Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(32)
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.