Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,5

to come to Havenfall.”

“But—” I bite my tongue, frustration mounting. “If binding magic is blasphemous, where do the objects come from?”

I should have phrased it in a more diplomatic, less pointed way, but I sense the Fiorden lord is growing bored with me, with this conversation. My time is running out. And if he knows something …

But I’ve let myself be sidetracked. There are plenty of people from whom I might learn something about the soul trade, but I need Cancarnette’s signature on the treaty. I fumble to take it out with the hand not holding my glass, too flustered to think of a smooth transition. “Could I get your signature on the treaty?” I ask, hoping I at least sound winning.

Cancarnette takes the folio. I can see his eyes roving, searching for loopholes or catches.

When he’s done, Cancarnette arches one eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little premature?” His eyes skate around the room. “How are we to execute a treaty between four parties, when only three are present?”

I resist the urge to remind him that we talked about this in the meetings, if he had bothered to attend. Instead, I point to the line on the page where it says Solaria will become part of the Adjacent Realms if its people should wish it. “Marcus accounted for that.”

“Well, if the Innkeeper says so.” He takes my pen and smiles indulgently as he signs. As he passes the treaty back to me—his signature bold and looping at the bottom—I’m bothered by the sense he isn’t taking this, taking me, seriously.

At least he didn’t refuse outright. I feared that might be the case, seeing as lots of the Fiorden and Byrnisian delegates probably still hate Solarians. They’re governed—as I was until recently—by stories of soul-devouring, shapeshifter monsters, fiery-eyed and sharp-clawed creatures who would tear you limb from limb just for the joy of it. Two weeks ago, we were hunting my friend Taya in the woods with knives and guns. But she saved me … us … Havenfall from the Silver Prince. I admit I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm from Cancarnette.

Still, Cancarnette isn’t wrong. This is a hollow treaty, tonight a hollow celebration, seeing as we don’t have any actual Solarians here. Not since Taya disappeared into the golden light of the Solarian doorway and the door sealed closed behind her, leaving only a blank wall of stone.

I have no way to reach her, no way to know if she’s even alive. There’s nothing I can do to help her—nothing at all, except to do my best to make this world safe for when she comes back.

She has to come back, right?

I can’t think about that now, or I’ll lose heart. I blink and focus on my surroundings, trying to get the image of her face in my mind—her radiant, powerful expression in the moment before she slipped through the door to Solaria—to recede.

But it doesn’t, and I feel suddenly claustrophobic, suffocated. Everything is color and music and light and laughter now, but suddenly I feel the aches and pains left over in my muscles from the fight with the Silver Prince. The Prince himself might be gone, but he’s taken with him the unconditional trust and happiness I once felt within these walls. Now I know it’s possible for enemies to enter here, and everything feels a little warped, a little off, tainted.

It’s impossible to know for sure that everyone in this room means us well. I learned my lesson about blind trust, and it came at a cost.

2

The night has only just started, but I need a breather. Before I can think too much about it, I hurry from the ballroom, walking fast but aimlessly down the hall until the noise from the dancing recedes. A moment ago I was nervous but confident; now I feel raw, panicked, like the task facing me is impossible. And the last thing I need is for the delegates to see me freak out. I don’t want to go all the way back up to my room, but I think I need to be alone. Fortunately, Marcus gave me a copy of all the inn’s keys.

In the small, secure room that Marcus calls the armory, silver glitters all around me, and I feel the weight of souls in the air. A tiny window set close to the ceiling lets in orange sunset light, but only a little. The air is chilly and smells like pine, and it’s blissfully silent.

But as soon