Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(50)

“—apologies for dropping by unannounced like this,” says the man from the bus in a greasy, obsequious tone. “But I wanted to ensure that you were still prepared for the drop-off tomorrow, given your missing associate and these new … circumstances.”

“I am.”

I bite my knuckles—a nervous habit—and a good thing, because my hand muffles the gasp that escapes when the Heiress’s voice comes through the door. It is cool, clipped, stately, and unmistakable with her strange, rich-person accent.

“I am not afraid of one stray beast,” she says.

Cold shoots down my spine. She knows. How? To avoid panic, we haven’t told any of the delegates that there’s a Solarian on the loose.

The man’s voice turns low, wheedling. “You’ve got to understand. I have buyers waiting for this stuff.” A little bit of urgency creeps into his car-salesman spiel as he goes on. “So I just want to make sure—”

“Consider yourself assured, Whit,” the Heiress cuts in. “I will be there at the appointed time with what you’ve asked for.”

In another context, her clear disdain for him, Whit, might have made me smirk. But instead, my heart is racing, my stomach churning, as I lean closer to the door. This drop-off they’re talking about must be related to the one referred to in the papers Taya and I stole, if not one and the same. And who is the missing associate the guy mentioned?

A sour taste fills my mouth. Even just in my own head, I don’t have the heart to think his name. Images flash through my vision. His smile when he kissed me. My key ring in her desk. Whatever Brekken was doing with my keys, it must have been connected to the Heiress’s smuggling operation. And the fact that she knows there’s a monster on the grounds makes me even more suspicious that they had something to do with the door opening, as well. But I still don’t know why.

I push away those thoughts. It seems obvious that the Heiress is selling Adjacent Realms artifacts to an outsider, a human. A sleazy one at that. If this gets out—if it hasn’t already—it could expose the inn. It could destroy everything my uncle has worked so hard to preserve.

The anger in my gut builds so fast and hot that I don’t realize the voices have stopped. I don’t register the footsteps coming toward the door until it’s too late. I leap back and turn down the hall, but don’t have time to escape before the door swings open and the Heiress storms out, creepy bus guy—Whit—two steps behind her.

They both stop short when they see me. I pivot toward them, hoisting on a fake smile and hoping it looks like I was just passing by. Deep down, though, I know the Heiress isn’t stupid. She may be a lot of things—a liar, a backstabber, a con—but not stupid.

“Madeline,” she says, her voice brittle. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” I say. I mean for it to come out light, a joke, but my true feelings sneak in and it drops from my lips hard and sharp-edged. This is my home. “What are you doing here?”

“Just some summit business,” she says, words airy, but there’s strain below the surface.

“Oh?” I look pointedly toward Whit, waiting for an introduction. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?”

If he recognizes me from the bus, he doesn’t show it. He glances rapidly between the Heiress and me, a sheen of sweat growing on his face.

“Yes,” the Heiress says, edging away from me down the hall. “Sensitive business.”

Anger rears up under my skin, and I step closer so that she stops moving. “My apologies, Lady Heiress,” I say, hoping my tone communicates just how not sorry I really am. “But as you know, my uncle is still indisposed, so I’m carrying out the Innkeeper’s duties in his stead. And the protocol says that all new visitors have to be approved by the Innkeeper before they enter the grounds.”

I have no idea if that’s a real rule, but it seems like it should be. Add that to the list of things I need to ask Marcus when he wakes up.

The Heiress’s eyes are wide, surprise and indignation chasing each other across her softly lined face. “I’m sorry, Madeline,” she says eventually, sounding wounded. “But I—”

But whatever she’s going to say is lost when an earsplitting clap of thunder from outside rattles the windowpanes.

It snaps me back to myself, and I yank my phone from my pocket, look at the time. 5:33. Shit. The hunting party—we were supposed to convene in the entrance hall at 5:30 sharp.

I look at the Heiress, pouring all the coldness and authority I can muster into my voice. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

“Madeline!” Her retort is sharp, but it fades into nothingness behind me, because I’ve already turned on my heel and walked away.



The sun is usually rising by now, but the heavy clouds prolong the night, so all we can see outside is fog and the raindrops splitting against the windows. The Silver Prince is the first person I see when I skid into the entrance hall. He’s pacing along the far wall, a small flame dancing above the palm of his upraised hand. As he walks, he twirls the flames around his fingers like a one-handed cat’s cradle.

“Maddie,” comes Graylin’s voice from my right. He hurries toward me and deposits two objects in my arms. A chain mail shirt, I realize, lifting the heavy thing by its metallic sleeve. And a Fiorden revolver, carved with snarling wolves. Graylin already has one strapped to his hip, and I see the glint of metal under his fur cloak. Around the room, Willow, Sal, and Enetta are also donning armor and weapons. The beautiful antique side table with pearl inlay, the one Annabelle was said to have treasured, is piled with guns and swords and knives. It’s silent except for the rain and clanking of chainmail, dark except for the torchlight that makes shadows dance along the wood-paneled walls.