Havenfall

by Sara Holland

  Taya speaks slowly, like even in the haze of blood loss, she’s choosing her words carefully. “What was it like when you saw it today?”

  I shake my head as I dampen the cloth with antiseptic and screw the cap back on. “Terrifying.”

  I hope my bullet did its job, hope the Solarian is in pain right now. Payback for doing this to Taya. My hands shake.

  Calm down, focus on something positive, I hear Dad say in my head. I close my eyes briefly and call up memories of Nate—not the kitchen, not the end, but other times. Playing together on the little hill behind our house, racing down with flattened cardboard boxes for summertime sleds so often that the grass started growing sideways. Nate helping Mom bake brownies, his head barely clearing the top of the counter as he stirred a bowl of rich brown batter. When we played hide-and-seek and I would hide in the same place every time—curled in the nook behind the old tweed couch—but he’d always look everywhere else first and still pretend to be surprised when he found me.

  Carefully, I peel the ragged edges of her T-shirt away from the wound. Taya’s breath hisses out through her teeth. Then I lift the damp cloth, its harsh chemical smell stinging my nose.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and my words have a weird sort of echo in my own ears. Like it’s someone else talking, telling me: “This is going to hurt.”

  13

  Anxiety coats the air of Havenfall for the rest of the day.

  Sal still has people out patrolling the grounds, has for almost sixteen hours straight now, but nobody’s seen the monster since it bit Taya and I shot at it. I think we’ve managed to keep the hunting party a secret, but the delegates know something is wrong. I saw it in their frowns and darting eyes at breakfast, after I left Taya in the infirmary and dragged myself to the dining hall to stammer through announcements. All through the day as I sat in on meetings and negotiations, I heard it in the whispers that trailed after me, even if I couldn’t make out the words.

  The beast is still out there, and the door is still open. I couldn’t find the Heiress anywhere today, so no answers on that front, and Marcus is still asleep. Nothing is fixed.

  Now the Elemental Orchestra is playing in the ballroom like every evening, but even from my bedroom I can hear that the strains of music are more subdued, less joyful than usual. I’ve skipped out on tonight’s celebration to sit up with the Heiress’s papers, to try to make sense of the hundreds of lines of cramped writing. It reads like nonsense. Oblique references and dates and times with seemingly no connecting thread.

  But now, after catching her meeting with Whit, it seems increasingly important to figure out what the hell she’s up to. And one thing in the documents is clear enough. A list of dates and times next to a Haven address. The antique store. A meeting, happening tomorrow morning.

  I text Willow and Graylin, telling them that I’m feeling sick and probably won’t be able to make it to breakfast tomorrow. Guilt stabs through me as I do. I know the delegates will have more and more questions the longer we keep them cooped up inside, and by ditching the inn, I’m leaving it to Graylin and Willow to field them. But I don’t want them to worry about me while I get to the bottom of whatever the Heiress is doing—and maybe get some clue as to how to close the doorway to Solaria. If the delegates find out it’s open, we’ll have a riot on our hands.

  It’s hard to get to sleep, with threats both below in the tunnels—the door—and outside—the beast. I can’t decide what would be worse: if it’s still on the grounds somewhere, or if it’s slipped past the guards and escaped into the mountains. If it’s here, everyone at Havenfall is endangered. If it’s elsewhere, the whole world is.

  And weighing even heavier on my heart is the fact that Marcus is still unconscious. Last time I checked in on him he looked better, his breathing even, and the color in his cheeks made it seem like he was simply asleep. But he still wouldn’t wake up. I sat with him, talked to him, and even shook his shoulder. Nothing. Graylin’s been alternating between helping me with meetings and healing Marcus, but he seems wrecked, his eyes drooping through our meetings even as his posture stays always perfect. I don’t know how long he can go on like this, I don’t know what kind of magic he’s using on my uncle, and I don’t really want to ask about it either. Because that would mean … I don’t want to think about what we’ll do, either of us, if he doesn’t wake up soon.

