Havenfall

by Sara Holland

  Of course, there’s an even worse possibility—that if more Solarians have escaped, they won’t stay on the grounds at all but slip down the mountain to hunt and destroy human families like mine. But there’s nothing I can do about that possibility, except work to seal the door as soon as possible. There must be a way hinted at somewhere in the massive library, and if anyone can connect the dots, it’s Graylin and Willow. I need to keep everyone calm in the meantime and hope that the beast the Silver Prince killed was the only one that got through.

  I head outside and to the stables. It’s the start of a summer day so beautiful it feels treacherous, the sun casting down gentle warmth from a glazed blue sky, the scent of pine drifting on the breeze, one big pretty lie trying to tell me everything is okay. My mind and heart won’t stop racing. I want to run, to burn off some of this jittery excess energy, but even with the bracelet, I can’t leave now. What would that look like to the delegates, that I run at the first sign of trouble?

  Hanging out with the horses always calms me. In the musky, hay-scented warmth and dimness of the barn, I make for the stall at the far end, where my favorite pony, Kitkat, rests. Her ostensible purpose is to be a mount for delegates’ children on expeditions around the grounds, but she’s so obstinate and lazy that her days are mostly spent wandering and grazing. She whickers softly when I pull the apple I’ve carried from the dining room out of my jacket pocket and, once I let myself in, chomps it noisily, her velvety chocolate nose brushing my flat palm.

  But even her presence can’t chase away the tornado of anxiety whirling in my thoughts. The loft shows in bits and pieces through the cracks in the floorboards above me, bathed in soft light. I can see the stain in the ceiling where I must have spilled the wine last night. Spilled the wine kissing Brekken. The glow I felt then has been replaced by a piercing ache, a vine with so many pointless questions for thorns.

  Where is he?

  What has he done? How long has he been planning it?

  The kiss—did he mean it? Did he mean any of it? Or has our whole friendship been a means to an end?

  It felt so real. How could he betray me? How could he break my heart?

  He couldn’t have been plotting anything then—we were kids. And trying to pinpoint the threshold—the exact point when we shifted from real to not, assuming his vanishing is what it looks like—will make me crazy. But still I can’t stop going around in circles. First the jolt of remembering his lips on mine, his hands on me; then the nausea of guilt and betrayal. Naïve, I was naïve. Just like when I was a kid, when I looked out the window, saw a shadow skirting the house, and dismissed it as nothing. I’m too distracted by a sunny sky, a pretty face.

  And now Marcus is paying the price—all of Havenfall is paying the price.

  Soft footsteps from outside the stall startle me. I didn’t hear the barn door open. I straighten up hastily, swiping the back of my wrist across my eyes just as Kitkat’s stall door opens.

  Irritation mixed with shame shoots through me when I see Taya standing in the doorway, a pail of feed in her hands. Why is she always around during my worst moments?

  She raises her eyebrows at the sight of me. Her eyes are shadowed, dark circles under them—she can’t have gotten much more sleep last night than I did—but she looks otherwise put together in leggings, a plaid button up, and a soft T-shirt, the sleeves of her flannel pushed up around freckled forearms. Wisps of pale hair escape from the braid lying over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t expect to find the Innkeeper in here,” she says, setting down the bucket in front of Kitkat; the horse nuzzles her cheek before diving in.

  “I’m not the Innkeeper,” I say, standing and brushing hay off my pants. I dreamed of hearing that title for so long, but now it just piles me with guilt and fear. “That’s my uncle. I’m just filling in until he gets better.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Taya asks.

  “Uh …” I didn’t think about that bit of the lie. “Bad flu.”

  “In the summer?”

  “Hey, it happens.”

  Taya’s eyes narrow, as if, for the second time in twelve hours, she knows I’m lying. Somehow it was easier to lie to the whole dining hall full of delegates at breakfast than it is to lie to her in this cramped stall now.

  I reach for something to put her off the scent. “Last night, you said you had important stuff to do with your life,” I say, winding my fingers into Kitkat’s mane for emotional support. “What did you mean?”

