Hotel Magnifique(41)

“The ma?tre is sending out a welcome party, along with the ambassador’s fee to let us into their backward country.” Chef grunted. “Everyone was supposed to be outside twenty minutes ago. Get to your cart.”

My eyes widened as her words sank in. “I’m going outside?”

Chef snapped a towel at my skirt and stormed off.

Minutes later, I stood at the rear of sixteen carts waiting to pass through the lacquered doorway. At the sight of sunshine, my heart sailed up, plummeting a moment later when Alastair appeared.

I’d snatched glimpses of him since his office but never this close. As he walked along the line of workers, his boots clicked an uneven rhythm—a limp I hadn’t noticed before. Bel’s warnings sounded in my ears. When Alastair got to me, I looked down, meek as a kitchen mouse, while he passed me by.

“Everybody move!” Yrsa boomed.

Behind me, suminaires surrounded a large object hovering beneath a silk sheet. A suminaire I’d seen at the escape games concentrated as he blew through his miniature weather vane, levitating the object, while the other suminaires coaxed it through the air. I tried to peek under the sheet, until Alastair and Yrsa joined them, starting the procession.

I forced my feet to walk. With a little muscle, I heaved my delivery cart across the demarcation and onto a stone walk that surrounded a mountain lake. The sunshine was blinding, but I gulped it in.

I was outside. Elsewhere.

“Move,” Alastair said as he came through the door.

I pushed forward, past buildings surrounded by pine trees and framed by Skaadi’s Bjor Mountains. But nothing compared to the dwellings on the water.

At least fifty bateaux manoir—mansion boats—filled the crystal cove like colorful floating palaces. There were two in all of Durc. Zosa would often count their decks on her fingers. If she tried to count these decks, she’d need more fingers.

Hundreds of locals stood on boat decks, watching us. But soon every eye turned toward the largest bateau of all—a gray monstrosity marked with a black fox, the sigil of Skaadi—where a single woman stood.

The ambassador’s golden hair was the only thing soft about her. She was sharp from every angle, from jutting cheekbones to razor-thin brows. Her skin was stark white. Guards hung at her back, gleaming rapiers crossed against their hearts. More guards lined every level of the manoir’s decks, crossbows aimed at the floating object under the silk sheet.

“Ambassador.” Alastair gave the sheet a tug and the object glided forward on nothing but air. “This is for you.”

The ambassador didn’t look impressed. “If you expect my queens to grant your hotel access to our country, it costs coin, not whatever magic that is.” She tossed a hand in disgust. “Where is the chest I was promised?”

“Right here.” Alastair yanked the sheet away. Gasps rang out as sunlight glinted off tight stacks of pale pink coins: Skaadan urd, made from the metal urdiel mined in the Bjor mountains. The urd formed the shape of a great chest suspended in air.

Pushed into the toes of stockings, urd were said to lead you toward your fate. I wouldn’t mind a pocketful myself. In Durc, pink jewelry hewn from melted-down urd was flaunted on only the wealthiest streets; a single urd was the equivalent of a thousand Verdanniere dublonnes. That chest was shaped from hundreds.

The entrance fee to Skaadi.

Weeks ago, Béatrice had said Alastair needed guests’ money. It must be to bribe nations to loosen their rules on magic. Dignitaries around the world probably lined their pockets while Alastair stole their workers.

The suminaire with the weather vane blew down and the chest broke apart in a splash of pink. Two guards scurried over. “They’re real!” shouted one. Rapiers and crossbows lowered.

“My end of the bargain,” Alastair said. “I’ll sign whatever papers you require over dinner. We’ll plan for a stop next week.”

“Not that soon,” the ambassador said coolly. “You’ll have access beginning in the new year.”

It was still summer. The new year was months away.

For a moment, anger flashed on Alastair’s face. Then he gave the same brilliant smile I’d seen in his reflection during the staff orientation. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Surely you can let us visit sooner than the new year.”

The ambassador crossed her arms. “Would you rather I forget about your hotel altogether?”

“Very well,” Alastair said. “So we have an agreement?”

The ambassador didn’t respond; instead she walked down the row of carts, stopping before she reached Alastair. Right beside me. “What do you do for the hotel?” she asked.

Hundreds of faces turned toward me. “I—I work in the kitchens,” I stammered.

“Have you seen the magic harm anyone?”

“Ignore the girl,” Alastair said. “She’s just a kitchen maid. I assure you the magic is safe.”

The ambassador lifted a cool brow. “In Skaadi, the kitchen maids prepare food that nourishes our people. Their opinions are held in higher esteem than any hotelier.” Her pale blue eyes burned. “Answer my question, girl. Is the magic dangerous?”

My thoughts stumbled. I pictured Zosa. I could scream for help. The ambassador had guards. She could save us.

I caught Yrsa’s glare. If Alastair suspected anything, I’d never forgive myself. “There is no danger,” I forced out.