Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,3

of the soul trade all on her own, and she decided to fight it. There were gaps in her knowledge, yes—she thought the enchanted silver objects circulating through the Realms contained only stolen magic, not stolen souls—but she saw that Havenfall was in danger and took steps to fight the threat, even though she thought it meant going up against Marcus. She even recruited Brekken to help her. She was the one who approached me with a plan for tonight—the idea to squeeze more information out of the delegates. Now she’s giving me the means to do so.

“You look lovely tonight, dear,” she says, putting a soft hand to my cheek and nodding approvingly. “You ought to let Willow take a crack at you more often.”

I blush. “Yeah, I know.” But impatience gnaws at my insides. Normally, I’d love to bask in her compliments, but right now isn’t the time. “Do you have it?”

The Heiress nods, her hands dropping down to mine so she can press something into my palm. I look down to see a small crystalline vial, stoppered with a cork and containing a clear liquid tinted the faint green of grass. A kind of truth serum, the Heiress told me, an old kind of magic from Tural, one of the former Adjacent Realms whose doorway closed long ago. I haven’t the faintest idea how the Heiress came to have this, and she wouldn’t tell me. Only how to use it.

“It’s not perfect,” she tells me now, withdrawing her hand from mine, leaving the vial in my palm. “It will simply make those who partake of it more forthcoming, and they will find it more difficult to construct a lie. But it will not cause them to offer up what they would otherwise keep to themselves. You still need to ask the right questions and coax them to share.”

She must see the trepidation on my face, because she pats my shoulder. “You’ll do fine. The delegates respect you.”

Do they, though? After the fiasco that was Havenfall under my watch, I wouldn’t count on that. I held on to the inn, but just barely. I guess the fact that the Silver Prince didn’t take over can be counted as a victory, but in the meantime I let half the Fiorden delegation return to their realm early, destabilizing the doors; I heightened tensions between Fiordenkill and Byrn.

The unsigned peace treaty weighs momentarily heavier at my side as the Heiress grips my arm—gentle, but firm—and turns me around so I face the crowd.

“Go.”

I take a deep breath and go.

In summers past, this moment—the one where I merge with the crowd of delegates, join the dance—has always been one of lightness and joy.

Still, it’s hard to feel too morose amidst all this merrymaking. Music and laughter and the scents of fruit and wine wrap around me as I push deeper into the crowd. The Elemental Orchestra is playing a rearranged version of The Rite of Spring, with minor-key Byrnisian flourishes woven into Stravinsky’s arrangements. Delegates swirl around the floor, creating a maelstrom of different colors and textures. With everyone moving like this, you could fail to notice that our ranks have thinned at all. You could think that everything was all right.

My uncle, Marcus, is at the bar, chatting up the delegates as he passes out glasses of wine and champagne. I don’t think he’s fully recovered from being in a coma after the Silver Prince’s attack, but right now you wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He’s animated, handsome, happy. Graylin, his husband, even convinced him to wear a tuxedo. He looks smart—not a wrinkle.

Staying out of his sight line, I lurk by the bar until Marcus steps away, at which point I quickly duck behind the counter, put together a tray of glasses filled with fruit-studded wine, and spike each of them with a dash of truth serum. Straightening up, almost immediately, I fix my eyes on someone who could be my first target. Saber Cancarnette. He’s respected among the Fiorden delegation, and his signature on the treaty will carry real weight. Plus, as a fur trader who works closely with the gem miners of Byrn, it seems possible he might know something about the soul-silver.

I stride up to Cancarnette with determination. The Fiorden lord looks slightly taken aback by my approach. His ice-pale cheeks are tinted pink with the influence of wine. Good. Hopefully that’ll give me a head start. I smile and proffer my tray carefully.

“Another drink,