by Sara Holland
Nahteran doesn’t argue. “I did.”
Silence covers us all, deep and dense despite the normal summer sounds, the chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects in the trees. Those sounds feel muffled, distant. Someone might have dropped a globe over the six of us.
Then Taya pivots and quietly heads back toward the car. My heart plummets, and I want to run after her, but I don’t dare move when there are weapons drawn. I don’t want Nahteran to get hurt, regardless of what he’s done or not done, yet we feel balanced on a knife’s edge.
But Taya doesn’t leave. Instead she opens the door to the back seat and leans in to retrieve something. When she comes out, the silence seems to deepen even further. She has the chest piece of the phoenix flame armor in one hand, a backpack in the other, inside which I can see the two gauntlets glittering.
He didn’t give it to the Silver Prince.
“Nahteran found me,” Taya says, and though everyone is looking at us, her eyes are on me. She’s speaking to me alone. “Maddie, he used the armor to come find me in Solaria.”
He found Taya. A profound relief fills me as her words sink in. Nahteran didn’t betray us. He stole the armor, but not out of malice. Not to give it to the Silver Prince. He stole it to do what I couldn’t find a way to do. He found Taya. He brought her back.
But …
Taya’s expression isn’t right. Her eyes are fixed downward on the armor—careful not to let the pieces touch. Her shoulders tense, and her mouth is pressed in a flat line. She looks like she’s dreading something. And even though I wish Brekken would put his damn sword away, I know there’s something I’m missing. With a jolt of queasy unease, I remember those last moments in Winterkill’s fortress. How when Nahteran took Mom’s gauntlet from me and joined it with the rest of the armor, that’s when he was able to open the door using my blood.
“What else?” I blurt out.
Everyone looks at me in confusion. I go over to Taya. The gravel crunching under my feet feels ten times heavier than normal, like her dread is contagious. As I approach, she holds the armor out for me to take, but I don’t want that. I want to tilt her face up to the light, to look into her eyes and understand.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Taya doesn’t speak. She just looks over at Nahteran, and he’s the one who answers.
“I just got a message from the Silver Prince,” he says, slowly and quietly, like each word is painful to get out. “Maddie … he has Mom.”
17
Everything becomes kind of a blur for a while. Later, I’ll remember standing out on the road, all of us frozen with horror while Mirror Lake glitters serenely in the background. I’ll remember sitting with Nahteran and Taya and Marcus and Graylin in Marcus’s office, listening to Nahteran explain, while Brekken and Sal guard the door.
But I’ll recall nothing of the in-between, except for Brekken pulling me aside for a second before we all went downstairs. Whispering to me.
Maddie, don’t trust him.
Now, we’ve all pulled up chairs around Marcus’s big oak desk. My brother—can I still call him that?—insisted on a private place to show us the Silver Prince’s message.
It stings. All of it. Nahteran came back, didn’t he? But why didn’t he tell us what he was going to do? Why make us think he betrayed us? And why do I want to trust him now, even after what’s happened?
While all of this is running through my head, another drama is silently unfolding at the table. Taya and Marcus seem to be subtly sizing each other up. Taya and Marcus have history. When she and Nahteran were little kids and their Solarian parents were killed, Marcus and my mom intervened to keep them from the soul trade. They split up the twins to avoid attention. Nahteran came to us, and Taya went into foster care.
I wonder if Taya ever resented Mom and Marcus for separating her from her Terran, making her anonymous and alone. She probably ended up better off, seeing as how Nahteran spent his youth in service to the Silver Prince. But still. I know better than anyone that when it comes to family, logic doesn’t always guide your feelings.
Nahteran interrupts my thoughts by taking something out of his bag. He unwraps a dark cloth from around it. It’s a small, round silver mirror in an onyx casing.
Graylin gasps. “A scrying mirror.” He glances at Marcus. “That’s Turalian magic.”
I notice Brekken’s eyes dart from where he stands at the door to Nahteran, full of hostility.
“Yes.” Nahteran nods, his mouth twisted with distaste as he places the mirror face up on the table. “The soul in here has been trapped for a very long time.”
