Havenfall

by Sara Holland

  The smell of coffee and fresh-baked bread hits my nose right away, settling deep in my chest and making me feel a little less like a zombie as hunger asserts itself. Graylin sits on the sofa, a tray of food on the coffee table before him. But he looks exhausted and worried, and the hope that poked its head out of the ground when I came in slithers back down. I go over and sit next to him, dread gathering in my chest. Willow draws up a chair across from us.

  “He’s still the same,” Graylin tells me, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “He’ll take water, but nothing else.” Graylin looks down, shakes his head. “It’s strange. Not normal unconsciousness. It’s almost like Marcus is in stasis.”

  “Is that usual, with …” My voice cracks; I take a breath and try again. “With Solarian attacks?”

  “I’ve been reading up on it,” Willow offers. “I can’t find any instance of someone surviving a soul-stealing. So I’m not sure.”

  She and Graylin exchange glances. It occurs to me that I’m the only person in the room who has direct experience with Solarian attacks. For a second I’m back in Mom’s bloodied kitchen; I flinch. Is this what happened to Nate?

  Stop. I can’t think about that.

  “Can I see him?” I ask.

  “Of course.” Graylin walks me to the door of their bedroom, and hangs back at the threshold while I go in.

  Marcus looks the same as he did last night. It’s eerie—his chest is moving, he’s breathing, but he’s too still and uniform to be sleeping. I touch his hand—it’s cool, with his pulse fluttering faintly under his skin.

  “Hey,” I murmur softly. “Try to wake up soon, okay? We all need you here.”

  Of course, nothing happens. All at once it’s too much. It’s like talking to Mom through the prison glass, useless words falling on dead air. I feel tears and panic rushing up. I stand and back toward the door, unable to take a breath until I return to the living room.

  “Did Brekken say anything to you?” Graylin asks. “He’s still missing, and Sal didn’t find anything of interest in his room. All his things are still there.” He picks up Marcus’s phone from the coffee table, enters the passcode, and scrolls through it, brow furrowed in concentration.

  “No,” I say, my voice small. “No, he didn’t. And I’m afraid I need a new set of keys. Mine have gone missing …” I trail off, not wanting to fill the air with even more suspicions of Brekken. The instinct to protect him is still strong, some slow-on-the-uptake part of my heart wanting to pay him back for all the times he took the fall for a vase I’d broken, or hot chocolate I’d spilled, or a delegate’s toe I’d stomped on.

  Willow looks at me with sadness as I return to the couch. “It could be something innocent. A misunderstanding.”

  But I can tell she doesn’t really believe that. She hands me her set of keys and scoots a plate full of pastries and bacon in my direction. But I can’t eat even though I’m starving. The idea of eating makes my stomach turn over.

  “We’ll have to tell something to the delegates,” Graylin says.

  “Their meetings.” My heart starts beating fast as worst-case scenarios run through my head. During the summit, Marcus is everything to everyone, as he always says. Any agreement struck during the summit needs his signature. He smooths over any conflict and ensures that everyone is friends again by evening, when everyone gathers in the ballroom.

  “Just take it one event at a time,” Graylin says cautiously, coming to join us.

  My eyes meet his. He looks as tired as I feel, dark shadows beneath his eyes. I wonder if he, too, only thought ahead as far as the dawn. If anything beyond that was too horrible to consider.

  Lead Havenfall. It’s what I wanted, what I’ve worked for. But I thought I’d have ten years, twenty, before it was my turn. Decades to live here and learn from Marcus all the history, the etiquette, the intricacies of interaction between Fiordenkill and Byrn that ensure that our summers see balls and not battles. I thought I’d always have Marcus.

  But what’s the alternative? That the peace summit ends? A strangled feeling descends on me as I imagine everyone filing back through the doorways. It would be bad enough to end the summit early, but it’s no longer the solstice. Letting more than a handful of people through the doors at once could upend the balance, cause earthquakes or worse on the mountain. No. That’s not an option.

  “What do I have to do?” I ask.