  Something Marcus told me once when teaching me how to charm delegates: everyone loves talking about themselves. Keep them talking—always have a question ready—and you control the conversation.

  She blinks. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious,” I reply, offhand. “You’re kind of mysterious, you know.”

  “Says the girl who materialized out of the woods at o’dark hundred last night.” She eyes me, the corner of her mouth twitching up and ending the ruse of seriousness. “Maddie, are you a werewolf?”

  A laugh breaks unexpectedly out of me. “Only if you’re a vampire. You were out there too.”

  She does have the pale skin, I think absently, the dark circles beneath her eyes that are somehow kind of sexy. The tragic past, the leather jacket. I wonder where our vampire myths came from, if they were ever rooted in one of the Realms.

  She smiles, steps past me—her shoulder brushing mine in the cramped space—and lifts a hand toward the small, high window set into the barn wall. In the sunlight, she turns her hand from side to side. “Not burning.”

  “Not sparkling either.” I heave a sigh of mock disappointment. “And here I had such high hopes.”

  “What, regular old people aren’t your type?” She does the raising-one-eyebrow thing again—not skepticism this time, but maybe a little bit of a challenge.

  I shoot her a surprised look. “Why, how old are you?”

  She glares. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m nineteen, twenty in October.”

  I’ve already drawn breath for another hopefully witty reply, but her last words pierce right through me.

  Nate. He would have been twenty in October too. His birthday is always the second-worst day of the year, after only the anniversary of the attack, of his death in April all those years ago.

  Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t stay in here anymore. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I just remembered I have to be somewhere.”

  Taya tilts her head at me, confused, but I don’t meet her eyes. Just give Kitkat an apology pat and hurry out of the stables, brushing the hay frantically off my clothes because the scent reminds me of Brekken and brings it all rushing back, the memory of what we did just a few feet above in the hayloft. His touch, confident, not nervous like I was. Like he knew exactly what he wanted. And here I was, thinking what he wanted was me.

  I grit my teeth and push away thoughts of Brekken, of Nate. I’ve had plenty of practice losing people I loved. And I have to get my shit together if I’m going to help run Havenfall. I know that. But right now, the seemingly constant threat of tears is back again, stinging my eyes, making pressure build in my chest and throat. It seems like the only way to keep ahead of it is to stay in motion. Outrun the panic, outrun the tears.

  It’s not until I’m well away that I realize how neatly Taya dodged my question about her big life plans. But that doesn’t matter now. It’s time for my first commitment as interim Innkeeper.

  The observatory is all the way at the top of Havenfall’s main building, a little glass dome sticking out at the highest point of the peaked roof, ideal for taking in the summer sky and the glorious mountains in all directions. Maybe it’s some kind of Realms magic, but somehow the paneled glass captures all the light in the sky and multiplies it across the polished oak table. Even on the cloudiest of days, this room is bright and cheerful. On sunny days, the deep blue carpet blends into the view to make you feel like you’re sitting in the sky. And at night, the windows cast thousands of spe
ckles of refracted light over everything and make you feel part of the stars.

  It was here, one night a few years ago, when I first looked at Brekken and thought, holy crap, he’s beautiful. We’d snuck up in the middle of the night just so I could show off my knowledge of constellations, but then everything shifted under my feet. And ever since then, I’ve never set foot here and not thought of him, the stars in his hair.

  But I’m here on business, I remind myself. Delegates book this room when they want to impress. Today is my first chance to make a good impression as interim Innkeeper.

  Soon after I sit down, the delegates enter. Lady Mima of Byrn sporting an opalescent pendant the size of my fist, practically glowing against a night-black jumpsuit. And Saber Cancarnette, an ethereal Fiorden guy with hair, skin, and eyes so pale he looks like a ghost, in a long, impeccably tailored silver fur coat.

  At breakfast, they asked me to sit in on their meeting, but they still look skeptical that it’s me instead of Marcus. And I can’t say that I disagree with them at the moment.