I chew my lip, remembering that Tural is the same Realm where the Heiress’s truth serum came from, a Realm to which the door was closed mysteriously sometime in the eighteenth century. Two hundred years ago. So this mirror must have been created at least that long ago. I had no idea the black market ran back that far. Every time I think I’ve learned the full horror of the soul-silver trade, I learn something that carves deeper. It reminds me that even though we got the armor away from Winterkill, we have a long road ahead of us tracking down the enchanted objects as far as we can reach, and saving the souls inside where we can.
“The Silver Prince has the counterpart to this,” Nahteran says, gesturing to the mirror. “When he chooses to, he can show me what he’s seeing at that moment.” Nahteran’s gaze flickers from Marcus to me. “And this morning … it showed me her.”
I notice he doesn’t call her Mom this time.
“Is Sylvia all right?” Marcus asks quietly. “How is it that she is in Oasis?”
Nahteran looks down. He looks ashamed. “The Silver Prince has phoenix flame,” he says. “Phoenix flame that I brought him from Fiordenkill. Not enough to create a stable doorway, like the armor can, but enough for one person to slip through from time to time.” He swallows. “Think of phoenix flame as a sharp edge, something that can cut through the veil separating the worlds. The armor—think of that as a knife. It’s concentrated phoenix flame, strong enough to cut a hole in the cloth. But if you only have a little, you can use it like a needle. In and out again.”
This information fills me with horror, but if Marcus has a similar reaction, he doesn’t show it. His Innkeeper poker face is in full effect.
“But Sylvia is all right?” he asks again.
“She seemed to be.” Nahteran swallowed. “But then … he showed me something else in the mirror. A note. I wrote it down.”
He pulls a tattered, folded piece of notebook paper from his pocket and flattens it next to the mirror. On the top half is a paragraph of writing in an unfamiliar, hieroglyphic-like language. Below that, though, Nahteran’s translated:
Your adoptive mother Sylvia Morrow is in my possession. Bring me the phoenix flame armor at once, or her life is forfeit. You have three days to make your way to Oasis and present the armor to me.
The Silver Prince’s demand makes my blood feel cold and sluggish in my veins. It’s Tuesday. That gives us until Friday—to do what, I don’t know.
“How did you unlock the armor?” I ask. “That key you used, the one shaped like a star …”
“I stole the key from Cadius long enough to replicate it,” he says. “The Silver Prince was fine with Winterkill holding on to the armor for now and being the face of the soul trade. But if it ever looked like the operation was at risk—for instance, if someone tried to steal it—I was supposed to steal the armor and bring it to him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to get Taya?” I ask him. I’m aware these probably aren’t the most important questions we need to be asking, but I need to know, for me. “I wouldn’t have fought you then.”
And I wouldn’t have thought you betrayed us.
Nahteran takes a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t think I knew right away. Going to Solaria was kind of a snap decision.”
I feel cold inside, but … He didn’t give the armor to the Prince, I remind myself. He rescued Taya, then brought it h
ere instead. Yet it sounds like it was a tough choice. Whose side is he really on?
Taya is looking hard at Nahteran, though he won’t meet her eyes. “How did the Prince know you had the armor?” Taya adds on. “If these guys”—she gestures across the desk at us—“were the only way to travel between the worlds except the portals at Havenfall, how did he find out? Unless … you told him?”
I look at her, surprised that she’s following all of this and that she’d challenge Nahteran. She meets my gaze with eyes that are steady, bordering on flinty. She’s changed a lot from the carefree girl I met at the start of the summer.
No, I internally correct myself. She was never carefree. But still, she’s changed. And I don’t know how to feel about it. Not that I should be worrying about Taya at all right now.
Nahteran glances between us. “The worlds only touch each other at certain places,” he says, looking to Taya to answer her question. “I had to travel a couple of miles to get to a spot where I could open a doorway to Solaria. Someone might have seen me on the way.”
