Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(47)

After a few minutes of silence—well, silence except for the ominous hum from the other side of the door—Enetta moves. She takes a small knife from her sleeve and makes a shallow cut along the back of her arm, then touches her fingers to it and dabs blood on the wall.

“Um.” My voice quavers. Blood makes me queasy, and even though it’s only a little—and almost invisible in this dark tunnel anyway—my body reacts, a shudder gripping me for a moment. “What are you guys doing?”

Graylin starts to say something, but Enetta cuts him off, irritable and urgent. “Now.”

They start speaking in low, unified voices, too quiet for me to make out the words of a language I don’t recognize. The Silver Prince shifts his feet, drifting closer to the wall and closer to me, and I feel the heat of him in the cold tunnel.

Then a kind of charge seems to pass through the air, ghosting over my skin, and the shadows behind the door stir more than usual, waving like seaweed in a tide pool. But after a moment, they lie relatively quiescent again. Graylin turns and Enetta steps back, a hard frown on her face. Whatever they tried, clearly it didn’t work.

“I don’t like this,” Enetta says coldly. She keeps her eyes on the Solarian doorway, drumming bloody fingers on the wall in thought. “I did not bring my people here to put them at risk. If Havenfall has ceased to be safe, the Fiorden delegation will return to Myr forthwith.”

My stomach drops. “Didn’t you feel anything?”

If the Fiorden delegation leaves now, days after the solstice, it could disrupt the balance of the doorways. And worse, almost, is the thought of the summit ending early. A centuries-long peace ending because I couldn’t keep things together for a few days in Marcus’s absence.

“There was a ripple,” Graylin says, stepping away and rubbing his forehead. “But the doorway didn’t respond to our blood.”

An idea hits me, and my mouth goes dry, but my words are already spilling out, a surfeit of fear whittling down my ability to think first, talk second. “Try it with my blood.”

Graylin’s head shoots up, his eyes shockingly hard. “No,” he says.

I feel, rather than see, the Silver Prince move. Step closer.

“It might work, Graylin,” he says, uncharacteristically gentle. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on your magic, but if whose blood matters …” He glances sidelong at me. “It’s a good idea. Maybe the Innkeeper’s blood will accomplish something.”

“I’m not the Innkeeper.” I correct him hastily. “But I am of this world. Maybe that matters?”

I meet Graylin’s gaze, willing him to understand. This is for Marcus. This is for everyone. But I don’t wait for a nod of approval before I step forward and hold out my arm to Enetta. At this point, my skin is crawling from nerves. I would do almost anything if it meant us getting out of here faster.

Enetta sighs and draws a thin red line across the back of my arm. The sting is quick and unexpected, like a doctor who tells you to count to three and sticks you on two. My breath catches, but Enetta already has me by the shoulder and is propelling me forward, gently in spite of her brusqueness, and she lifts my arm to rest against the cold polished wall.

The charge sweeps the air again and the shadows burst into a silent frenzy—not seaweed this time, but more like tentacles, alive and reaching. It’s all I can do not to jump back as they stretch and wave out of the cracked doorway, licking at the air.

But after a few tense breaths, they retreat through the doorway. The door doesn’t close.

Still, it’s something.

“We should try it with Solarian blood,” I say, surprising myself with my calmness. Maybe it’s just that I’ve burned up my stores of fear, but no one else needs to know that. “We’ll gather a hunting party tomorrow to bring it down, and once we have it, try this again.”

I take the handkerchief Graylin passes me, using it to blot the little bit of blood off my arm, and turn to face Enetta. “Princess, if that doesn’t work, you and your delegates can return home if you wish. But please, give me one more day to fix this. If we have your warriors’ help, I bet we can kill the monster in time for tomorrow’s ball.”

The flattery works. The princess nods. When I stand up, a ray-of-sunshine smile has broken through the clouds on Willow’s face. Graylin looks relieved, and the Silver Prince is watching me, looking thoughtful and faintly impressed.

Despite everything—the fear still running through me, the weight of responsibility, the awfulness of this whole situation—a quick thrill of pride blooms. Maybe I really can do this.

In the entrance hall, we part ways toward our respective rooms, the inn now quiet around us. The dancing is over, though the storm rages on outside. But as I start up the red-and-gold-carpeted staircase toward my room, wanting nothing more than to put my headphones on and drown out the world, someone lays a hand on my arm. The Silver Prince.

“Maddie,” he says. The first time he’s used my nickname. “Can I speak to you privately for a few moments?”

I blink. Did I make some mistake, some misstep in the tunnels? But then the Silver Prince smiles, a different kind of smile than the stately, gentle one I’ve seen on him so far. This one is small, subtle, maybe even a little conspiratorial.

“Of course,” I say, hiding my nervousness. A talk with the Prince is something you don’t turn down. “Where should we go?”