  Graylin is there too, but he warned me earlier that he’d need to stay in the background to avoid any appearance of interfering in the meeting. He greets the delegates and gives me a quick shoulder squeeze as he sits down next to me. You’ve got this, he mouths at me, and I try to smile.

  I sit with my hands in my lap, trying to stay still and inconspicuous while Mima and Saber begin their negotiations. It turns out that the jewels Fiordens wear in their ears actually originate in Byrn—which is why they’re such a mark of status; only noble families have the Havenfall connections needed to obtain them. Add that to the long list of things I didn’t know. I slide my phone out of my pocket under the table and peek at it for just long enough to open up a text file. I hope phones are a foreign enough concept to the traders that they won’t notice me typing notes.

  Mima, the Byrnisian delegate, produces a briefcase filled with a jaw-dropping array of jewels of every cut and color and size. Diamond-like stones that seem to suck in the sun and spit it back out tenfold, red gems that glow even though the dirt of the mine still clings to their rough surfaces, blue ones that seem to come naturally in intricate patterns like snowflakes, but are the color of sapphires and big as my palm. In response, Saber, the Fiorden, unrolls a small bolt of soft white cloth, to which he’s sewn fur swatches in a rainbow of colors and textures.

  Animals in Fiordenkill, Brekken’s told me, aren’t just shades of black, brown, gray, and tawny like they are here. They’re blue and red and gold and green—

  But there I go again with thoughts of Brekken. That won’t lead anywhere good. I blink hard and try to concentrate on what’s being said, the transactions.

  There’s no universal currency between the Adjacent Realms, so everything is done by a barter system. This year, it seems like the blue snowflake gems are in, because that’s what Saber has his eye on. They haggle and negotiate and decide in the end that three cases of the gems will be transported to Fiordenkill over the course of the coming year, in exchange for seven cases of a rough, warm-looking purple fur, one case of a slinky black fur with gold spots, and two cases of a rich, lustrous red.

  But just when I start to think I might get through this meeting without making an idiot of myself, Mima carefully closes her briefcase and turns to me.

  “Who is running the transport channels, now that Frederick has retired?” She speaks precisely, each word delivered carefully to minimize her Byrn accent. “Who can we speak to in order to arrange this?”

  My mouth goes dry. I remember Frederick, a stately old rancher from town who was in on the Havenfall secret, who helped Marcus man the transport of goods between the doorways all year round. I remember a conversation with him at the bar last year, where he told me he was retiring and moving to Florida. He must have told me the name of his replacement. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t remember. My cheeks burn as the silence stretches.

  My phone vibrates silently in my hands. I look down out of habit and see a text from Graylin. LEE REISS.

  “Lee Reiss,” I say automatically. Then a memory clicks—Frederick’s assistant at the ranch, a clever younger woman who always seemed to know a bit too much when she came by the inn to pick up packages in her beat-up minivan.

  “Oh, of course,” Graylin murmurs, as though he’s just remembered Lee too. When the delegates aren’t looking, he drops me a wink, and I smile weakly.

  “If you want to write a letter to arrange a shipment, my lady, I’ll be sure it reaches her. What’s your room number?”

  Mima sighs in poorly hidden exasperation. “Three forty-nine.”

  I stab the number into my phone and try to decide which element of today’s particular cocktail of emotions is the least bad. Fear or shame or grief or betrayal. I force myself not to apologize again as we all stand up and I shake Mima’s and Saber’s hands.

  The mountains look like a painting on all sides and the sky is as blue as Mima’s gems. I wish I could soak up all this serenity and let it drown the anxiety gnawing at my heart.

  This—being in the room where deals and business and politics are happening, shaking hands and having the delegates learn my name—is what I wanted. And I need to step up, or I’ll let down not only myself, not only Marcus, but every single soul here, human and otherwise. Graylin and Willow, the Silver Prince and the Heiress, Jayden and Taya and everyone else. Shit, the whole planet, if I’m being honest with myself.

