by Sara Holland
“I have these.” Nahteran let his hands drop to the two daggers at his waist, touching the hilts to reassure himself that they were still there, though he never left Havenfall without them. “And you’re a Solarian.”
Taya cracked a smile, though her eyes were grim. “So are you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Taya sighed. “Fine.” She cracked her knuckles. “Let’s do this.”
As they crossed the lawn, the music crescendoed to a roaring finale—a triumphant clamor of strings and trumpets—and then faded out. But the alarm continued, a screeching backdrop to Nahteran’s growing fear. And there was another sound, a low rumble. He realized all the vehicles were still running, empty as they were. Keys dangled from the motorcycle ignition. Whoever they belonged to, they wanted to make a quick getaway.
He drew his daggers, careful not to let the blades rasp against the hilts.
He crossed the threshold into the house, Taya behind him. As they’d seen from outside, it was empty, ominously so, the expensive, minimalist furniture looking like the stage setting for a play. But two things marred the pristine room. The first was a set of muddy footprints across the light-wood floor. The second was a woman, lying on her side at the entrance to a wide, glass-walled hallway, breathing softly with eyes closed. She was middle-aged, with powdery skin, blond hair, and expensive clothes. There was a mottled bruise on her forehead, and her wrists were tied in front of her with duct tape.
“Janna Reynolds,” Taya said with distaste. She crouched down and held a hand in front of the woman’s slightly open mouth. “She’s breathing. I guess one of her buyers double-crossed her.”
Nahteran’s whole body was prickling with adrenaline; it seemed to surge through his veins with every blare of the alarm. “We should take her back to Havenfall. Maybe she’ll cooperate, tell us where she’s been sending the silver.”
Taya nodded. “But let’s deal with them first.”
She lifted a hand and pointed down the hallway, where a closed metal door stood that seemed too heavy, incongruous with the rest of the house. At first, Nahteran didn’t know what Taya meant, but he held his breath, trying to quiet his raging heartbeat. And then he heard it. Muffled men’s voices. Voices and a series of heavy thuds from falling objects.
His heart sped up even more, his mouth growing dry. His mind felt like a tornado, spinning wildly as he stooped to set aside his daggers, pick up the unconscious Reynolds, and deposit her behind one of the couches, where she’d be shielded from the confrontation that seemed about to happen. He clenched his fists, trying to stay grounded, but emotions fogged his mind. Hatred for her and this little empire, hope that he was so close to being whole again, fear that they would fail. When he picked up his daggers again, they were slippery in his sweaty palms.
He could fight, he knew that. So could Taya. But if they failed …
A flash of deep blue in the corner of his vision. He turned his head. Beside him, Taya had taken on her animal form, feline body casting a long shadow over the gleaming floor now splotched with mud, her fire-colored eyes burning and lips pulling back to reveal long, sharp teeth. A pang of envy went through him—he wanted that size, that strength; he wanted sharp teeth and claws—but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because the metal door burst open, and they were facing down two men, both laden with duffel bags and dripping silver.
Hatred, heavy and poisonous, spread through Nahteran at the sight. The effect of the silver in the sun was almost dazzling. The men’s faces were just smears in his vision, but the objects were crystal clear: a silver crown tipped askew on someone’s head, strands of necklaces hanging from a meaty fist, a bangle looped around a muscular arm. A bangle. Static filled his head. His body felt like tinder with a matchstick right in front of him, almost close enough to touch.
Everyone exploded into action at once. Taya leaped toward them, a blur of blue fire. The oldest man whipped the crown from his head and hurled it toward the glass wall of the hallway. It shattered, and cracks raced out in every direction. The men scattered, but the older one wasn’t fast enough, and Taya slammed into him, snarling.
Nahteran was running, running toward the man with the bangle, but a roaring to his left made him turn his head.
Headlights.
His stomach plummeted. He threw himself backward, hitting the ground just as one of the SUVs ripped through the hallway, bringing the whole thing down in a rain of broken glass. Nahteran curled up to protect his head. Sharp edges bit at his back and arms, but he hardly felt them. As soon as it was over, he jumped to his feet, the taste of iron filling his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.
Taya and the older man were still grappling on the other end of the destroyed hallway, but the man with the bangle was sprinting toward the waiting SUV, the duffel bag full of silver banging against his back as he ran. Nahteran launched himself forward, his hands closing around the bag’s straps. The man shrugged his shoulder out of them, and the sudden weight sent Nahteran sprawling. The bag dropped onto the broken glass, but the man with the bangle on his arm kept running.
Nahteran scrambled to his feet. Before he could catch up, the man threw himself into the backseat and the driver stepped on the gas, cutting a muddy scar through the lawn. The SUV would have to circle the house before making it back to the road, but if the men made it out, Nahteran knew with a deep certainty that he would never see the two again. He would never get back the twelfth piece of his soul.
