Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,68

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