Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(38)

I want to talk to someone. I’ve only been here a day, and I can already feel everything swirling around inside me, too tightly bottled. Graylin and Willow have enough on their minds, the delegates would gossip, Marcus is unconscious, and Brekken—my best friend—is gone. Maybe it’s better to let someone like Taya in, just a little, rather than keeping everything locked up and risk it spilling over to any old delegate with too much evening champagne.

But on the other hand, it could all backfire. Humans are hard to predict, and if Taya somehow got ahold of a phone or left the inn, forgetting-wine wouldn’t keep Havenfall’s secrets safe.

But then, if she told anyone, who would believe her?

“There’s only one way to find out what the Heiress is up to,” I finally say, deciding to throw caution to the wind just this once. If I’m Innkeeper-for-a-day, I can’t just sit back and wait for threats to make themselves known. “Let’s ask her.”



Taya is quiet, staying a few steps behind me as we climb the stairs to the Heiress’s room. We start down the long, sunlight-dappled hallway on the top floor. There are windows on either side and only one door at the end: the Heiress’s quarters.

What is the Heiress really up to? If all this had gone down a year ago, I might have asked her advice. I might have trusted her with the secret of the open door to Solaria. She’s been a constant presence at Havenfall and has always been kind to me.

Brekken’s face still hangs in my mind, though, reminding me that I really shouldn’t trust anyone. I still don’t know what happened between the Heiress and my uncle, and with Marcus still asleep—I think the word firmly, asleep—I have to tread carefully.

I knock on the Heiress’s door, but she doesn’t answer.

I knock again, a little louder, nervousness crawling in my stomach. The Heiress is known to be wrathful when her writing sessions are disturbed. But one old woman being mad at me is the least of my problems right now. Again.

There is only stillness behind the door.

I turn my head to the side and lean in close, seeing Taya shift on her feet as I put my ear to the smooth wood. She’s stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her bomber jacket, shoulders drawn down and face etched into a faint scowl. On the other side of the door, I hear nothing.

The Heiress scarcely ever leaves her room except for long walks in the mornings, meals, and the evening balls and parties. Otherwise, she’s always sequestered up here, working on her epic history of the Realms. She’s never much cared what goes on outside Havenfall. When I tell her stories of the outside world, she just gets stressed out—all the tech, all the wars, an existence she doesn’t understand. Her interest has always been here, in the inn and the relationships between the Realms.

At least, that’s what I thought. A sudden idea seizes me, and I take my hand out of my pocket, my new keys clenched in my fist.

Willow would kill me for going into a delegate’s room without asking, much less the Heiress’s. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. And—technically—this is Marcus’s inn. At the end of the day, the Heiress is only a guest here—an honored guest, a longtime guest, but still a guest. And it’s Marcus’s responsibility—and mine, for the moment—to keep everyone safe.

At least that’s what I tell myself as my fingers find the skeleton key.

“What—okay,” Taya says, letting out a breath as I stick the key in the lock and turn it carefully. “We’re doing this?”

“It’s fine,” I lie. “I know her.”

“Sure, you don’t know her name, but you know her.” Taya’s voice is brittle. “Invasion of privacy much?”

But the lock clicks beneath my fingers, and Taya hears it too and stops talking. I step forward before she can say anything else, pushing gently on the door so it won’t creak as it opens. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it fast, before the Heiress comes back from wherever she is. But then the door opens and that thought flies out of my head.

I’ve been in the Heiress’s room plenty of times before by invitation. Pretty standard old lady stuff, if all old ladies had access to three worlds. There is an explosion of pink and porcelain and velvet, curios from all the Realms displayed in glass-fronted cabinets, intricate lace doilies beneath bowls of shiny candy, and bookshelves crammed with dusty gold-edged books in all sorts of languages. Her belongings give the feeling of only slightly faded glamour, of luxury. The dragon hoard of a traveler between worlds.

I hardly notice any of it, though, because arranged in neat rows on her desk is a crap-ton of Haven silver.

Taya steps in beside me and pulls the door closed. She whistles, low and soft. “Damn. Did she buy out a Tiffany’s?”

I drift across the room toward the desk without quite meaning to, eyes glued to the brilliant shine of the silver. The desktop is covered with teapots and statuettes, goblets and silverware, jewelry and coins and even plain ingots stamped with the word HAVEN. It all gleams, the pieces seeming to give off their own light. Next to the desk on the floor is the bag, now empty, that Taya mentioned the Heiress had been carrying.

“What is this?” I murmur.

I don’t really expect an answer, but Taya’s hand shoots out to grab my arm, gripping a little too tight. I turn to look at her in surprise.

“This isn’t our business,” she says. She looks paler than usual, freckles standing out on her face. “We should leave.”