Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(39)

“It is my business.” I break away from her and reach out to the desk, but stop short of touching the nearest object. It’s a necklace that looks familiar.

“I …” I stumble, trail off. Something about this feels wrong to me. And to Taya too, judging by her stiff demeanor. And the fact that she looks like she might throw up all over the Heiress’s gold-and-green embroidered rug.

I open the top drawer of the desk, hoping to find the manuscript for her book. Maybe the Heiress is writing about the silver trade? It’s the one industry that keeps Haven afloat. Guests from Fiordenkill and Byrn wear it as a sign of status. It means you’ve been invited to the summit and you’ve traveled the Realms.

But when I look in the drawer, there’s no manuscript. No book. There’s money, and lots of it.

My heart speeds up, a feeling taking residence in my stomach like I’m climbing up to the top of a roller coaster. There’s a jumble of U.S. dollars, Fiorden wooden coins, and Byrn glass beads, all piled together haphazardly, shoved toward the back of the drawer. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life, so much that it almost doesn’t seem real. Back in the real world, where money means possibility, a tenth of this would have fixed Dad and Marla’s problems forever, but nothing registers for me now except dread.

There are letters and receipts in the drawer too. I pull a handful out carefully, bills and coins and beads rustling together as I do. In the note on top, which looks half-finished, brief lines of text are written in the Heiress’s careful, slanted hand, beneath yesterday’s date.

I will meet you at the antique shop when the sun is highest on the third day of the summit with the money you’ve requested. I’ll require proof that the objects do bear magic.

A familiar green wax stamp sits in the upper right-hand corner. It’s the image of a great flowering tree. My stomach drops even further. It’s the official stamp of Myr, the Fiorden queendom Brekken serves and which houses the door to Haven. It usually appears on official documents, letters carried out of Fiordenkill or contracts hammered out at Havenfall. Not hastily handwritten notes on scraps of paper, clearly meant to be a secret.

What the hell? One of the first things Marcus told me about Havenfall was that its magic lay in its occupants. That there were no such things as magic wands or enchanted swords or spelled treasure. People—people, not things—were precious; people, not things, carried magic.

And more than that … I know so little about my uncle’s running of Havenfall, but I know that he would never, ever allow enchanted objects to be traded outside the inn’s walls if they existed. The inn and everything in it are supposed to be secret. It’s a joke between my uncle and me that what happens at Havenfall stays at Havenfall, and that’s the only thing that keeps us all safe. That ensures this place can exist.

How long has the Heiress been undermining that? Maybe this—whatever this is—was what caused the rift between her and Marcus. I spread the papers on the desk, and words jump out at me: Brekken, silver, private, Innkeeper, cost. Brekken. Brekken!

Then something else in the drawer catches my eye. It’s metal, but different from the Haven silver. I recognize it even before I reach down to fish it out of a tangle of bills.

My key ring, complete with the cat-ear brass knuckles. The keys that went missing last night. My stomach drops into my feet.

It sinks in for the first time that Brekken really did take it. He kissed me and stole my keys from my pocket. He’s mixed up in this with the Heiress somehow.

For a second, all I can do is stand and stare, wishing I could forget the knowledge away, wipe my brain clean of the humiliation, the betrayal, the guilt. My knees feel weak. It’s too much. My palm presses into the edge of the Heiress’s desk hard enough to bleed.

Then a gasp from behind me pulls me back to reality. I whirl around, my fingers closing around the keys, in time to see Taya stumble back. She’s standing by the Heiress’s nightstand, and a vase with a silver lily plummets to the hardwood floor. Its shatter is loud in the silence.

I shove the keys in my pocket and cross the room to grab Taya’s shoulder and guide her into an overstuffed armchair embroidered with vines. She’s pale, bordering on green. Her shoulders are trembling.

“What’s wrong?” I croak, still not fully in control of my voice.

She doesn’t meet my gaze. Her eyes are fixed off in the distance as she shakes her head. “I just … something just came over me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I take my hand off her shoulder. I want to make sure she’s okay, but I’m also nervous that someone heard the crash of the vase breaking. We need to leave.

I turn and start quickly plucking up the shattered pieces of porcelain, dropping them carefully into my palm. I wrap them in tissue and drop them into a nearby wastebasket, crumpling a few more tissues on top for good measure. I hope the Heiress won’t notice, or one of the maids will stop by before she does.

“Wait!” Taya’s weak voice freezes me as I reach for the silver lily on the floor. She stands and takes a shaky step toward me. “That … that’s what caused it. I touched the flower, and I felt something …” She trails off, her brow creasing.

I smile at her, trying to look reassuring even as worry unfolds inside me. Maybe the forgetting-wine has side effects I don’t know about. “It’s just metal. Just a decoration. Look, see—”