by Sara Holland
“You were the last person to visit her, the other day,” Dad said, sounding wary. “Did she seem any different? Did she say anything strange?”
I shake my head. This, at least, I don’t have to fake—I’m as at a loss as he is.
“No, she was … the same as ever. You know.” I swallow. “Passive. Quiet.”
At least when she wasn’t lecturing me about my feelings for Brekken, or dropping mysterious hints about Winterkill and the gauntlet.
“What about your uncle? Does he have any ideas?”
“Nope,” I say, distracted. “Not in the slightest.”
Dad lets out a breath. I can imagine him putting his head in his hands. “Part of me is happy,” he says, distant, like he’s talking more to himself than to me.
For the first time, it sinks in for me how much turmoil he must be in. He thinks Mom killed Nate—always has. Even though I think Dad never stopped caring about her, it was the only explanation that made sense if you didn’t know about monsters from other worlds or black market agents stealing children’s souls. When Mom admitted to killing Nate herself—insisted it was the truth—what was Dad supposed to think?
“I didn’t want her to die,” Dad goes on.
I chew my lip, not sure what he wants me to say, or if I should say anything at all.
“But this doesn’t feel right. She was in federal prison. Maximum security. Who was she mixed up with who could have broken her out?”
I swallow and shrug, though he can’t see it. “I don’t know.”
It’s not a lie. I might have some ideas. But I’m hoping I’m wrong. I twist the corners of the blanket around my fingers, wishing it could still give me comfort like it did when I was a kid.
“There’s nothing either of us can do except wait,” Dad says eventually. “So let’s just wait. She’s got to turn up eventually.”
I don’t know if I want that to be true. But the pain in Dad’s voice gnaws at me. The worry. He doesn’t know about the soul trade or the Silver Prince or any of it. For all he knows—for all I know, for that matter—Mom just caught a lucky break somehow. Maybe she’s already on her way to Canada or Mexico or somewhere where she can be safe.
But I know Dad doesn’t think that’s the case. Neither does Marcus. Neither do I.
We can all feel it. Something is very wrong.
16
Within a couple of hours, just as he predicted, Marcus gets a call from the Sterling Police Department, asking to interview both of us. We drive down to the condo to meet them, spending a hasty hour arranging stuff around the apartment to try to make it look lived-in before they arrive.
The interview with the two cops goes about as well as can be expected. Kindly Officer Oh and brusque Officer Sanders treat me like a kid. They don’t expect me to know anything. I keep my eyes down and play the part of traumatized kid with a dead brother and murderer mom. It’s not hard, as familiar with the role as I am. They only question me for about twenty minutes, but it still leaves me feeling drained and empty. When the front door closes behind them, their last question still echoes around in my head.
Did she have any enemies? they’d asked us, expressions serious. Does anyone in your family?
In the ensuing silence, Marcus clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Sitting in the austere, personality-free living room—decorated more like a hotel room than a gathering place for family—I take a gulp of the coffee he made for the cops. It’s lukewarm now. I’m distracted, thinking, as I have been for the past few hours, of Mom’s face the last time I saw her. Her expression gave no indication this would happen.
If she was planning an escape, why didn’t she let me know, or at least drop some hint so that I didn’t lose hope? The more I think about it, the more uneasy I feel. She was a woman ready to die, and she was friendless except for Marcus and me.
Did she have any enemies? Does anyone in your family?
There’s the Silver Prince. The soul traders, the Byrnisian man who found me in the basement of Haven’s antique shop, who ordered the black market buyer Whit to kill me. And of course there’s whoever broke into our house all those years ago to kidnap Nahteran. Mom was a host, a rescuer of captive Solarians, and so she must have made herself a target.
Yes, we have enemies, Mom and Marcus and me.
Later, in my room, I get out my laptop and run what feels like a million web searches for Sylvia Morrow, setting a search filter for results from the last three days. Different phrases, tweaks on the same questions. Sylvia Morrow prisoner. Sterling correctional Colorado jailbreak. Sylvia Morrow associates.
