“About using it on me or on the delegates?”
“Either,” I say. “Both?”
He shakes his head, his face growing serious. “Once I might have been. But that was before I found out about the soul trade. Now I know we have to end this however we can.”
I think of my brother, Nate. A sense of resolve and relief fills me, relief that Brekken feels the same way. “I agree.”
He leans in and kisses me again. It’s not so wild this time, but tender and slow and serious. Like a promise. I kiss him back, winding my arms around his neck, playing with the impossibly soft hairs at the nape of his neck. I feel like I’m falling through space, but gently somehow. There’s no fear in it. Suddenly I know that whatever I decide to do next, Brekken will be behind me, and that makes me feel so much braver. Like maybe I can actually do this.
“Did Cancarnette tell you what happened to the knight in the story?” Brekken whispers after a few minutes, low and close to my ear.
For a moment I don’t want to hear any more. I want to tell him I only want to know if there’s a happy ending. But I stop myself. Surely, after everything, I can handle a story. “Just that the lady died from an illness.”
“After the lady died, the heartbroken knight wandered through all the worlds,” Brekken says. “There were more Realms then, more than we even remember. He traveled them all, and he slayed monsters and protected the innocent in every one. But he never came back to Fiordenkill. Either he perished in one of the other realms or he decided to stay away.”
I pull back and stare. “That’s a terrible ending,” I say, indignant.
Brekken blinks, like he’s been caught up in a dream and I just pulled him out of it. “Is it?” he says. “I always thought it bittersweet. How even without his lady, he found life again in new worlds. Perhaps he even found a new love in one of them.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” I press. “How could he have traveled to other worlds without getting sick?”
Brekken shrugs. “Supposedly he had some talisman that let him pass through. I don’t remember exactly. But, Maddie, lots of them have just such a traveler.” His hands tighten around mine. “Maybe it’s possible. Maybe we’ve just forgotten how.”
“You’re drunk,” I say, giggling despite the spike of sadness that’s just gone through me.
“No, I’ve had truth serum. And whose fault is that?”
His lips graze my temple, my cheek, and a thrilling, bone-deep want rolls through me.
But … I still have a job to do. I can’t make out with Brekken here by the lake all night. Even if at the moment, I want badly to do just that. I stop his lips with a finger before they can find mine again.
“I have to get the rest of the signatures,” I say breathlessly, hoarsely. “On the peace treaty.”
Brekken sighs; cool air brushes my fingers. “All right, then.” He steps away from me with a heavy, regretful sigh. “Can I help you?”
“Sure.” I try to sound businesslike, even though my body aches like a part of me has been torn away now that he’s not touching me anymore. “Talk it up to the Fiorden delegation, so that they’re willing to sign when I come round. And …” I hesitate, then go on. “I’ve been trying to dig up information about the soul trade, how the objects got through Havenfall without us noticing. So if you hear anything about collectors, or silver merchants, or magpies, listen close.”
With the mention of the soul trade, the lightness drains out of the moment, both of us remembering what we have to do. Our responsibility. Brekken straightens up and combs his fingers through his hair, making it fall back into place. I touch my mouth with my fingertip, hoping my lip stain isn’t smeared.
Brekken reaches out to cradle my cheek for one more moment, then lets his hand fall. “All right,” he says, turning back toward the inn, his eyes fixing on the golden lights of its windows. “Onward.”
3
Later, after the dancing is over, I head to the kitchen, where Marcus, Graylin, and I have planned to meet and discuss our next steps, as we’ve done almost every night since the door to Solaria closed and the Silver Prince was banished back to his Realm.
I’m exhausted, my feet sore from dancing—more like chasing the delegates around as they danced—but I feel amped up from the success of the night. Despite being more than a little distracted after stepping out with Brekken, I’ve gotten almost all the delegates’ signatures on the peace treaty, safe in the velvet folio tucked into my bag. I know many of them are still skeptical, but once the treaty is signed and official, hopefully it will ease their concerns about Solarians. It’s imperative that they’re welcoming, because when we figure out how to free the Solarian souls trapped in the silver objects, we don’t want them to face hostility from the delegates.
Especially if we find Nate …
I push the thought away, trying not to get my hopes up.
The kitchen is as grand as the rest of the inn—with shining polished-brick floors, huge high windows that show off the night sky, and gleaming copper cookware hanging neatly on the walls, reflecting the cozy light of the lamp Marcus has on the oak worktable. When I get there, he and Graylin are sitting with Princess Enetta, the future ruler of the kingdom of Myr in Fiordenkill. She looks as lovely as ever in a shimmering gold gown, matching gold beads woven into the ends of her braids.
The trio is leaning over a bunch of papers spread out in front of them, and my heart beats faster as I recall what Marcus has been working on for the last few nights. Those are the Silver Prince’s papers. Even though he’s back at Oasis after his play to take over Havenfall failed, we’d be idiots to think that was the only thing up his sleeve. We can only hope the papers contain information about his intentions, whatever he might do next.
Marcus’s smile to me is a little strained, and I wonder if he’s still mad at me for kissing Brekken out on the ballroom floor. Or Brekken kissing me. Whatever. But all my uncle does is pull out the counter stool next to him.
“How did getting the signatures go?”
“Great.” I let myself feel proud as I pull out the folio and smooth it on the countertop. “A few more to go, but I’ll try again tomorrow.”
I look down at the Silver Prince’s papers, covered in writing in a language I don’t know. To each, Willow has stapled a printout of her translation. At a glance, it just seems to be a mundane recount of life at the summit—meeting logs and notes about fellow delegates. But Marcus must have found something else. He looks shaken, his hair mussed and sticking up, which means he’s been running his hands nervously through it. Stress curls, my mom used to call them. He palms through the papers too fast to be reading anything, like he’s just giving his hand something to do.
“What’s up?” I ask, pride giving way to nervousness.
My uncle shakes his head as he pulls one page from the pile. “The Silver Prince talks about meeting his traders outside of Havenfall. He could be referring to legitimate trade from Byrn, or something else. But I’m more concerned by the ‘outside of Havenfall’ part.” He stabs a finger down on the page. “Maybe he was planning to use a proxy instead of going himself, or maybe it’s a misdirection, but …”