next to Lady Cadence, we might spot all kinds of similarities we’ve never noticed, now that we know to look for them. We should do that!”

Wylie placed a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “You okay?”

At some point he’d scooted closer to her.

She hadn’t noticed.

Just like she hadn’t noticed that she’d started trembling a little.

Her brain was too busy replaying every moment she’d spent with Lady Cadence—and the memories were so…

Awful.

Miserable sessions, where Lady Cadence went out of her way to make it clear how unhappy she was about having to be Sophie’s Mentor—and how unimpressed she was with Sophie’s talent.

All the horrible, stinky detentions where Sophie had been singled out for additional punishments—though technically some of that was Keefe’s fault.

All the endless lectures and sighs and scowls and criticisms.

“Seriously,” Wylie said, squeezing Sophie gently until she looked at him. “Need us to change the subject? Or should you have your bodyguards take you inside for a break?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sophie mumbled, shaking her head to clear it. “It’s… a solid theory. Definitely worth looking into.”

“It can be worth looking into without you being fine,” Wylie pointed out.