The hunt for my mom has intensified since the jailbreak. There are articles now from national sites, not just Colorado ones. There are social media posts that I can’t bear to look at. I can’t deal with the vitriol poured out on Mom. But there are no sightings. No updates. Nothing new.
I want to go out to look for her, maybe tomorrow once the sun rises. I get as far as laying out the supplies on my bedspread: my backpack, my wallet, a dagger Sal gave me to protect myself. But then I realize I don’t know where to go.
It’s late. I need to get to bed. I still haven’t totally recovered from the journey into Fiordenkill, which took a toll on my body. I have no appetite, and I keep thinking I see motion out of the corners of my eyes, when nothing’s there. I can’t stop the internet search. I know nothing’s going to come up that I don’t already know. But it’s like a compulsion. I can’t stop myself from looking anyway, turning over every digital stone. I can’t let go of the faint possibility that I could be missing something, that if I just search the right words, refresh the news site one more time, I’ll find the key …
A knock sounds at my door. One, two, three raps in short succession.
My head shoots up, a jolt of startled adrenaline shooting through my veins. Mom, I think immediately. She made it here. She found me.
I sit stock-still for a second, frozen in indecision. What do I do? Do I let her in?
I’m being stupid, I realize. What are the chances Mom has crossed the more than two hundred miles separating Sterling from Haven, waltzed into Havenfall—getting around the law enforcement that must be keeping an eye on the town—and is now knocking at my door?
Shaking my head, I get up and go to the door. But in the instant between turning the knob and opening it, I can’t help but take a deep breath. One full of mingled hope and fear.
It isn’t my mom on the other side. Of course it isn’t.
It’s Brekken, looking serious.
A wave of feeling rocks me back on my heels—disappointment that Mom hasn’t magicked her way here after all, relief and gladness to see Brekken, and worry about the grave expression on his face. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, which is unusual for him, but his posture is all soldier. I don’t think he could slouch if he tried.
“This is new,” I say, gesturing to his outfit, trying for lightness.
He flashes a smile at me, but there’s a hard look in his eyes. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I step back.
In the quiet moment that follows, I realize I’m kind of annoyed with him. He knows how complicated and thorny my feelings toward my mom are, but he hasn’t offered a word of comfort since we found out about her escape. Nor since Nahteran’s betrayal at Winterkill. He said he wants to be with me, but that’s two huge blows in less than twenty-four hours, and he hasn’t been there for me. Does he think being together is only about making out and fireworks and barn lofts and sweet nothings?
For a moment, I have a flicker of hope that that’s what he’s here to do now, but the door falls closed behind us and he doesn’t make a move toward me. His posture doesn’t soften.
I turn around and lean against the door with my arms crossed. “What’s up?”
Brekken sweeps my room with a glance, and his eye fastens on the stuff on the bed, zeroing in on the dagger. “What are you planning to do with tha
t?” he asks.
“I …” I don’t know, to be honest. All I know is that it feels awful to be sitting here doing nothing, when Mom is on the run, or worse. “I figured I’d go look around Haven. Check the antique shop maybe. If she was mixed up with the Silver Prince or the soul traders—”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Brekken’s voice is brittle, and I notice for the first time that he’s tense. He doesn’t sit or move toward me, just stands by my bed, facing me with his arms at his sides. A military, disciplined pose, not a friend’s and definitely not a boyfriend’s.
I find myself wishing fiercely that he would just give me a hug. I mean, clearly I need one. That easiness we once had around each other—where did it go?
“She’s my mom,” I say, making my voice brusque to hide my distress. I scoot past Brekken to pile up the stuff on my bed and set it aside, my back to him.
