Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(15)
4
The Heiress’s stern presence seems to have kept people away from the bar—but once she retires to her room for the night, delegates flock toward me, calling out the names of different wines and spirits. I like this work—it keeps my hands busy and the conversations I overhear are interesting, giving me plenty of details to tuck away and smuggle to Willow. Quickly, my muscles grow accustomed to the task of pouring wine and champagne.
The great thing about Havenfall—well, one of them—is that I’m the least remarkable person here. The Fiordens and Byrnisians come with stories straight out of soap operas—every summer, every summit, there’s new gossip about a Fiorden duchess falling in love with a lowborn knight, or a lone Byrnisian soldier fending off a lightning storm that threatened Oasis. Fiordenkill has ice storms that white out the whole world, and Byrn has been so ravaged by magical storms that almost everyone there has been backed into the one city standing. Amidst all that, no one gives a shit if I live in a mobile home, or if I have short hair, or if I like guys and girls both, or if my mom’s in prison.
Marcus sits at one end of the long, polished counter, talking to two delegates I vaguely know—Lonan, a yellow-haired Byrn man who married a fellow delegate here last year, and Nessa, a Fiorden woman in a daring green gown. I listen in. Nessa is fretting about one of the Fiordens’ favorite gossip topics: Enetta, the beautiful but feckless princess of a Fiorden island country who is, unthinkably, late to the summit.
“It doesn’t matter when she arrives,” I jump in, taking the carafe to refill Nessa’s glass.
Marcus raises his eyebrows at me, and I smile back. Look. I can play the room too. You can trust me.
“Havenfall is always open to her,” I say to Nessa. “I look forward to meeting the princess whenever she gets here.”
I don’t fully understand the magic governing the doorways, but I know they’re more stable during the summer—every year on the solstice, all the Realms come into some sort of alignment. We have our longest day of the year; Byrn has a lunar eclipse of all three of their moons; Fiordenkill has a spectacular shower of shooting stars. Some thread runs through all the worlds on the solstice that allows large numbers of people to pass through the doorways. At other times, they’re less safe—people crossing through can cause strange charges in the air of Haven, or make the ground tremble.
Marcus and Willow carefully plan a schedule of departures from the inn at the end of the summit—the rulers of the Realms leave after two weeks, while the lesser ones stay longer, hashing out the details of the broad-strokes agreements made by their higher-ups. It’s not ideal that the princess is late, but one person passing through after the solstice isn’t enough of a risk to keep her away and squander the goodwill of the Fiorden delegation.
I wave a hand, as if to send the political topic away. “Lonan, where is your lovely bride this year?”
The Byrnisian man looks momentarily surprised to be addressed by me, but then he smiles, and his too-many teeth betray him as not being human. I wonder what he would look like in his home world. “She is with child,” he says, jovially, “and you know it’s not our way to travel in her present condition.”
“May the earth bear her up,” I say, remembering just in time that Lonan and his wife possess earth magic. I busy myself straightening the rows of goblets on the back counter, hoping to hear more about the wild princess, but Nessa throws a glance at Lonan and excuses herself. She shouldn’t have spoken ill about royalty in front of a Byrn delegate, I realize. But everyone trusts Marcus. Could I ever fill that role, hearing out the troubles of a world I will never see, soothing anxieties and balancing egos with a few well-chosen words?
Last summer, I studied Adjacent Realms politics from books I “borrowed” from Marcus’s study. So when the Elemental Orchestra kicks up a faster song and delegates fly from the bar to dance, I take the opportunity to lean across the marble toward my uncle. “Is this the year you’re finally going to let me sit in on council meetings?”
“Not yet. Maybe next year.”
His smile is thin, but I scarcely notice. Because just then someone appears on the stairs across the room.
Broad shoulders, copper penny hair, and features sharp as a knife.
Brekken.
I feel a smile spread across my face.
He looks different somehow. It takes me a moment to realize why, but then it hits me all at once. He’s dressed like a soldier, a cloak of fur fastened at his throat. His hair is combed back and tucked behind his jeweled ears—red for his family—and his tunic is embroidered with a pattern of leaves and swords. Brekken came of age this year and joined the High Court’s army. It was everything he’d been dreaming of since we were children.
And then, finally, he sees me. Brekken catches my eye as if our gazes have their own gravitational field. His face breaks into a broad smile as he waves. In an instant I forget all the formality. Almost without meaning to, I take a step toward the stairs.
“I need you for a moment longer, Maddie.”
Marcus’s voice snaps me out of the reverie. Brekken has to wait. Marcus and Havenfall are supposed to come first. I turn to see Marcus’s worried expression. His eyes follow my trajectory over to Brekken on the stairs. But in a flash, his smile returns.
“Can you go get a bottle of the Fiordenkill champagne from my office?” he asks.