  I have to push through. I have to be better.

  Even if it feels like the magic has turned to poison.

  9

  I avoid the dining hall when lunch rolls around, a time that always puts a pit in my stomach. Not like I’m not used to it from every single day in school, taking my lunch and eating alone in the library or outside, my back to the school’s brick wall, looking out over the parking lot. But this isn’t supposed to be my life at Havenfall. This is supposed to be the place where I belong, I’m welcome, I’m my true self.

  And yet I can’t face the delegates, their questioning gazes and whispers too low for me to hear. I want to not worry about anything for half an hour. If Brekken were here, he’d sneak out with me and we could take a walk through the woods or lounge by the side of Mirror Lake. But he’s not here. Maybe I can help Willow with something mundane or play a game of table tennis with Taya.

  But they’re both occupied when I duck into the staff common room. Loud and crowded as it is, Taya is in one corner, her face mutinous. I can’t see Willow’s face; her back is to me, but there’s tension in her bunched-up shoulders. I drift over, acting like I’m just out for a sandwich and chips from the lunch spread set up along one wall, but straining my ears to listen.

  “I was very clear that everything below the first floor is off-limits,” Willow is saying coolly. Her voice low, but not low enough. I blink, my hand freezing for a beat too long as I go to pick up a PB&J. Below the first floor? The only thing below the first floor is the tunnels.

  “I’m sorry.” Taya’s cheeks are a hectic pink, her posture tense with her hands stiff at her sides. “I honestly just forgot.”

  I’m torn between feeling bad for her and being concerned that she was in the tunnels. I’m sure Willow did tell her to stay on the first floor and above, but I saw Taya in the gardens last night too, so it seems more likely she was just wandering than that she was up to anything nefarious. And Willow can go right to DEFCON 4 when she wants to. But I know her fear—the fear we’re all feeling—is probably making it worse. I decide to intervene, taking my paper plate and edging awkwardly into their space.

  “Um, sorry to interrupt.” I look between them. “Willow, I promised Lady Mima and Saber Cancarnette I’d help them arrange a shipment with Lee. Do you remember her address?”

  Willow blinks, her eyes flickering from Taya to me. Her anger ebbs away. “Of course,” she says, then glances back at Taya. “I don’t want to hear about you being where you shouldn’t be again, do you hear me?”

 
“Of course, ma’am,” Taya says, perfectly charming.

  When Willow turns and glides away, Taya slumps back against the wall, miming wiping sweat off her brow. “Thanks for that,” she says with a crooked smile.

  “No problem.” But I didn’t come here just to get her off the hook. If she was in the tunnels last night at all, even if it was just an accident, I need to know why. And if she saw anything.

  “So, um, you were in the tunnels?” My voice trembles a little.

  Taya’s smile fades. “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to be down there—”

  “I’m not mad,” I say. “Just, what brought you down there? They’re not exactly pretty.”

  Dirt floors, stone walls, claustrophobia, darkness. Shadows. Monsters. Blood. I sit down on a battered ottoman nearby, balancing my plate on my knees, suddenly not hungry anymore.

  “Nothing really.” Taya sits down a few feet from me, her hands twisted together on her lap. “I—I got turned around after cleaning up the ballroom, and something just kept pulling me further down.” She looks down at her hands, like she might be able to see through the woven rug, through the floorboards, down to the tunnels. “I can’t really sleep in a new place until I’ve explored it.”

  Something about her voice is weary, like she’s explored too many new places. But if she went down there after cleaning up from the dancing, it must have been late, after everyone else was in bed but before I saw her in the garden. Maybe she was there around the same time as Brekken, if the Silver Prince’s claims about him are true.

  “Did you see anything down there?” I ask. My breath comes short as she opens her mouth to respond, and I’m not sure why, not sure what I want her answer to be. If she saw Brekken. Or if she didn’t.

  “Not down there, no,” she says. She meets my eyes squarely. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Maddie? Because yesterday you were worried about a mountain lion, but I really doubt there’s one running around in the tunnels.”