The thought of his mom, Ilya, floats through my mind. I remember how welcoming she was to us when we went into Fiordenkill . Gorgeous, warm, competent, perfect. Bitterness spikes in me. I don’t like it, but I can’t suppress it. I know he’s not the one I should be angry at. It’s just fear making me ready to lash out. Making it worse is the fact that I don’t even know why I’m afraid. Wherever Mom is, she’s not behind bars, waiting to die. I should be happy.
“Listen, I think her disappearance might be a message,” he says, slowly and carefully. “Meant for Marcus, or for you. Think about it. Your mother was off the chessboard. She has no magic and no power. Who would risk exposing themselves to humans to help her escape?”
Brekken’s tone gentles a little. He steps toward me. “You and Marcus have the most at stake, and you told me she was a lost cause years ago.”
Tears prickle at my eyes. “What are you saying?”
“That maybe someone took her and wants the Innkeepers of Havenfall to know it.”
“Someone, like who?”
Brekken pauses, then squares his shoulders. “Like the Silver Prince, for one.”
I knew what he was going to say, and yet—my chest tightens at the thought of the Silver Prince, with his cold eyes and vast, calculating mind, getting his hands on my mom. I rock back, and Brekken reaches out and touches my arm lightly, guiding us both down to sit on the edge of the bed.
But— “That’s not possible,” I say brusquely. “The Silver Prince wouldn’t be able to survive in Haven, nor Mom in Oasis.”
“There are ways,” Brekken snaps. “If your brother hasn’t managed to supply him with the armor or more phoenix flame, he could have human lackeys doing his bidding. Or some combination thereof.”
I have my mouth open to make a retort, but as Brekken falls silent, I realize I don’t have one. I remember in the antique shop where I found Sura, Whit—the human trader who would go on to try to drown me in Mirror Lake—was taking orders from a Byrnisian man I didn’t recognize. Even if he’s not on Earth himself, the Silver Prince clearly has some way to communicate with his men here. If I were him, I would task the humans with breaking Mom out of Sterling Correctional, and then bring her to the town of Haven. Not to the inn itself, but into the sphere of safety for Realmspeople it provides, so that Byrnisians could take her from there.
Maybe that’s why I felt so driven to look for her in town, I realize with a slow, dawning horror. Maybe Brekken is right—the Silver Prince has Mom—and my subconscious was just the first part of me to realize it.
“Clearly I only know as much as you do,” Brekken goes on. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility. And if someone does have her in Haven, I don’t think you should be running around town alone, on a whim.”
I take a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do, then? Just sit here and do nothing?”
“It’s not nothing.” Brekken’s voice drops; he leans ever so slightly closer to me. “Marcus still isn’t well, Maddie, you know that. You have a duty to the inn.”
The words feel like a precious necklace and a heavy chain, all at once. “Do you really believe that?” I ask. “Or are you just trying to protect me?”
“Why not both?” His hand slips across the space between us and wraps around mine. “You have a duty to keep yourself safe. For Havenfall. Are you really not at all concerned that the ruler of an entire world wants you dead?”
“Of course I’m worried about it.” I glare at him. “But I can’t just hide out in some bunker somewhere and wait for the Silver Prince to forget about me.”
Brekken raises his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course you have to go. But can I come with you into town?” He gets up, paces, and grins ruefully at me. “You know how I hate feeling useless. Just … I’m scared for you.”
“Sure, come with.”
The thought of spending time with him doesn’t make me as happy as it normally would. I look away from him so he won’t see the truth in my eyes.
I’m scared for me too.
The next morning, I shoot Marcus a text, letting him know I’m going out for some air and Brekken will be with me. Then we head downstairs and out onto the sweeping front lawn.
It’s a gorgeous day, at odds with the gray storm of worry and resentment churning inside me. The sky is an almost shocking August blue, and underneath it the mountains gleam like carved emeralds. A slight cool breeze stirs the pines, and the gardens spill over with exuberant bushes and flowers and trees, the last hurrah of summer before fall sets in. Delegates, in between meetings, stroll through the gardens, chatting and laughing. But then, I hear something odd. I hear the sound of an engine and tires crunching over gravel.
