Claire woke up when Lotte shook her.

“We’re here,” the exile whispered.

Claire blearily rubbed sleep out of her eyes and brushed newly dyed brown strands out of her face. It had been a nerve-wracking few hours on the road; the path crowded with other wagons and carts all gossiping of Eidan’s proclamation and what they’d do with the reward if they found a Dorran. It was lucky Claire had ordered everyone to dye their hair or they’d have been caught within ten minutes of riding out of Autun not long after dawn. They’d been questioned twice by over-eager men and women, but their party’s superior number had prevented any serious conflicts.

She groaned as Lotte playfully punched her shoulder. “Come on, sleepy. I wanna see the Maellwyns. I wonder what they’ll be like?” She lowered her voice. “Mebbe they’re nicer than yer folk when it comes to exiles.”

“I don’t know,” Claire said, then laughed, seeing her own half-awake expression reflected in Maen’s as he stretched out stiff joints.

She fell into line behind him as he climbed out of the cart, admiring the pale red and white tessellated patterns on the road. Glancing behind her, Claire saw how steep the terrain had been as Tarn unhitched his tired horses from the cart. Talking softly to both mares, he led them behind the rest of the group.

“We’ll take the horses but get the Maellwyns to hide the carts along the cliff later,” Maen explained. “There isn’t the storage space once we’re through their gates.”

Turning to look ahead, Claire shaded her hand in front of her eyes. For a second, she thought she saw a salamander sitting in the clouds, awe-inspiringly large. “Is that you, the Saura?” she muttered but there was no reply. Since that time in the forest outside Autun when Claire had first thought she’d seen the Dorran elemental leader, she could have sworn she’d seen her everywhere in the skyline, but the female salamander never spoke. Grandfather told me elemental leaders spoke to their human counterparts. That’s me now, so why won’t she speak? Is it because I’m too new at the job? Claire made herself look away with a shrug. She needed to be alert to her surroundings. The tang of salt hung in the air. To her left, the land stretched for miles, green and fertile, and it was squishy underfoot like the dirt was damp. To her right, the ocean crested the horizon. Ahead of her, a high wall of water extended from sky to road.

“How do we get through?” She gasped.

“The Maellwyns have no need of gates,” Maen said. “If someone comes here with bad intent, they drown crossing through that. If Eidan came here with treachery in his heart, he won’t have survived. If someone comes as a friend, it is as though the barrier doesn’t exist.”

Claire glanced at Maen. “Thank the salamanders we’re on the same side then,” she said as they approached. She watched as others in their party crossed the barrier unharmed, but still pressed close to Lotte. It seemed incredible that anyone could pass through without drowning.

She clutched onto Lotte’s hand and held her breath as they passed through the water, but Maen had been correct. They didn’t even get wet.

Ignoring her rapidly beating heart, Claire gaped at the vision before her. Maellwyn Manor didn’t have outbuildings like those of Dorran Manor, and instead of being located on a hill it was built into the cliff, waves breaking far below. The building itself was much bigger than any castle or palace Claire knew of from textbooks in her world. The surfaces of Maellwyn Manor were so white and smooth that the sun reflected off them and hurt her eyes so that she had to shade them to take anything else in. She made out white colonnades and at the very top of the building, domed roofs of bright blue. Dark pots full of clambering plants and white and blue wildflowers were lined up at the base of the building, though she couldn’t tell the type for the slowly descending mist coating everything. It lined her arms and she was sure her curly hair was frizzing something wild too.

She blinked the moisture away. Ahead of her was an enormous archway, dazzling in its pure whiteness. Palms clustered on either side of it. If she squinted, she saw a figure standing by the door. As their party drew nearer, he waved one arm in the air in greeting then strolled down stone steps to meet them. His long face was unshaven, and Claire noticed that he wore a silver and blue threaded tunic.

The man stopped at the sight of the rag-tag group, taking in their messy hair and plain, dusty attire. He stared openly at Claire’s dark curls, then glanced over at Maen who gave a slight nod.

As though he remembered his manners, he jerked his head. “I welcome you to the House of Maellwyn. Do you come in the spirit of peace and harmony?”

He was looking at her, Claire realised, rather than Maen, because she was Head of Dorran House now. She’d better act like it.

She managed a clear, “We do,” and the man extended his hand to her and then Maen.

Once the formalities were over, Maen grinned as he slapped the man on the back. “Good to see you, Jemroth. It’s been too long since last I visited with Lord Dorran.”