To Marcus’s questioning look, he shrugs. “It’s complicated. I can show you the maps, once we figure out what to do about Sylvia. Plus,” he adds darkly, “this isn’t the only mirror pairing the Silver Prince has. He has eyes everywhere. I’m sure there were plenty of people at Winterkill to fill him in.”
My stomach sinks. The Silver Prince is even more dangerous than we thought. It makes me uneasy, too, how knowledgeable Nahteran is about these subjects. He’s clearly not new to traveling between the worlds. Even if the Silver Prince forbade him from coming back to Earth, how come he never even sent a message to Havenfall? Just to let Marcus and me know he was alive? I suddenly don’t buy my brother’s explanation that contact would put us in danger. A question bubbles out of my lips before I fully think it through.
“Why now?” I ask Nahteran. “Why turn against the Silver Prince now?”
Everyone goes dead silent. Nahteran just stares at me blankly at first, like it’s a dumb question. But then …
“Because of you,” he says at length, quietly. “Because I saw you and realized … that there was still hope, I guess.” The sentence ends sheepishly, with him looking down at his hands.
That’s not enough, a small voice in my head says. If he really missed me, missed us, so much, why didn’t he try to come back sooner?
I push away the nagging thought. That, too, is another problem for another day. The Silver Prince gave Nahteran three days to bring the armor to him in Oasis. So we have less than three days to figure out what to do.
If you’d asked me a week ago, I’d have gladly traded Mom’s life for any object in all the worlds, no matter how magical or precious. But we struck a blow to the soul trade by stealing the armor; now Cadius and his ilk can’t smuggle Solarian souls between worlds without going through Havenfall. We haven’t stopped it entirely. There are still Solarians being held captive in Fiordenkill. The enchanted objects clearly remain scattered around all the realms. And Havenfall isn’t a perfect fortress; my heart aches to think of all the soul fragments that have probably passed through here without us knowing. Still, we’re in a stronger position than we were.
And of course, acquiescing to the Silver Prince’s demand would basically be giving him a free pass to come in and cause whatever chaos he wants here on Earth. He wouldn’t be limited to Havenfall; the armor would protect him from sickness, like it protected me in Fiordenkill.
Knowing the Silver Prince is trapped in Oasis has been the only thing allowing me to sleep at night these past few weeks. I still have half-healed scars from fighting him. The idea that with the armor he could be anywhere, come at us from any direction, is terrifying to consider.
Suddenly, I’m not so sure if I can trade the armor for Mom. And the thought breaks my heart.
And yet … how can I leave Mom in his clutches?
Eventually, we break for the night, having talked in circles for hours without solving anything other than where to store the phoenix flame armor.
After hearing what happened at Winterkill, Marcus decided the armor is too powerful to keep in one place. We can’t afford for it to burn a hole in Haven like it did when I reunited Mom’s gauntlet with the rest of the suit. So he and Sal divided the armor into three pieces and hid them in three safes across Havenfall. The chest piece is in Marcus’s safe, beneath his office desk; the right gauntlet is locked in Marcus and Graylin’s suite; and the left is hidden in my quarters, locked into a safe in the closet.
Marcus and Graylin head up to bed, both looking wrung out; Sal’s going to sleep in Marcus’s office to guard the armor. That leaves me, Taya, Nahteran, and Brekken lingering in the narrow hallway, the only sounds being the distant wind from below, out of the Fiorden and Byrnisian doorways.
My head is still spinning, my mind trying to find new angles from which to attack the problem of Mom and the Silver Prince. But I’m starting to fear that there is none. No way out … except for through. We just have to choose.
It’ll seem better in the morning, after some sleep, I tell myself, not believing it in the slightest.
I’m about to suggest we all go up and get some late dinner when Brekken walks off. He strides away toward the main staircase and goes upstairs without looking back.
“Nice to meet you too,” Nahteran mutters.
Taya laughs, but I can’t join her, remembering the helpless fury on Brekken’s face in Winterkill’s vault as he watched Nahteran take the armor and run. I don’t think Brekken considers retrieving Taya from Solaria a worthy cause. I think he still believes that Nahteran betrayed us.