I look up. An old tan Toyota Corolla is trundling up the drive, slow and cautious around the bends. I freeze. We aren’t expecting any guests. No one should be coming this way.
Brekken is tense beside me, his hand hovering near his waist. Together, we watch the car get closer and closer. When it’s close enough to see the faces of the two people inside, shock jolts through me, tearing a gasp from my lips.
It’s Taya.
And in the passenger seat … Nahteran.
My body goes on autopilot, carrying me down the slope toward them. The small part of my brain that isn’t frozen by shock knows our new arrivals shouldn’t be seen by the delegates in the garden. I walk down the middle of the road toward Mirror Lake. I don’t know where Brekken went. Maybe to get Marcus, or distract the delegates. I know he said something to me before I started down this hill, but I can’t remember what. My ears are ringing.
Taya sees me and stops. We’re still, frozen halfway between Mirror Lake and Havenfall. Through the dirty windshield, I can see that her eyes are wide, her hands rigid on the wheel. She puts the car in park, right there in the middle of the road, and gets out, leaving the door open behind her.
She’s cut her hair. It falls loose around her shoulders now, not long and braided the way she always wore it before. She’s wearing a strange top, made out of one looping piece of cream-colored fabric, like something out of Star Wars, and skinny jeans and the same Docs she always had. She looks good, healthy. Her eyes are bright and the color is high in her cheeks. I take in all these details at once, trying to wrap my mind around how this can be possible. How she can be here. Here at Havenfall. Here on Earth.
She runs toward me and throws her arms around me.
I can’t move. I can’t make myself move. But I feel. I feel everything, a library of sensations compressed into a single instant. I feel her weight against me and the warmth of her, her hair brushing my cheek. Her smell is a mix of both the lavender shampoo that I remember and something else, something other, a spicy, flowery scent that I can’t place but I think maybe I’ve caught before in the tunnels around the doorways. I’ve spent so long shoving away every thought of her, every memory, every wish, and in the space of thirty seconds she’s cracked it all open.
Taya.
But the sound of the car door opening and shutting again makes my spine stiffen. We’re not alone out here. I extricate myself from
Taya and step back, looking at her open face and huge eyes once more before turning to the sound. To Nahteran, walking toward us.
In contrast to Taya, he looks nervous, uncertain. He wears jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and his steps toward me are slow, measured. It’s so quiet that even though he’s yards away, I hear it when he takes a deep breath.
“Maddie—”
“Stop.”
The command issues from behind me, up the slope toward the inn. It’s cold and deadly; Brekken’s voice.
I turn around. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts, like a tetherball being slammed around by so many different emotions: joy, fear, fury. I squint against the late morning sun. Brekken is standing a few yards up, his sword out and gleaming.
Behind him, Marcus and Sal have somehow already caught wind of what’s happening and come out onto the drive. They rush down the hill to catch up.
I finally manage to find my voice again. “What are you doing here?” I croak. I’m not sure who I’m talking to—maybe everyone—but Taya is the only one close enough to hear me, only an arm’s length away still.
She stares at me, blinking. “Terran—Nahteran—he …”
“I’m sorry.” Nahteran’s voice takes over when Taya’s fades out. He half turns so he’s facing me and Brekken and Marcus and Sal, and pitches his voice to carry. “I’m sorry. For showing up here unannounced, and for the rest of it.”
“You betrayed us,” Brekken says.
I’ve never heard his voice like this, colder than ice and sharper than an arctic wind. I’ve never seen him like this, absolutely still and coiled like a snake set to strike. It’s scarier than watching him fight the Silver Prince’s guards and the guards in Winterkill. It’s one thing to know someone is a soldier and another to see that side take over. In this moment, Brekken seems like a stranger, the gentle boy I love so much gone and someone else stepped into his skin.
“You used us to get to the phoenix flame armor, and you stole it.”
