“With a new project of my own.” Lord Cassius studied his cuticles as he added, “It’s not lost on me, Keefe, that you’ve been drawing so tediously lately because you’re attempting to sort through your memories, searching for fragments of things your mother might’ve erased. I don’t understand why you’re working by hand when it would be so much more efficient to have a Telepath assist you with a task like that—and clearly Miss Foster would be more than willing. But regardless of your foolish planning, your little mission got me wondering whether your mother dared to erase anything from my mind over the years.”

“I bet she did,” Keefe warned him. “It sounded like she had a Washer on standby in case we saw anything or heard anything she didn’t want us to.”

“Yes, that’s the conclusion that I reached as well,” Lord Cassius noted, his eyes and voice darkening as he said it. “I’ve worked with Telepaths before, searching for clues your mother might’ve let slip around me. But we weren’t checking to see if anything had been stolen away. So young Mr. Vacker here has agreed to help me search my memories yet again. And this time, we’ll see if I can find what your mother tried to hide from me.”

NINETEEN

YOU’RE GOING TO SEARCH MY dad’s memories?” Keefe asked, shaking his head when Fitz nodded. “Why?”

Fitz’s shrug didn’t look quite as casual as he probably wanted it to. “Someone has to.”

“Okay, but why you?” When Fitz didn’t answer, Keefe turned to his father. “Why not ask whoever you worked with last time? Or Quinlin Sonden? Or Alden? Or Tiergan? Or even Forkle?”

Lord Cassius smoothed his hair again. “Young Mr. Vacker has proven to be every bit as powerful as any of them. Perhaps even more so. And he has a much more flexible schedule.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why you picked him,” Keefe argued.

“It isn’t,” Lord Cassius agreed, his eyes flashing with enough glee that Sophie could guess his ulterior motive.

He’d chosen his son’s best friend knowing it would make Keefe uncomfortable—probably as punishment for all the times Keefe had rebelled.

“Mind you, the ideal candidate would’ve been young Miss Foster,” Lord Cassius added. “But she’s always so busy with you.”

Before Sophie could formulate a response—or even parse out what Lord Cassius was implying—Ro patted the side of her breastplate and told him, “Sounds like it’s time to bust out my extra fun bacteria buddies. Get ready to lose a lot of body fluids, Lord Snootypants.”

“Nah, save ’em for when it’ll really be worth it,” Keefe told her, stalking over to his father and tilting his head. “You wanna share all of our family secrets with the Fitzster—you do that. I have nothing to hide.”

“Neither do I.” Lord Cassius flashed a particularly oily smile before turning his attention back to Fitz. “I’m assuming you’d like to visit with your friends for a few minutes—be my guest. But don’t keep me waiting too long. I’ll be in my office.”

Keefe whistled as Lord Cassius left the way he’d come. “Wow. Have fun with that, Fitzy.”

He sounded so calm and casual that Sophie almost believed him. But she knew Keefe better than that. She’d seen the terrified, broken version of Keefe tucked behind his mask of snark and indifference. And she couldn’t blame him for being bothered by this.

He didn’t try to hide the abuse he’d suffered—but he definitely wasn’t an open book about it either. And now Fitz was going to read the extended, annotated version, complete with sound and visuals.

“I’d like to go on the record and make it clear that I was against this idea from the start,” Grizel informed all of them.

Fitz rolled his eyes, and Sophie stepped closer to him, keeping her voice low as she asked, “Why would you agree to this without telling us?”

“Uh, maybe I tried to tell you but someone ignored my hails—even though you promised you weren’t going to do that anymore?” he snapped back.

There was nothing Sophie could say to that except, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fitz looked away. “And just so you know, I agreed to do this to help Keefe. If Lady Gisela tried to hide something from Lord Cassius, we need to find it. And I figured Keefe would rather have someone he trusts poking around his father’s memories—someone he knows won’t tell anyone about anything he finds.”

“Except none of those other people that Keefe suggested were strangers,” Sophie couldn’t help reminding him. “And some of them he’d even worked with before.”

“Okay, everyone, relax! It’s fine!” Keefe flopped back down on the swing and scooped up the box of Custard Creams. “This is definitely not worth you two having your first Fitzphie fight over it. Seriously. Spend as much time with my dad as you want, Fitzy—and if you feel like telling people all about the fun things you learn, fine by me. If Daddy Dearest is cool with you knowing exactly how awesome he is to live with, by all means, spread the Sencen shame!” He tore open the box and fished out one of the biscuits. “Ooo, these ones are fancy! Check that out!”

He held up one of the rectangular sandwich biscuits and pointed to the swirling filigree pattern on the top. “Looks promising, doesn’t it? But there’s only one way to tell.”

Pale yellow crumbs showered his tunic after he took a huge bite, and he closed his eyes as he chewed. “Hm. Still a little on the bland side—but the cream center really helps. Definitely the best so far. You guys should get in on this.”

“Ugh, I think I’m on biscuit overload,” Sophie admitted.

“Better stop, then,” Keefe told her. “We don’t want you tossing your cookies—if you know what I mean.”

He looked very proud of his wordplay, so Sophie let him enjoy it.

“What about you, Fitzy?” Keefe asked, shaking the package of Custard Creams. “You’ve yet to experience the wonder of a British biscuit. And trust me, if you’re going to spend hours poking around my dad’s brain, you could use a good sugar rush.”

Fitz ran a hand through his hair as he made his way over, reaching for a cookie and—

Keefe snatched Fitz’s wrist. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Fitz shouted, trying to wrench his arm away.

Keefe tightened his grip. “Shhhhh, let the Empath work.”

“Ugh, a little help here?” Fitz asked Grizel, who was talking to Sandor, barely paying him any attention.

“No, this one’s your mess!” Grizel called over her shoulder. “You can get yourself out of it!”

“Relax, Fitzy, no need to take your frustrations out on the poor innocent biscuits!” Keefe told him when Fitz’s next escape attempt nearly sent the rest of the Custard Creams plummeting toward the floor. “I’ll let go in a second. First things first. It feels like… Yep! There’s definitely another reason you signed on to be my dad’s personal memory boy. Something you’re embarrassed of and super angry about, so… I’m guessing it has to do with your brother?”