  “Write everything down. Keep good records of every meeting. Marcus didn’t have to,” Willow says with a slight grimace. “That memory of his is unparalleled.”

  My stomach sinks. Marcus has a photographic memory—paired with his charm, it’s what makes him a great Innkeeper, that he never forgets an appointment or a face. Every year at the summit, merchants from both worlds bring goods to sample, and they meet with the other Realms to strike deals that will be carried through the rest of the year. He keeps tabs on everything happening under this roof, knows the goings-on of each day like the back of his hand, always. A small, spiteful part of me is tempted to comment about how I would be more useful if Marcus had included me in the business side of things before now. But Graylin doesn’t need to hear that.

  “I’ll tell the delegates he’s sick,” I say, thinking out loud. There’s a croissant in my hands, though I don’t remember picking it up. I rip it apart, letting the pieces scatter on the plate. Nervousness churns my insides. “I’ll ask them to tell me if there’s a meeting they want me at. I’ll make a schedule.”

  Graylin hesitates a second, then nods. It’s the start of a plan, but what none of us mention is that it won’t help me at the meetings themselves. I don’t know the politics, the undercurrents that go into every year’s Accords.

  “We’ll go with you where we can,” Graylin says. “Some of the delegates are more wary of us than others.” He exchanges a rueful glance with Willow. “Either we’re compromised because of our loyalty to our homelands, or we’re traitors for leaving them.”

  Something inside my chest twists. They already carry so much. I should be able to rise to this occasion. But it sinks in, now, that the summit isn’t just a party. The peace of the Realms depends on it going smoothly.

  When the delegates gather in the dining hall, the sun is streaming down through the high, frosted-glass windows, creating squares of shimmering light on the dark wood floorboards. The kitchen staff has arrayed heaps of food on each of the round tables. Earth food like pastries, eggs, bacon, and sausage; heaps of Byrnisian fruit the color of tropical flowers; the dark, rich meat-and-vegetable broth that Fiordens traditionally drink in the mornings. Tea, coffee, even liquor mixed with juice or tea—some of the delegates like to start the party early. But I notice that few people seem to be touching the booze, like everyone is still on edge.

  It could be any other morning, except for the frisson of tension in the air. Instead of the cheerful greetings and chatter that usually float over the round tables, there are whispers. I can feel the weight of stares on me. I can’t stop looking at the two empty seats near the back where Brekken and I usually sit, claiming our own table so that he can tell me stories about the Fiorden nobility walking past, and I can share the gossip I learned at the bar the night before. Who’s rumored to be sleeping and/or feuding with who, who got too drunk at the celebration and had to be gently escorted to their room by Marcus, who has the longest political agendas, and who’s just here to party.

  Part of me hopes that he’ll walk in now, slide out his chair and grace me with his smile. Reassure me that he’s all right, that there’s some sort of explanation for where he was. But he doesn’t. The chair remains empty.

  I don’t let my eyes rest there as people filter in. There are brightly dressed Byrnisians and more somber Fiordens. Usually they mix and mingle in a show of unity, but now it seems like they’re clustering together with people from their own worlds. Even the staff, flitting among the tables filling glasses of orange juice, serving coffee and mimosas, shoots nervous glances up at the head table.


  Marcus’s chair is empty. I wasn’t sure, when I came in, if I should sit there, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I sit to the right of it. Graylin sits on the other side, and Willow takes my right.

  The Silver Prince is at a table near the front, along with the Heiress—today in a purple velvet gown—and a handful of other nobles from both Adjacent Realms, observing us steadily. When we sit down, he rises and glides over to our table. When I try to catch the Heiress’s eye, she looks away, and I can’t tell if it was coincidental or deliberate.

  “Madeline.” The Silver Prince greets me, his metallic gaze skipping over Graylin and Willow. His suit—a green so deep it’s almost black—gleams in the sunlight, the texture of silk but with structure that seems like it would stop blades. “Marcus couldn’t join us this morning?”

  I smile stiffly, trying to act like everything is fine, but I’m running on three hours of sleep and too tired and scared to really act. “Unfortunately, not yet.”