Jemroth laughed. “A good year or so I believe.” He turned to Claire. “Forgive my rudeness. I’m Jemroth. Advisor to Lord Maellwyn. You must be Lady Claire.” He paused while Claire nodded in a daze. “On Lord Maellwyn’s behalf, I welcome you and your party.” He paused and looked sideways at Maen before he went on. “I require some of your time right away, if it pleases you. Lord Maellwyn is eager to speak with the legendary Lady Claire.” Jemroth shrugged at Maen’s raised eyebrow and dropped his formal tone. “It’s hardly that surprising.”

Claire looked to Maen for direction but caught herself just as quickly. If she were going to be a leader, she’d better take a leaf out of Marcus’s book and start acting like one. “We left our carts outside. Can you conceal them?” she requested.

Jemroth nodded. “Indeed, Lady. I’ll send some lads to move them into our shed. As for your horses,” he glanced over to Tarn and Rael who held onto reins tight, “some of our boys will stable them on our grounds. We have partly prepared the guest wing for you. You’ve arrived earlier than we expected.” He clicked his fingers and men and women in light blue and silver cotton attire appeared from behind dark corners and tall palms. They silently reached for reins or headed down the path to the outside world. Still others waited for further orders, standing to attention with hands softly clasped in front of them.

“Take our guests to their quarters,” Jemroth instructed these assistants.

Lotte scowled and kicked at a loose pebble as she was forced to separate from Claire and follow the others to the left where a smaller entryway opened. Claire mouthed “See you soon,” and hoped she wouldn’t be too long. Having Lotte nearby had lent her a kind of strength and without her she already felt a little lost.

Jemroth coughed politely and Claire blushed. He was waiting for her. Maen had already walked inside. Claire followed Jemroth dutifully.

Beyond the small stone steps, the atrium Claire found herself in was wide and bright, the ceiling so high Claire couldn’t see what the roof was made of. Every few paces, huge windows went from ankle height to above her head, letting in natural sunlight. Brackets in the whitewashed walls held bronze lamps, but they were unlit. In the cool shadows, people moved silently, cleaning and polishing or gliding about with hands full. Their movements were smooth and graceful. As the group passed through an archway and headed down a corridor, a woman streamed water from her hand into a pot plant. Claire stared. The woman didn’t hold a glass or a pitcher – she was using magic.

“We have arrived.” Claire started at Jemroth’s velvety voice. He took a few steps forward, pushing at two wooden doors painted periwinkle blue. They swung heavily inwards. Claire entered the room, the smell of brine and fish suddenly assaulting her, Maen close behind.

Jemroth bowed low. “Lady Claire and Maen to see you, my Lord.”

A human shape shone in ethereal silver-blue light coming from an oval skylight overhead. She blinked, her eyes slowly adjusting to take in the man who was seated before her on a raised dais much like her grandfather’s. The throne – made from timber bleached by the sea – had been carved to appear like a breaking wave. She kept her head held high as she stepped onto a dyed blue carpet which led to Lord Maellwyn. She was a Dorran. She must appear in control, no matter how out of her depth she felt.

Claire managed a sketchy curtsy as Lord Maellwyn stared at her with eyes that possessed disconcerting milky-white irises edged with dark blue. His hair and beard were white and his face aged, but even so, he seemed full of life and vitality, energy crackling out of him like dolphins leaping and performing for an audience. His smile was warm and disarming and though they looked nothing alike, she was reminded of her grandfather.

“Thank you, Jemroth. Please see to dinner,” Lord Maellwyn said. As Jemroth left, he returned his gaze to Claire, and tapped a long finger against his throne. Claire saw immediately he wore a ring like the one her grandfather had gifted her, only this one was inset with a pearl instead of an opal. “What brings you to us, Lady Claire? It is evident that you are the bearer of bad news. Lord Dorran would tell me first if he were journeying our way. If he needed our help to close the Rift he would have asked, and you wouldn’t be wasting your time stopping here when you could be in the Riftlands unless it was important.”

Claire hesitated. She liked this strange man but how much should she tell him?

Lord Maellwyn studied her face. “Our two Houses have tried to put our magical differences behind us. I know that it is difficult for you to know what to do, but please, I beg you to trust me. It is natural for you to be reticent, but I need you to tell me everything …” He took a deep breath. “… for only together can we discover what Eidan is up to.”

