Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(66)

I close my eyes, trying to think. “There’s not much I can do. I can’t prohibit entry back into Havenfall or cut off trade. Not as long as they’re part of the alliance in the Accords.”

“Alliances can be changed.” He speaks quietly, but every word is clear on the still air. “Treaties can be changed.”

For a second, my heart seems to stop in my chest. “Cut Fiordenkill out? But the Three-Realm Alliance has stood for a hundred years.”

“A hundred years is not so very long a time to some of us,” the Prince says. “And what else can we do? Would you bring back the executions, which your great-great-grandmother used to impose upon traitors?”

My breath catches in my throat. I didn’t know my ancestors had killed people. I have a sudden vision of standing on the lawn with a sword in my hand, someone with copper penny hair kneeling before me with their head down, and my heart lurches so violently I have to lean forward and put my head in my hands for a second.

“I need time to think.”

He glides to his feet and to the door. “Time is scarce, Innkeeper.”

A shudder of mixed thrill and disgust goes through me at the word. “I will get you an answer soon. I swear.”

“Very well,” he says. But his eyes stay on me. “Don’t doubt yourself, Maddie. You have what Marcus doesn’t. You’re strong enough to make hard choices in service of a greater good.”

Then he’s gone.

I want to cry, but I can’t. The tears aren’t there, and they won’t come. It’s like someone’s scooped my insides out and left me empty except for dust and echoes.

I sit hunched over with my face in my hands, still except for my slowly beating heart and breathing that hurts with each inhale. That’s how Graylin finds me when he walks in, yawning, a few minutes later.

Graylin stops for a second when he sees me. Then his shoulders loosen, and he comes over and sits by Marcus. Graylin was supposed to be taking a nap, but he doesn’t look very well rested.

“How is he?” Graylin asks, running his fingers over the back of Marcus’s hand. The words, though, sound moot, not something he expects an answer to.

I can’t tell him what the Prince said about Marcus fostering Solarians. Not when Marcus isn’t awake to explain his side of the story. Graylin is already carrying so much; I can’t put this on him too.

My voice comes out croaky. “He’s not getting any better.”

A silence.

“No, he isn’t,” Graylin says at length. “At least, not that I can see.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” I ask desperately. Of course I want Marcus to get better. But I also need answers. About the silver trade. About Solarians and my mother and Nate. And Marcus has those answers. He must.

“If there was, I would have done it already.” Graylin’s voice is a mirror of how I feel. Brittle, like the slightest blow could break us entirely.

When I shift in my chair, my spine makes a muffled crack. My muscles ache. I feel old, and that makes me think of the Heiress again. I still need to ask her why my mother’s name appears on Marcus’s list of HOSTS. I think about the magical objects in the Heiress’s room, the rows of gleaming silver things marching over her desk like ants, and the ledger with the tightly scrawled descriptions of the magic each one had. Magic like healing.

I reach into my pocket and my fingertips meet cool, smooth metal. I pull out the silver dish I took from the Heiress’s room and hold it up for Graylin to see. The one with the inlaid gold symbol of two snakes wound around a winged staff. I googled the symbol yesterday—it’s a caduceus, something to do with Asclepius, the ancient Greek god of medicine. Maybe the Fiordens have their own versions of our myths, or maybe our ancient stories have permeated all the realms. Maybe they made their way to us from another world long ago.

But however the symbol of medicine came to be stamped on this hunk of silver, it can only be a good thing, right? The dish looks almost ordinary, except for the faint glow that seems to rise off the metal, visible only now that it’s dark. I still don’t understand how it’s possible for magic to live in such a mundane object. But why not try it? It’s not like things can get much worse.

Graylin looks at it and blinks. He straightens, like he’s coming fully awake. He sees the glow too.

“What is it?”

“Um … Brekken gave it to me a long time ago,” I improvise. “He said it had Fiorden healing magic.” If I can’t protect anyone from real danger, at least I can shield Graylin from this whole tangled mess a little longer. Let him focus on healing my uncle so we can learn the actual truth.

Graylin breathes in sharply when I put the dish in his outstretched hand. He holds it up to the lamplight, turning it this way and that, looking for I don’t know what.

“Well?” I ask.

Graylin’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand this,” he says, half to himself. When he looks back at me, there’s something wary in his gaze. “You said Brekken gave this to you?”

I nod, hoping he doesn’t see the lie on my face. Marcus would, but Graylin’s always let me get away with more. Saliva pools in my mouth but I make myself not swallow.

“The magic is there. I can feel it.”

Graylin turns the dish over and over, and I catch quick slashes of reflection in it—the dim lamplight, Graylin’s brown face, guilt in my own eyes. “But I don’t understand how it was bound here. It feels … alive.”