  The Silver Prince frowns and lowers his voice. “I’ve been considering how we might close the Solarian door,” he says, looking from me to Graylin and Willow. “Perhaps we could attempt it at this morning’s security meeting.”

  A security meeting? Marcus has never let me sit in on one, but I know he doesn’t typically involve guests in the nitty-gritty of keeping Havenfall safe. Why would the Silver Prince be invited? All these thoughts race through my head in a second as I blink, pretending familiarity. “Of course.”

  I momentarily wonder if I should tell him not to come, but that seems dangerous. Starting an inter-realm diplomatic crisis is at the top of my list of things not to do today.

  Besides, he witnessed everything that went on last night. What Havenfall secrets could be worse than that?

  “I’ve identified a team of my best soldiers,” the Prince tells me, as if picking up a conversation we’ve only just left off. His voice is low so as not to carry, but confident. “I haven’t told them anything yet, but they stand ready if needed, to supplement the inn’s forces.”

  Forces. He makes Havenfall sound like a fortress, not someplace designed entirely around the idea of being open. Someplace that’s been at peace for so long that Marcus has never prioritized security over freedom of movement; he hired guards, but made sure they stayed below the radar so the guests scarcely noticed them. He’s always said that having guards in every corner doesn’t make for a good party. But now, thinking about the open doorway far below our feet, I can’t help but feel like that was an oversight.

  When the Prince at last has returned to his table, Graylin leans over and whispers to me. “It’s time.”

  My stomach sinks, like it wants to stay where it is as I rise to my feet. A surprised murmur goes through the room, as if they didn’t notice Marcus wasn’t here.

  “Good morning,” I say, ignoring the sound. “Welcome to the first official day of the Summit at Havenfall. My uncle Marcus, the Innkeeper, has unfortunately taken ill and sent me to address you in his stead. I’m so pleased you’re here.”

  I take a deep breath. “I apologize to any of you who were disturbed by the commotion last night. A staff member strayed through the Byrn doorway and was injured. She is being treated and will recover, but will not be permitted to return to the inn.” I keep my voice bland, like I rehearsed on the walk over. Try to project calm, even if I feel the opposite. “However, until we determine that her circumstances haven’t given rise to suspicion among the people of Haven, I must regretfully close off the grounds to entry and exit. No one, delegate or staff, Fiorden or Byrnisian or human, is to leave Havenfall without permission from myself, Graylin, or Willow.”

  Surprise and alarm play over the sea of faces. A few mutters of protest. “Again, I apologize for the disturbance and inconvenience,” I say. I try to imagine what Marcus would say if he were here. “But I know it won’t stop us from having an, um, festive and productive summit to celebrate the unity of the Realms.”

  If Marcus said that line, people would cheer, but no one does now. Heat stains my cheeks as I stammer a thank-you and sit down. Maybe people are hungover from the opening celebrations, or tired from being woken up by screaming the night before. I’ll tell myself that.

  After breakfast, the five of us from last night—Graylin, Willow, Sal, the Silver Prince, and myself—head back down to the tunnels to try to figure out how to close the door. Everyone is jittery. Graylin is tense, clearly anxious to return to Marcus’s side even though he checked on his husband over breakfast, Willow wrings her hands, and Sal’s jaw is set grimly. My palms are sweaty, my stomach set to a low, constant churn. No daylight reaches down here, and I feel like we’re walking back into last night in all its terror.

  Once again, the Silver Prince is the only one who seems calm, and I can’t help but marvel at his easy, unconcerned stride as he walks ahead of me into darkness. A long, slender sword hangs at his side, the jeweled handle catching the lamplight. The rest of us have weapons too: Sal has two pistols holstered in his belt, Graylin and I have daggers, and Willow has her weather magic and knife. Sal’s guards—three guys and one lady, all burly and dressed in black—are stationed at the juncture, but nod at Sal and part to let us through. I wonder what they think about all this. They most likely have never seen a Solarian before—as far as I know, the attack on my family was the only sighting of one on Earth for the last thirty years or so. I wonder if that would be better or worse, not to know what the monsters look like.