“Oh yes,” Maellwyn went on at Claire’s obvious surprise. “Lord Dorran sent a messenger the day that the Councillor arrived to warn me of his early presence and of fears someone was setting up Dorran House for atrocities committed across Kelnarium. And now here you are. A coincidence? I don’t think so. Now tell me, what happened?”

Claire gathered her thoughts. “Eidan razed the Manor, convinced I was responsible for the villages and farms burnt near Kelnariat. He killed my grandfather and Aed, thinking they’d helped me escape justice.” She swallowed. “Dorran House is scattered, most of us murdered. Only eight of us have made it to you.”

“So few?” Lord Maellwyn roared. “It must have been a massacre!”

Claire stared at the floor, trying to ignore the ache in her throat.

“I’m sorry, I forget myself. I did not mean to shout,” Lord Maellwyn apologised, his voice softening. When Claire looked up, the gleam in his eyes had dulled, all his vitality fading. “This is terrible,” he went on. “The worst news possible. I … What can Eidan mean by it?” He fell silent. When at last he spoke again, he seemed old and tired. “I will consult with my advisors while you bathe. If there is anything else you desire …?”

“I want to go home to my family, but you can’t give me that, can you?” Claire said wistfully.

Lord Maellwyn frowned. “You are young to bear this burden, no easy task, even for an adult. Rest. Relax. Take comfort in the little peace your stay here can provide.”

***

Claire was a little late to dinner. She’d sought out Lotte to make sure her friend was as well looked after as she was, then soaked longer in the bath than she’d intended. As she entered the huge dining hall, everyone turned to face her. She’d been left a floor length periwinkle-blue silk dress to wear, tied with a white sash and tan leather sandals with straps that wound up her bare ankles. Her dyed hair was loose, held back by silver circlets. Dressed like this, she felt like a lady, yet many of the people lying on cushions around the long rectangular table stared at her in open suspicion. She thought of Marcus as her cheeks warmed under her make-up. He’d have smiled and held up a hand and swept through the hall as though everything was normal. That was a mistake. The familiar pain in her chest thinking about him and what Eidan might be doing to him made it hard to concentrate.

Unlike the dining hall at Dorran Manor, where people sat on benches to eat, the Maellwyns had one big horseshoe lounge that ran right around the room. A diaphanous piece of linen draped over the polished wood and touched the tiles. Blue and silver cushions were plumped everywhere she looked, with people leaning on them with both elbows or placing them under a hip or their bottom.

There was an empty space between Lord Maellwyn and Maen. She headed in that direction, wearing a forced grin that fooled no one, wishing her sandals didn’t slap so loud against the ochre and brown tiles. Whispers followed her as she slid past hard faces. She searched for Lotte and found her wedged between Kiera and Meghan a few places away from Maen and Lord Maellwyn. At her encouraging nod, Claire straightened her shoulders and swept the rest of the way to the vacant space.

Little insects had been tipped inside every lamp in the manor at nightfall. They glowed a pale blue and emitted a pleasant, low hum. Lord Maellwyn got to his feet, as did the young man beside him. Maen had mentioned a son. This must be him. His dark hair was as unkempt as her mother’s kitchen mop and his wide eyes seemed to change from grey to blue to green and back again, constantly shifting like the colours of the sea. He looked as kind as his father. Both wore white linen shirts with a blue linen cloak flung over one shoulder and held in place with a silver brooch twisted to look like a wave. As they sketched a bow, she saw they wore a silver circlet like hers.

“Join us,” Lord Maellwyn said.

She clambered awkwardly into place beside Maen, smoothing her dress. He held onto his silver goblet of wine as she nearly tipped it over.

“Sorry,” she murmured. It took her a few seconds to get comfortable.

Lord Maellwyn reached gracefully for a clay pot that Claire knew from world history class was called an amphora and poured some wine into the goblet in front of her. Propped awkwardly on one elbow, she sipped delicately at her goblet as he glanced at his son.

The boy stretched his hand across the table to Claire. “My name’s Gareth,” he said. “Lord Gareth if you want to be formal, but most Maellwyns don’t bother when it’s just us.”

“Good to meet you, Gareth,” Claire said.

Maen nudged Claire gently and swept a hand around the top section of the table to take in Rael, Kiera, Meghan, Gwenivere, Tarn, Lord Maellwyn, Gareth, Jemroth and two other solemn looking men dressed in formal Maellwyn garb. “We were discussing Eidan with Lord Maellwyn when you arrived. Specifically, his new declaration against our House and who set him against us.”

