Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(12)

Half an hour and a quick shower later—quick because for all Havenfall’s charms, the ancient pipes can never be relied upon to supply hot water—I plop down on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy blue bathrobe, and dial Dad’s number. To calm the anxiety that rumbles in my stomach as the phone rings, I look around my room, focusing on each of the familiar objects in turn to calm myself. The shelf loaded with impressive-looking tomes on Realms history, which I must have forgotten to return to the library last summer. The small window and the starry mountain-broken sky I can see through it. The quilt beneath me, made of interlocking diamonds of Byrn silk and Fiordenkill velvet; a gift from Marcus to my mom when I was born. Nate had one, too, but I don’t know where it is.

“Hello?” Dad’s voice breaks off the melancholy thought. “Maddie?”

I hear the muted hum of the TV in the background. I imagine him in our cramped living room, exhausted after a long day of fixing wiring and repairing power lines, kicked back on the recliner—but worried, now, because of me.

In a second, the wistfulness is gone and the nerves are back. “Hi, Dad.” I fiddle with the edge of the quilt. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Dad sounds wary. He knows something is up. “Marla’s gone to pick up a pizza and we’re about to watch the game. How about you? Have you made it to your grandma’s yet?”

I know I should feel guilty about coming here behind his back. I should. But it’s hard to feel guilty when such a great relief is filling me up, lifting my spirits. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in months. But I try for a contrite tone when I say, “No. Dad, I … I went to Havenfall instead.”

The sound of the TV clicks off. There’s a long silence, and I twist the quilt between my fingers, trying to parse it. Is he angry? Disappointed?

When he speaks, though, it’s with resignation. “Maddie. You should have told me.”

“You didn’t want me here.” Even though I don’t mean to, I can hear that I sound defensive.

“No, I didn’t,” Dad replies. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be there. There’s a whole world for you to explore.”

There are whole worlds here too, I want to say. But I stay quiet, knowing Dad doesn’t know about the Adjacent Realms, about the magic. He’s visited the inn—I have a dim memory of the four of us, Mom, Dad, Nate, and me, visiting for Christmas when I was very small—but only in the winter when it was empty.

“I’m learning things here too,” I tell Dad. “Marcus is teaching me about the business side of the inn, how to balance a checkbook and stuff.”

That’s a stretch, but I want it to be true. This summer, I’m going to focus on learning, on being a help, so that Marcus will let me stay full-time after I graduate next year. What Dad doesn’t get is that Havenfall isn’t about hiding away from the world. I’m creating a life for myself in the one place I can really make a difference. I failed Mom and Nate years ago, and Havenfall is all that’s left of our family. I won’t run away from that.

“I had to, Dad,” I say, emotion leaking into my voice in spite of my best efforts. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He sighs. “I know you’ve had a hard year, what with … the news about your mother. And you’re almost an adult; you’re old enough to be making your own choices. But I want you to study for your SAT while you’re there. You hear me?”

Tears gather at the edges of my eyes. “I will. And I’ll tell Grandma.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” he says wearily. “I’ll call her. Right after I call your uncle and tell him to keep an eye on you.”

I swipe the tears off my cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Be safe, Maddie.” His voice goes a little quieter, concern entering it. “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know.”

And I do. I grip the blanket, sitting with the guilt. I know Dad cares about me; I know he only wants what’s best for me. We just have different ideas of what that is. He doesn’t deserve my lies.

But I remember being a little kid and telling him about doorways and magic, and the way he grinned and ruffled my hair and told me never to lose that imagination. At some point, I started to understand why Mom never told him it was all real. The lie isn’t hurting anyone, and telling the truth would mean a coin toss between upending everything Dad knows about the world and having him think I’m crazy. The image of my face in Mirror Lake lingers behind my eyes as I tell him I love him and hang up, feeling guilt and relief in equal measure.

After coaxing my short, messy hair into something resembling a style, I open the closet, considering the bright array of Byrn-and Fiordenkill-inspired clothes that have waited patiently for me since last summer. My usual jeans–Doc Martens–canvas jacket combo won’t cut it in the ballroom, so I pull on velvet riding breeches and my favorite Byrnisian jacket. It’s dark blue linen with gold buttons and panels of black shining scales marching down the sleeves. Then to balance that out—Marcus always says I should take care not to seem partial to one Realm—I stack jewels in my ears in the Fiorden style. Brekken and I made the piercings the summer we were both twelve, hiding in my room with a needle and candle. It could have been a disaster, but he did careful work, two even lines of piercings along the edges of my ears.