  We continue past the juncture and into the Solarian tunnel, the stone all around us seeming to swallow the sound of our footsteps. The lamps have been relit, and Sal and Graylin carry flashlights, but it still feels too dark. Like the dark itself is alive, shifting and growing around us. Too soon we come to the end and are faced with the Solarian door, the crack in the stone with shadows swarming inside.

  Is it just me, or has it gotten wider? Trying to look brave in the hopes that it’ll make me feel brave, I step up and put my hands to the stone on either side of the opening.

  Graylin’s breath catches. “Maddie …” He takes a stride forward, but nothing happens, and he doesn’t pull me away. A moment passes in tense silence. The stone is cold and seems to vibrate very slightly, though it might just be my imagination.

  “Can we just push the stone shut?” Willow asks, her voice hesitant. “It seems almost too simple, but …” She trails off, looking to me. I shrug and step back. I have no idea where to start, and Willow’s idea seems as good as any other.

  “Okay.” Now she approaches the doorway, eyes flickering over it like it’s a jigsaw puzzle or sudoku board. She glances at the Prince and addresses him politely. “What is your gift, Your Highness?”

  I blink and make a mental note to ask Willow later—have I been meant to address him like that all along?

  He glides toward the door. “Fire.” He traces long, faintly metallic fingers over the jagged crack.

  “Mine is earth,” Willow says. “If I push the stone on either side together, can you melt it and create a seam?”

  Graylin and I retreat, exchanging curious glances as Willow and the Silver Prince take their places. The air shimmers around them, gathering magic. Her raised hands are steady as a statue. She closes her eyes and breathes out and something seems to swirl in the tunnel, intangible but raising goose bumps on my arms. There’s an ominous creak from the stone in front of us, but then the cracked wall seems to grow, stretching like a linen cloth being pulled at from both sides. The faint hissing sound coming from the crack to Solaria dies in the grinding of stone against stone, and the shadows disappear from view.

  Next, the Silver Prince advances, the air above his palms shimmering with heat, like a highway at noon in the dead of summer. I feel the warmth against my face as he runs his hands down the seam, and where his hands touch, the stone glows orange and sags down. Melting, sealing off the crack. He goes all the way down to the floor, crouching to reach, then straightens and steps back as the stone hardens and cools.


  For a moment, I don’t think any of us breathe.

  Then there’s a grumbling, cracking, spitting noise, and the floor beneath us trembles as the wall is wrenched back open. Bits of stone, still hot and smoking, tumble to the floor and scatter. One burning pebble glances off my calf, but I scarcely feel the pain underneath the horror.

  Because the opening to Solaria is still there, and it’s wider.

  After we part—Graylin to sit with Marcus, Willow to the library to find anything that might be helpful, the Silver Prince to I don’t know where—I walk outside, needing to clear my head.

  This wasn’t how day two of my summer was supposed to go. On our way out to the hayloft last night, Brekken and I made enough wild plans to carry us through the summit. We’d hike to the very top of the tallest of Haven’s surrounding mountains and go sledding in June. We’d go riding in the wildflower fields outside town. We’d break into the wine cellar and drink on the roof, under the stars.

  Instead, I have half an hour between this and the next meeting I need to go to, a negotiation between Lady Mima of Byrn and Saber Cancarnette of Fiordenkill, who will barter for jewels in the observatory. At two, food merchants from all worlds will show their wares in the dining room. At four, weather permitting, clothiers will have an exhibition on the lawn. I go over the schedule like a mantra, using it to keep away all other thoughts about how woefully unprepared I am.

  After we left the tunnels, it was all I could do to keep my face neutral, much less contribute. The Silver Prince offered to set up a barrier of Byrnisian weather magic ringing the grounds, and he gave me a bracelet of polished crystal to wear around my wrist that would counteract it, letting me—only me—come and go freely. I don’t like its weight on my wrist, don’t like the feeling that anyone should be stuck here. But for all we know, more Solarians could have gotten out last night. It’s not safe for delegates to be wandering around the woods or into town.