Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(73)

But the handwriting I unfold looks human. Old-fashioned, the paper yellowed, the script hurried and slanted, almost running off the page.

Annabelle,

You were right to want the do or closed. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. Keep this safe; a part of me is bound to it. It may be the last bit of me to survive.

There’s no signature. But—Annabelle.

That’s my great-great-grandmother’s name.

A part of me is bound to it.

It hits me all at once, so suddenly it’s like someone told me the truth long ago and I just forgot it up until now.

It’s not some long-lost people who have the power to bind magic to silver.

It’s Solarians.



Shock wipes my mind blank as I stagger from the room and force my way out of the Solarian wing, stumbling down the hidden staircase at the back of the hall. I’ve lost time wandering the Solarian rooms. Soon, the Heiress will be meeting with her contact, Whit, in town. I have to let her know what I’ve found.

As I burst into the cool evening air, heading to the stables for my bike, I feel the weight of the bangle around my wrist, the broken talisman that lets me through the Silver Prince’s perimeter stuffed in my pocket. The silver seems to thrum with power, sending electric tingles into my bones and up my arm. Maybe I shouldn’t have put it on.

I bike the narrow path that leads through the trees on the far side of the garden, sure that at any moment the Solarian will burst through the trees, but it doesn’t. I stop at the perimeter, the place where the air blurs, the line where the forest shimmers, like a mirage coming off a baking hot highway. I grip the handlebars of my bike tight and take a deep breath, and then step forward.

The air thickens around me and in my lungs, and my body grows heavy, and each step is a herculean effort, like I’m dragging myself through quicksand. My heart thuds painfully hard just to push blood through my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the feeling of the pressure clamping down on my skull.

But then it’s over. The crystal bracelet the Silver Prince gave me must carry magic too, somehow. And I didn’t even think to give it a second thought before now.

My mind races as I steer the bike down the mountain faster than I should. My heart hammers. At one point I almost hit a tree when a doe darts into my path. Later a pothole jars me so hard that I taste blood after biting my tongue. It’s like the universe is conspiring to keep me from catching up with the Heiress. But I must. I have to tell her what I know before she messes with any more of the silver.

I don’t fully understand what I read back in the Solarian wing, but the basics are clear enough. The silver objects may carry magic from all the worlds, but the binding itself—that’s Solarian. And from the letter—the letter written from a Solarian to my great-great-grandmother, the Innkeeper—it sounds like the binding causes something of the Solarian to remain … inside the object. Like a cross between a Horcrux and Aladdin’s magic lamp, only with monsters instead of genies. And the Heiress has been touching this stuff, handling it, surrounding herself with it.

This still goes against everything I know about magic. I always, always learned that magic was limited to its carriers. Fiordens can heal. Byrnisians have their elemental magic. And Solarians can shapeshift. It’s not supposed to be transferable. And yet, would the Heiress, would Marcus be so serious about the black market if all they were doing was cheating unscrupulous buyers out of a few bucks in exchange for ordinary silver? This has to be about more than just money. Solarians must be involved somehow, binding real magic to buy and sell.

And if the objects carry some part of the Solarian in them, then … what does it mean that Mom’s name is on a list of HOSTS? What does the Silver Prince’s accusation mean, that Marcus trusted Solarians too much, was trying to work with them?

My skin prickles. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know that the Heiress is in danger. She needs to know what I know.

It’s hot in town, even though the sky is gray with clouds. It’s like they’re a blanket, trapping in the June heat. Hot enough to drive everyone inside, I guess. The streets are empty, making the drone of insects on the air seem extra loud. Closed window shutters all around make me feel like I’m in some Old West ghost town. A dog barks somewhere, the sound echoing in the quiet. Soon sweat has soaked through my long-sleeve T-shirt. I can’t seem to get enough air, as if the Silver Prince’s barrier has clung to my skin.

I almost miss the turnoff to the antique store and yank my handlebars to the left, sending up a spray of gravel. I check my watch. 3:41. Good. Hopefully I can intercept the Heiress before her contact gets here and explain to her what I found, what I think is true. She can’t know about the objects’ connection to Solaria, or she would have never allowed them to change hands. My skin crawls when I think of them flowing out of Havenfall, circulating in the wider world.

I park out back, so the bike’s hidden, and enter the antique store through the rear door. A bell chimes overhead when I enter, but the shop is empty.

All the lights are off. Sunlight filters in through the front windows, but shadows line the shelves, clinging to the myriad objects perching there. Stacks of old-fashioned china, chipped mugs, porcelain figurines. Knit sweaters and blankets, Christmas ornaments, dolls and toy cars and action figures a few years out of date.

Sweat dampens my palms as I look around, my breath sounding loud in the silence. So many ordinary things, but now it all holds an air of subtle menace. How much Solarian magic has passed through this place? Before this summer, magic was something for me to believe in, hold on to, a glimpse of something shining and more in a mostly boring and unfeeling world. But this … this feels dark. Oppressive, violent.