“Taya,” she says. But she doesn’t take my outstretched hand. Dark, unreadable eyes examine my face, and the scrutiny freezes me, makes me want to shrink away. It brings me back to my home in Sterling and the constant stares of everyone there, where I keep my head down and walk fast, hoping to stay under the radar.
But that’s not who I am here, not in the mountains and not at Havenfall. So I hold my ground and meet her eyes, even if something about her gaze feels dangerous. In Havenfall, I am brave. I must be, if I want to prove myself worthy of preserving the peace we celebrate with every summit, protecting the portals to the world’s lost realms of magic. The omphalos.
And in the long run, it’s not like she’ll remember any of this. Marcus always sees to that. No one ever remembers—except me.
Eventually, Taya turns away with a shrug. She throws a leg over her motorcycle, then looks back at me. “Well?” she says after a moment. “Are you coming?”
Surprise freezes me in place. A few moments ago, I’d have said I’d never be caught dead on a motorcycle, but I’m ever more conscious of how dark it is and how far I have to go. I glance at the motorcycle, and Taya must be able to read the hesitation on my face, because she grins.
“I’m a good driver. I swear. But if you’re worried, you can wear my helmet.”
“There’s no need—” I begin, but Taya has already lifted the helmet and plunked it down over my ears. I cock my head, a little charmed and a little indignant, as she turns and strides back toward her bike, seeming to assume I’ll follow.
She pauses and looks over her shoulder at me, lifting one eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather walk. Alone. In the dark. With coyotes.”
Unable to think of a way to reply to that, I trail after her. “So, do I just, um …”
Taya already has her leg over the bike, and it kicks to life with a growl. “Get on behind me and hold on.”
I do as she says, nervous but trying not to hold her too tight. I don’t remember the last time I’ve gotten this close to, well, anyone. But Taya is easy, comfortable as she grabs my hands and situates them so they’re wrapped around her, not resting on her sides. I need to scoot up, my chest pressing against her back.
“Sorry,” I mumble, glad she can’t see me blushing.
“It’s fine,” she replies distractedly, kicking the bike into gear. Then it leaps forward, and under the roar of the engine I hear her oof, because I’ve instinctively squeezed her tight as the unpaved road spools away beneath us. “Mind loosening your death grip?”
“Sorry,” I call again, adjusting my hold and trying to breathe normally. Taya drives us up the road, and I know we aren’t going that fast from the leisurely way trees slide by, but it feels like we are. The motorcycle rumbles beneath me.
“So how did you hear about this place?” Taya shouts as she takes us smoothly around the curve of a switchback. The fresh, damp air whips past, and the last of the clouds are scudding away in the sky, revealing a few stars starting to blink through the gathering dark.
“My uncle.” I have to try the words twice, because the first time the wind steals them away.
“Think you can put in a good word for me?” Taya asks.
A little flame of pride curls in my chest. “I’ll think about it.” I risk taking my hand off her waist to point up ahead, where a ridge juts up dark against the sky. “Focus till we get over there.”
Taya half-turns her head to glance at me. “What’s there?”
“You’ll see.”
Not much longer. The mountains seem bigger now than they did on the bus. The air is chilly and sharp with scents of pine and wildflowers. More stars are winking into existence above us. And—
We crest the ridge. Even over the rumble of the engine, I hear Taya gasp.
Mirror Lake is laid out before us, a silver crescent slash in the landscape, reflecting the night sky perfectly beneath the black line of the bridge. The water looks like indigo silk sprinkled with diamonds, the round moon’s reflection—floating right in the lake’s center—seeming to give off its own light. And on the other side, lit by the pale rays of the twin moons and by gold light spilling from inside:
Havenfall.
My uncle has told me that this place has been rebuilt hundreds of times over the centuries, and of course I know it’s true—the portals in their caves have been here longer than humans, longer than memory. The caves, and the structures the portal-keepers have built on top of them, have been buried by avalanches, burned down in fires, and twice destroyed in wars spilling over from other worlds—Fiordenkill, Byrn, Solaria, and the countless others that at one point or another opened up in the caves beneath these mountains. The inn that currently stands was built by my great-great-grandmother after the ranch house that stood here before burned down. At least that’s what we can tell from the journals she left and the stories Marcus remembers from when he was a child. We don’t know who came before her, or why whoever it was chose her.
Still, it’s hard to believe the inn hasn’t been here forever—it looks so timeless, so natural. The inn is massive, built right into the side of the mountain so it looks almost like it’s growing from the earth. A sprawling creation of cedar and slate, girded by staircases and balconies. A waterfall behind the inn turns into a winding stream that circles the inn like a silver ribbon before feeding into Mirror Lake. A wide paved drive in front holds a mixture of cars and horse-drawn carriages, cherry paint and polished wood, chrome fenders and the flanks of horses standing side by side.
Haven—not the town, but the world, Earth—doesn’t have its own magic, obviously. That’s why the other realms see it as neutral territory. But the spark that lights up in my chest as we crest the ridge is a kind of magic too, I can’t help but think.
We coast down the slope toward the lake. Taya’s spine is rigid, her knuckles tight on the handlebars. She stops the bike before we reach the bridge and kicks out a foot to hold us upright.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. My voice comes out embarrassingly high and breathy. I want to leap off the bike and run. All my tiredness seems to have evaporated. But Taya is still.
“That’s a lot of water,” I hear her say, quietly.
“We don’t have to swim across it. There’s a bridge.”
“I see that.” She turns back to give me an irritated glance, and one of her braids hits the side of my helmet. She swings off the bike, forcing me to grab the handlebars to stay on. Something in her voice lets a chill seep in. I dismount too and pull off the helmet, my legs cramping and my heart beating fast from the ride.
It’s easier to look at Taya when she’s glaring at Mirror Lake and not at me. She’s smaller than I originally thought, shorter than me and slight beneath the bulk of the jacket. Her face is closed off, expressionless.
“It’s safe,” I say. “Look, all those cars got across it fine.”
“You can go ahead if you want,” she says, standing stiffly beside the bike. “I’m walking, so I’ll be slower.”
My stomach twists. She did me a solid, taking me here after I made her crash, even if it was 50 percent her fault. It feels wrong to just leave her now. “I’ll come with you.”