They noticed her stares and nodded, unsmiling. “We’re advisors to Lord Maellwyn,” one explained. “My name’s Kress and this is Sleath.”

She acknowledged them with a smile, then put down her goblet and reached for a purple plum from the large clay fruit bowl.

Lord Maellwyn cleared his throat. “Now, where were we?”

“You asked me if I knew anything about Eidan’s past that isn’t common knowledge,” Gwenivere said, dark grief shadows under her eyes. She acknowledged Claire with a quick glance, “I’ll start again for Lady Claire’s sake.”

Claire leaned forward, cupping her chin with her hands, both elbows on a cushion. This should be interesting. Her grandfather had explained to her how Eidan had risen to power, but he’d admitted he’d never known much about his beginnings for all they’d been friends.

“He was raised in Bambridge Village, near the mountains and a short day’s ride from Kelnariat,” Gwenivere said. “His father’s grandparents were rich cloth dyers who fell on hard times and had to leave Kelnariat for a more modest existence, so he grew up with little. He always said that made him more compassionate.” She sighed. “I can’t understand what’s changed.”

Lord Maellwyn stroked his tangled beard. “Nor can any of us.” He popped a grape into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Are the rumours true that one of his ancestors was a Dream Mage?”

“Yes, he was their leader in fact, but that was long before my time,” Gwenivere explained. “Eidan came to me for testing as a young man. He had a small amount of talent and a strong belief fostered by his misguided grandparents that he would one day take my place. I disabused him of that notion, and he left Kelnariat in a huff. Luckily, he never dwelt on it.”

“No, he was apprenticed to a merchant, wasn’t he?” Maen said.

“Yes, that man was his making. Cload taught him everything he knew and knocked his grandparent’s arrogance out of him. Eidan ran his own successful business for years, which is how I found him again. I saw right away that he had a sense of morality and didn’t support Selk. I introduced him to Praine, and the rest is history.”

“We keep coming back to the same thing,” Claire said, losing her shyness as she thought about everything that had happened. “Eidan is a man of fairness and justice. He believes in those principles. He’s turned on us because he thinks we no longer uphold those values, a belief which serves someone else’s purpose nicely.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Lord Maellwyn. “What word is there from the towns and villages near you?”

He hastily swallowed a handful of honeyed nuts. “There’s rumblings of discontent, but they cannot breach our defences. Most of their ire is directed at your House, truth be told. Eidan’s quarrel is with the Dorrans, after all.”

“And for how long do you think you’ll be left alone?” Rael snapped.

“Peace, friend,” Lord Maellwyn waved a hand, and servitors cleared the bowls of fruit and nuts. “Whatever happens, remember we have been allies for far longer than Eidan has known me.”

Claire glanced around the hall. Though he sounded certain of his people’s loyalty, she wasn’t so sure. For one thing, there were the black looks shot her way. She frowned, puzzling over what they could be about, as servitors began placing bowls of steaming green vegetables and tender meat in front of the diners. For a few minutes, everyone’s attention turned to the food.

Claire was starving. She took a bite, enjoying the unfamiliar spices. There was more flavour here than there’d been at Dorran Manor. She couldn’t wait to tell her parents and Marcus about her adventures. Her mum loved to cook and – no, she couldn’t keep thinking these things because the yearning distracted her. She made herself focus on the many hard stares still directed at her.

“Lord Maellwyn,” she said, keeping her voice low, “why does everyone look at me like I’m a bad smell? If you’re on our side, why aren’t your people?”

Lord Maellwyn blinked, like he hadn’t expected her question, then drained his cup to its dregs. “It’s my wife, you see. She was as popular in her own way as Leya was with the Dorrans and it was Kelt who killed Nanami creating the Rift.”

Ice slid down Claire’s back. “If this is true, how can you be sure none of them will betray us to Eidan? There’s a reward on our heads.”

Lord Maellwyn glanced at his pearl ring like he took strength from it, then looked up again. “They don’t hate you. They distrust you. There’s a difference.”

“I can’t see it,” Claire muttered.

“They’re afraid,” Gareth broke in softly, leaning past his father. “Afraid you look too much like Kelt, afraid you’ll kill us all. They don’t know you.”

Claire couldn’t meet his eyes. She thought of the Beast. Perhaps its repetition of “Betrayer” meant it knew there’d be a human cost to closing the Rift and that this cost would tear people apart. She pushed her bowl of meat and beans away. She was no longer hungry.