  I dream that Brekken and I are walking along one of the high mountain paths above the inn, not holding hands, but close enough that our fingers graze together with each step. The sky is blue above us, the valley green, Mirror Lake like a disk of silver far below. Brekken turns to me, and I dimly remember that something is wrong, I’m supposed to be angry, but I can’t remember why. He’s so lovely, his eyes so bright blue they might be holes to the sky, his hair and smile dazzling. He leans in for a kiss, and my heart starts to gallop, my breath whipping away in the mountain breeze.

  But when I lift my hands, I don’t feel his sharp jaw dusted with stubble, his cool skin and short hair. Instead, my fingertips meet a warm throat and fine, soft hair that falls freely around my hands. The breath brushing my face smells like flowers and spearmint, and when I open my eyes, the ones looking back are brown, not blue. Taya blinks and cocks one eyebrow, and I realize my fingers are still knotted in her hair when the ground beneath us vanishes.

  Suddenly we’re falling, falling, the world becoming a terrifying vacuum of sky and pines and jagged mountains. They rush up around us, sharp as swords, and I close my eyes, brace for the impact …

  Then I land and I’m in a cupboard. The cupboard, glass shattering somewhere outside. But I’m not a little kid. I’m sixteen, and my elbows and knees ache where they’re pressed against the wooden walls. Someone is screaming outside, begging me to save them. When I call out and bang on the doors, nothing happens. The walls just constrict tighter around me.

  I wake up confused, my heart beating painfully fast, and I’m tangled in my sweaty sheets. The scream of metal on metal and the cold embrace of water reverberate in my mind, new ingredients in the familiar nightmare cocktail.

  Sitting up, I let out a shuddering breath and glance at my phone. It’s the middle of the night. And if the dream told me one thing, it was this: I have to follow this lead with the Heiress all the way down. Brekken is mixed up in it too. I need to know the truth or I might never sleep soundly again.

  And the other part of the dream, with Brekken, with Taya—what was that about? Sure, she’s attractive, even with her rough edges and hard questions. If we crossed paths in Sterling, I might flirt with her, if I was feeling especially brave that day. But my heart has always belonged to Brekken.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve been worried about Taya after leaving her with Enetta’s healers; maybe this is my subconscious telling me to check on her? I pull on a hoodie over my leggings and tank top and pad downstairs.

  I’m on my way to the infirmary, but something stops me when I’m halfway across the second floor—the door to the library is open, a lamp on inside. I glance through the doorway. Taya’s curled on a couch by the picture window, her pale hair almost glowing in the lamplight. The window behind her is black, nothing visible outside. The thought of what could be out there in the dark makes my heart beat faster, but it doesn’t seem to trouble Taya.

  I pause in the doorway. I expected her to be asleep in the infirmary; I expected to just poke my head in, confirm she was all right, and get back to bed. I feel suddenly self-conscious about my rumpled hair and ragged hoodie. But before I can retreat, Taya looks up at me. Raises her eyebrows.

  “Hey.” She smiles. She looks tired, the shadows under her eyes pronounced, but a thousand times improved over last night. She wears a black long-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans, and there’s no sign of her horrible shoulder wound.

  I step in and slide the door shut behind me, not wanting to wake anyone else. The only sound is the rain outside and the faintest buzz from the lamp. The smell of paper and books is a comfort and a sting all a
t once. I’ve been avoiding the library. It was here, last year, when I finally realized Brekken might feel the same way about me as I did about him. We were cooped up because of a summer thunderstorm, bored and restless, taking turns reading to each other out of Outlander, exaggerating the sexy bits and trying to get the other to blush. Until I tensed up during one of the action scenes and Brekken oh-so-casually reached over and took my hand.

  I stopped reading and turned to him, and I’d never really understood before then how eyes could sparkle, but his were definitely doing all the things I’d only ever read about. Sparkling, glittering, smoldering. The air between us was suddenly charged somehow. We might’ve kissed then if a gaggle of bored Byrnisian delegates hadn’t charged in at the exact wrong moment.

