Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,86

delegates. I meet Taya and Nahteran in the ballroom, where there’s a back door where we can exit without being seen by Sal’s guards, one of whom is always stationed out front at night.

They’re already there when I arrive. They haven’t turned on any lights; Nahteran paces, while Taya stands looking out the window in a pool of moonlight. She wears her bomber jacket, and I’m hit with a quick burst of gratefulness that I saved it for her. Nahteran has a canvas jacket on, something else borrowed from Marcus. I can’t see in the dimness, but I know they probably have weapons belted to their waists, just like me.

We’re all nervous. Tightly wound. I wonder if they, too, thought about saying goodbyes just in case.

Taya hoists a lantern high, the same one she used when we created the counterfeit armor. Now we’ll use it to hike the dark and steep trails up to the meeting place in the mountains.

She smiles at me, but it’s thin, strained. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I look over my shoulder. “Nate, the armor—”

I don’t realize the slip—calling him Nate out loud—until after I’ve said it, but Nahteran doesn’t seem to notice. He has his back to us and is kneeling in the center of the ballroom floor, right in front of where the Elemental Orchestra usually plays.

“What are you doing?” I hear Taya ask as I stare in confusion. “Nahteran?”

He takes a vial of something dark and viscous from his pocket—and smashes it against the floor. Liquid pools around him.

I’m still groggy, too much so to understand what he’s doing, but my body reacts right away, spilling a wave of adrenaline and dread through me.

Nahteran yanks up both sleeves and presses his hands to his chest, and a howl of wind sounds around me. The world rocks beneath my feet. Beyond him, the doors to the hallway—to the rest of Havenfall—are closed. Barred shut.

“Nahteran, stop!” Taya cries out.

She’s already running to him, almost losing her balance with every step as the floor rolls beneath her feet. The polished oak floorboards snap and bulge upward like we’re on the deck of the Titanic.

I shrink back against the window, the cold glass trembling against my shoulder blades. The truth slowly sinks in. What has he done?

The ballroom floor starts to go transparent, like wood and stone are melting into glass. A hairline crack of light appears and grows.

A hot orange light.

The same light as the one that shines through the Byrnisian doorway.

No. No! Then I realize I’m saying it out loud. Yelling, “Nahteran, stop! Stop this!”

The wind swallows my voice, whisks it away.

I don’t think my brother could stop the doorway from opening anymore even if he wanted to. He straightens up, shaking, pale and small against the chaos that has filled the room. The wineglasses that I’ve spent so many hours washing and drying and hanging whip off their racks and shatter against the wall. The chairs along the side of the room shake and tip over. Paintings and mirrors crash from the walls. I see one slip through the liquefying floor.

Suddenly Taya is there, in the center of the room. She has Nahteran by the arm; she hauls him across the heaving floor to the side of the room where I stand, clinging to the outer wall for support as everything shakes. Nahteran is wearing the phoenix flame armor. Beneath Marcus’s coat, I can see one gauntlet on each wrist and the golden breastplate shimmers with a red stain, Byrnisian blood.

I feel like I’m spiraling. Falling.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

“What is this?” Taya screams, shaking Nahteran by the collar.

He’s a foot taller than her, but he doesn’t stop her or react. Instead, he just wraps an arm around a pillar to stay upright.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

The howling wind steals his words, but I can read his lips.

“The trade isn’t supposed to be in Havenfall,” I cry, shell-shocked. “Nahteran, what are you doing?”

“They planned this,” Taya says furiously, keeping one hand fisted in Nahteran’s jacket, even though he’s not trying to go anywhere. “You and the Silver Prince. Didn’t you?”

He hesitates for a second, and then nods, the motion almost lost in the upheaval all around us. My heart plummets, all the hope and happiness evaporating out of it.

Brekken was right.

Nahteran betrayed us. Again.

Then—

“It’s not what you think,” he yells.

One of the ballroom windows blows out behind him; he ducks, his arm to his face against the broken glass. Outside, trees