He smiles softly at me as I get close, pushing away from the wall. “I was just looking for you. I thought you’d be here by now.” He must see something off in my expression, because his brow creases in concern. “You all right?”
I nod. “Just needed a minute.” Looking into the ballroom, though, I don’t know if my few minutes in the armory with the silver objects has helped or hurt my calm. The responsibility—both to execute the peace treaty and to do everything I can to free the Solarians trapped in the silver—feels all the heavier now.
Brekken’s hand finds mine. “You can do this.”
Startled, I look up at him. “I don’t know.” The words fall out unbidden.
Brekken steps closer to me. Something has shifted between us in the days since he came back from Fiordenkill, where he’d fled after witnessing the Silver Prince murder his own servant, Bram—the chain of events that set everything off, all the ill events of this summer. I had been angry with Brekken, not knowing where he went or why, even harboring a suspicion—before the Silver Prince’s guilt came to light—that Brekken was the traitor. Even though we’re safe now and I know the truth that he was trying to help, the weight of that suspicion hasn’t entirely dissipated.
Brekken has been careful with me, not like the easy familiarity we had as kids. But the way he’s holding my hand—well, that’s different from how we were as kids too. He looks at me like he has utter faith in me. It’s almost enough to give me faith in myself. Almost.
“Just be your charming self,” Brekken says now, raising my hand to brush my knuckles with his lips.
It’s a courtly gesture, one that probably means nothing to him, but it still makes my pulse even more erratic.
“Charming, yeah, that’s me,” I say jokingly, but I don’t think the sarcasm comes across with my voice all breathy and trembly.
Brekken squeezes my hand gently before letting it fall. “Shall we?”
I nod, and we make our way side by side deeper into the ballroom. The high spirits of the party guests sweep us up right away. It feels easier to be a part of it, now that Brekken is by my side. I retrieve my tray of spiked wine from the credenza where it was stashed and throw myself back into the politicking.
With Brekken near, his presence drawing me out, I feel bolder approaching two Byrnisian delegates, Lonan and Mima. They break off their conversation—gossip about who was rumored to be slipping into the gardens with whom and which buyers are angling for which bargains—and listen curiously as I give my pitch.
They agree to sign as well, but like Cancarnette, seem to regard it as some kind of amusement. Not real, not binding. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is the signatures on the page.
Three down. Then four, five. The more signatures I get, the easier it is to obtain each successive one, as the delegates see their peers are willing to align with Solarians again.
They’ll understand the importance of it once Solarians return to Havenfall, once we start taking down the soul trade. It’s been just a few weeks since everything at Havenfall has both turned upside down and clicked into place, hardly any time at all. I feel ashamed that I ever thought Solarians were evil—now that I know they’re just people, and many are victims, hunted for their ability to capture magic in exchange for pieces of their soul. The delegates haven’t seen the things I’ve seen.
They don’t truly know Solarians like Taya or Nate.
Nate … My brother’s face flashes across my mind, but I push it away. Last week, I realized everything I thought I knew about Nate was untrue. The boy I thought was my biological brother was actually a Solarian, rescued from the soul trade by Marcus and raised by my mom as one of us. Nate was—is?—Taya’s blood brother. And he was not killed by my mother or an intruder ten years ago. He was kidnapped, presumably into the silver trade.
This is another reason why I must find out more about the traders. There’s no guarantee Nate’s still alive after all these years. I have only seen the tiniest corner of the soul trade, and I don’t know how survivable it is. But knowing that he was taken, when I was sure beyond a doubt he was dead, is enough to plant the seed of hope.
He could be out there.
I could find him.
And if there’s any way to find him, it will surely be through the soul trade—following the corruption as deep and wide as it goes. Hoping that it hasn’t destroyed my brother.
But while I’m occupied scanning the room for another suitably influential delegate to go after, Brekken suddenly leans down and kisses my cheek.
I look up, surprised, to see his face abnormally bright and open, flushed in a way I’ve almost never seen him. Not since a few weeks ago in the hayloft, his body against mine, his face inches from mine, millimeters … I feel heat flood my own face at the memory.
“Brekken,” I say, startled, and that’s when I see a tumbler of fruity wine in his hand that matches the others on my tray—my tray that I realize now is one glass lighter. Crap. I never told him about the wine.
“I just wanted to dance with you,” he says with a grin.
Any other time I’d be thrilled at the prospect, but I have signatures to gather. And I feel bad that he accidentally drank the truth serum. And yet … His eyes are shining. And I feel both frustration and worry melt away, bubbly excitement rising in me like champagne. Surely one song couldn’t hurt.
I let him sweep me into a dance as the next song starts. It’s easy, since his movements are so graceful and self-assured. I let him lead me. Let the fears swirl in my wake like so many dead leaves at the end of the summer.
Brekken leads me into the thick of the dance. Silk and velvet rustle around us, music and perfume and laughter melding in a delirious aura. When we reach a pocket of space on the floor, he claims it, turning and wrapping his arms around me. He’s still grinning like he just won the freaking lottery.
“Brekken.” I have to stand up and speak close to his ear to be heard, not wanting to shout. Sometimes his skin is cool to the touch, but somehow, wrapped up in him like this—my hands on his shoulders, his around my waist—I’m warm all over. “I’m really sorry. There was a truth serum in that wine. I didn’t mean for you to have it …”
But I guess I’m not loud enough, because Brekken tilts his head, eyes crinkling with confusion. “What?”
“I—” But then the music kicks up into a faster, lively section, and my words are lost in the cheer that goes up from the crowd of delegates. I give up. “Never mind,” I say, loud enough for Brekken to hear. This conversation is better suited for another time anyway, sometime when I have the space and quiet to explain myself.
He grins at me, lifting me off my feet, and we dance; and my worries ebb away again. I’m usually no good at this—which is why I usually park myself behind the bar during Havenfall’s nightly dancing. Maybe it’s the couple of glasses of wine in me, or the feeling that I finally got somewhere with Cancarnette and the magpies he mentioned. It’s not much of a lead, but it’s better than nothing. Whatever the case, I feel slightly lighter.
As the gravity of the music swirls us around the ballroom—somehow slow and fast at the same time, other dancers coming together then making way for us like it’s all been choreographed—I catch a glimpse of Marcus holding a tall glass of ice, sitting next to Graylin in one of the golden carved chairs lining the sides of the room. Marcus isn’t dancing or schmoozing at the bar anymore, and he looks tired, but at least he’s here and upright. Marcus has been getting better slowly but surely since the Silver Prince forced open the door to Solaria and threw the inn into imbalance. He’s not the same as before, that much is clear, but at least we have him back.