  Taya clears her throat, snapping me back to the present. “What’s up?”

  I blink, willing the heat on my cheeks to fade away. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” I ask, crossing the room toward her.

  Taya lifts her right hand from the book, stretching her arm out in front of her and rotating it. “No need. This magic stuff is pretty cool.” She meets my eyes. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

  I shake my head and perch on the arm of the couch. I look down at the book she’s reading—something that looks Byrnisian and relatively recent, with shiny ivory filigree spreading over the brown cover. It’s called The Silver Prince.

  I laugh in surprise. It’s startling to think that the Silver Prince I’ve met—the man who I think, I hope, is starting to see me as more than Marcus’s little niece, as someone to respect—is the subject of whole books. Though of course it makes sense; he’s impressive enough.

  “Anything in there I should know about?” I joke.

  But Taya’s not laughing. Her brows draw together as she glances between me and the book. “Guess I was just curious, after I had the honor of meeting him in the woods today,” she says quietly. Her eyes flicker up. “Maddie, doesn’t something feel … off to you?”

  “About …”

  “Just—him. The Prince.” She shakes the book.

  “Um …” I remember last night, how the Prince took me to the observatory and told me his theories about magic in the calm heart of the storm. “Not really? I mean, he’s intense, but …” I think of the shooting stars flashing over his head. “I think he means well.”

  “He said something about you, something weird. ‘She’s perfect. She’ll save us.’ ”

  My face heats with a mixture of pride, surprise, and discomfort. “That sounds like a compliment, honestly.”

  It feels good to know that at least one person at Havenfall other than Graylin has faith in me. Especially now that, more and more, I don’t have faith in me—to find the beast, close the door, stop the Heiress’s smuggling, fix everything. Keep Havenfall safe. But I don’t like the direction this conversation is going.

  “What? Don’t you agree?” I mean for it to sound teasing, but it comes out weighty and breathless, almost pleading.

  “You know I do. It’s just … the way he said it.” Taya seems to grope for words for a moment, then sighs and looks down, setting the book aside. “Sorry, it’s nothing. So why are you awake?”

  I feel strangely hurt and defensive. “Nothing. Just nightmares, the usual.”

  “I get that,” she says, gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I’m about to shake my head, but something stops me. My usual answer to that question is hell no, but if anyone would understand, it’s Taya. I take a breath, trying to get past the feeling that something is sitting on my chest, cinching my ribs, stopping me from a full inhale.

  “I told you that a Solarian killed my brother, right?”

  Taya nods, looking not surprised, but troubled. “And you saw it.”

  “Sort of.” I look down at my hands twisted in my lap. “I was home with my mom and Nate one night when I was five and he was eight. We were baking brownies.”

  I rub my eyes, as if that will chase away the memories flashing behind them. But it doesn’t. I see the scene so clearly: Nate in a red kid’s apron, pouring brownie batter into a pan with the utmost serious concentration. I remember stirring the batter of another bowl, sneaking licks of the spoon while Mom’s back was turned as she checked the oven.

  “But then we heard a window break.” I speak slowly at first, careful, but with Taya’s silent attention on me, the words come faster and faster. It feels good to talk, good to be listened to. When I was with Brekken, he was an open book, he told me everything and I told him everything. We knew everything about each other. It’s weird, now, to try to explain something so massive to someone new. The dark wound that my whole life has grown around, healed over, but which still festers deep under my skin.

  “Mom put me in a cupboard, but there wasn’t enough room for both of us. I guess the Solarian got there before Mom could find another hiding spot. I … I heard it attack Nate and I just froze.” This is where I would choke up, usually, but right now I feel hollow, empty. Like there’s a pit in my chest instead of a heart and lungs. Maybe the nightmare wrung the last bit of feeling from me. “If I’d left the cupboard earlier, if I’d tried to distract it …”

  But there’s no if, only after. After, my memories become fragmented, scattered moments as sharp as loose razor blades: our front yard washed with red and blue police lights, a funeral without a casket and without Mom. Sitting in the front row between Dad and Marcus, too numb to cry. The stares and whispers at school, the sitting alone on the swing set, watching the other kids run around with their friends and sisters and brothers. After, every good memory I have of Nate comes with a counterweight, the memory of his scream.