With a glance toward Taya—who had the older man pinned, silver pieces scattered over the floor—Nahteran left the bag where it was and sprinted in the other direction, toward the driveway, as the SUV swerved across the back lawn and into the trees. Without thinking, he jammed his daggers back into his belt and made for the driveway, sprinting down until he reached the gate. He vaulted over it onto the empty road. The sun was setting, casting everything in a fiery orange light. To his right was a dead end, a rough wall of stone. To his left stretched the road carved into the mountainside. And in front of him was a vast empty space. A metal railing was all that separated the narrow road from a hundred-foot drop into the valley.
The SUV would probably be able to break through the gate, but if he could block the road, the traders would have to stop or go over the edge. He could hear the engine’s rumble from above, barreling down the mountainside. He had just seconds before the SUV would hit the gate.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed around something cool and smooth. A silver ingot. It made him feel sick to use soul-silver for magic. Like he was no different than the traders. But he couldn’t think about that now. He closed his hand around the ingot and felt the magic inside surge through his veins, reminding him of Byrn, of air that scorched your lungs and orange skies split with lightning.
Fire.
Flames burst from his hands, twin columns of flickering orange, and he spread his arms, sending them arcing out to block the road on either side of him.
The SUV burst through the locked gate. The clang was earsplitting, and bits of metal flew everywhere. Nahteran’s vision was fractured, his body aching. Everything was air and metal and scorching heat. He saw the wheels of the SUV veer toward him, and for a second he was sure he was about to die. The traders were going to run him down, fire or no fire.
Then he saw the man’s face in the driver’s seat, the fear there. The fear of him.
The wheels veered away again, squealing. Too fast to stop. The breath vanished from Nahteran’s lungs, evaporating all at once, so that the words rising to his lips came out silent, meaningless.
No—
I didn’t mean—
But it was too late. The SUV and the traders and the soul-silver they carried went over the edge—the railing snapping like it was made of paper—and landed in a crash of flame far below.
Taya found him there, standing at the side of the road, staring at the charred wreckage below. She was back in her human form, sporting a few cuts and bruises, bu
t not too much the worse for wear. She grabbed him, spinning him to check for injuries.
“What happened?” she demanded, concern underlying the anger in her voice. “Not that I couldn’t handle that guy, but you kind of left me in the lurch up there.”
Nahteran felt like his lungs were full of stones. He couldn’t remember how to form words. He pointed down at what remained of the SUV.
Taya followed his gaze through the gathering dark, and he saw her expression grow somber. “Are they …”
“Yes.”
A moment of silence passed between them. “They were killers,” Taya said after a long time. Then, seeming to realize that wasn’t helpful, she added, “It wasn’t your fault. They could have stopped.”
Nahteran swallowed. “I used fire magic. They were scared. And—” His own voice sounded distant to him. “He had a piece of silver on him. A piece with the last part of my soul bound inside.” He drew a ragged breath, ashamed to feel tears threatening the backs of his eyes, roughening his voice. “I’ll never be—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t look at Taya, not wanting to move his eyes from the horizon in case the tears spilled over. But he felt her move closer to him, grab his hand. Her grip was warm and almost too tight, like Gretel leading Hansel out of the forest.
“What do you mean?” she asked, a hint of a warning in her voice.
Nahteran swallowed. It was hard to get the words out, but he made himself say them. “I’ll never get all of my soul back.”
Taya was silent and still for a moment. Then she pulled him away from the ledge, toward the Jeep.
“There’s no never for us,” she said, her tone firm, brooking no room for argument.
She opened the passenger side door and gave him a gentle shove. Numbly, he climbed in as she went around. She sat next to him, but she didn’t turn the car on or speak for another long moment. The car’s interior lights faded, leaving them in dimness.
“We have scars, sure,” she said at length. “We have missing pieces, but who doesn’t? I think souls can heal just like skin and bone.” She turned on the car, a gentle rumble starting up around them. She backed up, flicked the headlights on, and then turned up the driveway toward the mansion again.
“What are you doing?” Nahteran asked, surprise jolting him out of numbness for a second.
She gave him a look. “Janna Reynolds is still in the house, tied up, no thanks to you. And the rest of the soul-silver. We still have work to do, even if you’re sad.”
Nahteran exhaled, imagining the darkness going out of him with the air. The hollow, painful wound inside him was still there. He thought he’d have erased it today. Now he knew it would always be with him.
But it had receded when Taya had grabbed him to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Still more when she took his hand, talked him down. Maybe the hurt wasn’t because a part of him was missing. Maybe he just needed more time. He drew a breath of fresh air.
“Okay,” he said, and this time the words didn’t feel like broken glass coming out. “Work. Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Taya agreed, picking up speed as they ascended toward the dark mansion. “There are still a lot of souls up there who need to get freed. You grab them, and I’ll talk Reynolds into coming with us.”
She turned to him, grinned. “And then let’s get home.”
BLOOMSBURY YA
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First published in the United States of America in March 2021 by Bloomsbury YA
Text copyright © 2021 by Glasstown Entertainment
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ISBN 978-1-5476-0382-4 (hardcover) • ISBN 978-1-5476-0383-1 (e-book)
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