Part of me wants to run after Brekken, but the greater part wants to stay where I am. Taya and I have some serious catching up to do. And for Nahteran, ten years’ worth. Yet I still find myself staring at the place where Brekken stood.
I get that, for him, the mission always comes first, and Nahteran messed ours up in a major way and put all of us in danger. But if I can hear Nahteran out and potentially forgive him, why can’t Brekken?
Taya’s stomach growls audibly, loud enough to startle me into a smile. I turn to look at them, and to my surprise, I feel the smile get bigger. I let a breath out and consciously unclench my shoulders. Brekken and I will clear the air. In the meantime …
“Let’s go get something to eat,” I tell Taya and my brother.
Upstairs, the delegate ball is happening, the Elemental Orchestra’s music wafting through the halls. I give the ballroom a wide berth, leading Nahteran and Taya the long way around to the kitchen. New treaty or no new treaty, the delegates are still touchy on the subject of Solarians. I don’t think any of them would do harm to Nahteran or Taya, but I don’t want to take the risk. Soon I’ll introduce them to everyone and explain what happened, but first we need to figure out what to do about Mom.
The kitchen has always been one of my favorite places at Havenfall, and it brings me a weird kind of pride to see Nahteran’s wide eyes and cautious smile when we go in. It’s been cleaned and closed up for the night, but I flick on the light switch and warm yellow beams flood the high-ceilinged brick room, bringing it back to life. It’s large but cozy. Bundles of drying herbs from the gardens hang from the ceiling, and dishes and pots and pans sparkle on racks all around.
I take them to the pantry, where Willow keeps a stash of cereal, granola bars, fruit, and sandwich stuff. Plus some weird Byrnisian tea—sachets filled with dried and crushed blue leaves—which no one but Willow ever drinks, but which Nahteran immediately goes for.
We each scrounge up a meal and bring it to the rough-hewn worktable in the corner. I have Cheerios and tea. Taya has a sandwich and black coffee. Nate has turkey and cheese slices rolled up into cigar shapes with tortillas, which makes me smile—that was his favorite food as a kid.
“Sorry,” I say as they sit down, trying to keep it light. “This isn’t the grand Havenfall welcome guests usually get.”
Taya has rounded the table to sit on the bench next
to me, which I’m trying not to read too much into. She elbows me. Casual. Easy.
“I remember. But this is a lot better than getting dosed with forgetting-wine.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Sorry, rules are rules. But you’re a friend of the family now.”
I look at Nahteran. “Do you remember this place?”
I immediately regret the question for how it punctures the light mood. Taya’s giggle dies away and Nahteran looks contemplative, considering the kitchen around us.
“Did Sylvia take us here a lot?” he asks.
I swallow painfully. I shouldn’t expect him to still share my childhood memories, after going through so much in the intervening years. But it still hurts that he doesn’t remember. As does his calling Mom Sylvia. He didn’t back at Winterkill, so why here?
“Yeah. Yeah, she did.”
Taya looks between us, her brow furrowed. Then, she hesitates a moment. “You know,” she says gently, turning to Nahteran, “you can just call her your mom. I don’t even remember our … our bio-parents anyway. Sylvia adopted you.”
I smile at her, feeling grateful, and then surprised as her fingers graze my arm under the table. I think it’s supposed to be a comforting touch, but it sends an electric shiver up my wrist.
Nahteran’s eyes are downcast. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he murmurs. “It’s been so long. And then when we’re sitting around discussing her fate like this …”
His eyes meet mine for just half a second, and I think I understand. He doesn’t want to let himself get close again, when everything still hangs in the balance. When it could all fall apart.
I turn to Taya instead. “I still haven’t heard a thing about Solaria,” I say.
My tone is deliberately light, teasing, but inside I’m a knot of anxiety. What if Solaria was horrible? And it was my fault she was there. Well, not entirely, but if I hadn’t become friends with her—dragged her into things—maybe she would have just had a relaxing summer tending to the gardens and then gone back to her nice, normal life.