  “You were a kid; it wasn’t your fault,” Taya says. “But …” She casts her eyes down, uncertain. “You didn’t see any of it? How did you know it was a Solarian?”

  My stomach drops. “I saw a little through the doors. Blue fur and orange eyes.”

  “And your mom didn’t say anything?”

  I shake my head. Now the grief is starting to creep back in, the shadow elephant. “Our neighbors called the police, but they didn’t get there until after Nate and the monster were gone. When they did get there, Mom told them she killed Nate. And she’s been saying it ever since.”

  Her eyes widen. “Why? Even if the police wouldn’t believe that the killer was a monster from another world, why would she say she did it?”

  “We’ve never talked about it, but I think …” A lump forms in my throat and it’s hard to talk. “I think she was trying to protect Havenfall. She was afraid that someone would believe her. And the secret of the realms and the doorways would get out.”

  Taya looks horrified. She tries to school her face into neutrality, but her voice shakes when she says, “That’s noble, I guess.” She doesn’t look like she believes it.

  “But it meant I lost her too,” I whisper. “And now that’s been the party line for so long, I think even she’s forgotten it’s not the truth.”

  No remorse. That’s the phrase that kept coming up in the trial and on the news. From the outside, the case looked murky—no body, no history of violence, no explanation. If Mom had fought back, said she was innocent, maybe people would find some other explanation. Even if she shouted from the rooftops that it was a Solarian, an insanity ruling would keep her off death row.

  But instead she stuck by the first and most important lesson Nate and I got as children. Havenfall is our secret. You both must always protect it.

  Soon, she’ll give her life to protect that secret. And sometimes I feel like she’s already given her soul.

  14

  Eventually, morning comes. I wake up in my room exhausted from the witching-hour heart-to-heart with Taya, with a lump of dread already fully formed in my chest about the task ahead of me.

  Pale morning light streams through my windows. Birds sing outside, and somewhere a woodpecker drills away at a tree, thudthudthudthudthud. A memory wells to the surface of my mind. Once, when I was thirte
en, a woodpecker landed on my windowsill and started going at the wall as if all the bugs in the world were hidden inside. I ran and brought Brekken back to my room to see it up close, the bright red plume of his head, the black-and-white-striped wings. I watched the grin unfurl across Brekken’s face, and though he’d been in my room a hundred times before, that was the first time it made my stomach flip to see him inside, sitting on top of my old quilt.

  One bite at a time. Dad still tells me that all the time, and it’s become my mantra these past few days. I can only do one thing at a time. So you’d better choose carefully, and whatever you do, do it well. I shoot him a quick text before silencing my phone and shoving it into my backpack. Miss you.

  Right now, my One Bite is hauling out my old bike—the jeep can’t get through the Silver Prince’s gravity barrier—and pedaling down the winding road to Haven, with the hope of catching the Heiress in the act of smuggling. I know she’s trading magic artifacts—or what she claims are magic artifacts—but I still don’t have the first guess as to why, or how she’s getting out of the grounds.

  Is it for money? The Heiress has always seemed so grand, so above all the petty concerns that drive the rest of us. But maybe not. Does she want the notoriety? Even if only 3 percent of people in the wider world believed a story about Havenfall, that would be enough to make the leaker famous—and enough to ruin us. Neither of these motivations seems to fit the Heiress, though, no matter how I turn them around in my head.

  The Silver Prince’s storm, meant to keep everyone inside Havenfall, only stretches to the grounds’ borders. When I slip through the increased-gravity barrier, holding my breath against the feeling of weight crushing my lungs, the rain stops; the woods beyond are dry, as is the road. By the time I reach town, it feels intensely strange how normal everything is. I’ve only been at Havenfall for four days, but it seems like weeks we’ve been cut off from the world.