Pale morning light streams through my windows. Birds sing outside, and somewhere a woodpecker drills away at a tree, thudthudthudthudthud. A memory wells to the surface of my mind. Once, when I was thirteen, a woodpecker landed on my windowsill and started going at the wall as if all the bugs in the world were hidden inside. I ran and brought Brekken back to my room to see it up close, the bright red plume of his head, the black-and-white-striped wings. I watched the grin unfurl across Brekken’s face, and though he’d been in my room a hundred times before, that was the first time it made my stomach flip to see him inside, sitting on top of my old quilt.
One bite at a time. Dad still tells me that all the time, and it’s become my mantra these past few days. I can only do one thing at a time. So you’d better choose carefully, and whatever you do, do it well. I shoot him a quick text before silencing my phone and shoving it into my backpack. Miss you.
Right now, my One Bite is hauling out my old bike—the jeep can’t get through the Silver Prince’s gravity barrier—and pedaling down the winding road to Haven, with the hope of catching the Heiress in the act of smuggling. I know she’s trading magic artifacts—or what she claims are magic artifacts—but I still don’t have the first guess as to why, or how she’s getting out of the grounds.
Is it for money? The Heiress has always seemed so grand, so above all the petty concerns that drive the rest of us. But maybe not. Does she want the notoriety? Even if only 3 percent of people in the wider world believed a story about Havenfall, that would be enough to make the leaker famous—and enough to ruin us. Neither of these motivations seems to fit the Heiress, though, no matter how I turn them around in my head.
The Silver Prince’s storm, meant to keep everyone inside Havenfall, only stretches to the grounds’ borders. When I slip through the increased-gravity barrier, holding my breath against the feeling of weight crushing my lungs, the rain stops; the woods beyond are dry, as is the road. By the time I reach town, it feels intensely strange how normal everything is. I’ve only been at Havenfall for four days, but it seems like weeks we’ve been cut off from the world.
In town beneath the ridge, it’s just another lazy June morning, the start of a bright day. Haven wakes up in the slow rhythms of summer. People in bathrobes or sweats drift onto their front porches, smoking or sipping coffee. Somewhere I hear a radio playing Willie Nelson. One stooped old man is feeding chickens in front of his house; a middle-aged woman walks an ancient, rotund beagle down the cracked sidewalks. Ms. Douglas arranges cookies in the window of the town’s lone café; Lisa at the general store emerges from inside as I pass and flips the wooden sign on the front door to Open.
Shutters open in windows.
Birds sing in the trees.
But a slow dread is gathering in my stomach all the same.
The antique shop, where the drop-off is supposed to take place at 8:30, is at the far end of Main Street. It’s 8:10 now. I pull off at the still-closed gas station and lock my bike to a broken pump, out of sight from the road. There, I sit for a few moments, taking deep breaths and going over what I need to do. Intercept the Heiress. Stop this deal before it goes down, and make her tell me what the hell she’s doing.
The Heiress used to be like family. But that was before she went behind Marcus’s back and undermined Havenfall’s secrecy for some quick cash, put the doorways at risk, and exposed all the Adjacent Realms to discovery. It’s a betrayal almost too big to fathom.
At a quarter after eight, I leave my bike and set off toward the antique store, skirting the back of the gas station and the small cow field that sits between the two buildings. My boots leave marks on the dew-damp grass, and big-eyed cows look up at me inquisitively as I pass.
It seems peaceful, but anxiety prickles the back of my neck, and I can’t stop myself from glancing a few times toward the woods. The Solarian could be anywhere. The people on their porches, the guy and his chickens, the lady and her chubby dog—they’re all in danger as long as the monster is out there. I’m in danger too. I have to fix this soon.
And then, just as I’m slipping into a copse of pines running along the side of the antique shop, I hear hooves from the road.
It’s not actually that unusual to see people on horses here in Haven—there are plenty of narrow, windy, rocky paths where cars can’t go. But the Heiress had better hope most of the townspeople are still asleep and not looking out their windows, because her grasp of modern fashion is … not great. This morning she’s wearing her usual riding outfit: elegant leggings, a tunic, leather boots, and a flowing green cape that drapes over the back of her chestnut horse as it trots down the road. And a cowboy hat.
I have to swallow an incongruous bark of laughter as I step out of the trees and into her path. But it dies fast as the anger bubbles up inside me, heating my face.
The Heiress jumps at the sight of me, yanking the horse to a placid halt. “Maddie,” she says, and shock tinges her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find out what you’re doing here,” I growl.
Some of the color leaves her cheeks. “Madeline, this really isn’t a good time.” She has a black linen bag slung across her body, bulging with something that looks heavy.
“A good time for what?” I glance up and down the road to make sure we’re alone. I’m having a hard time keeping my voice down. “How long have you been running this little one-woman black market?”
The Heiress tugs on the reins, a quick, violent motion to bring the horse trotting over to the side of the road, opposite the antique shop. I stalk after her.
“Quiet,” she hisses over her shoulder, her eyes darting to the storefront—still quiet, closed, the small parking lot empty—before drilling back into me. “Listen to me, Madeline. This isn’t what you think. And it’s certainly not a one-woman affair.” She dismounts, ridiculously graceful for someone her age, landing lightly on the pavement. “But we can’t talk about this now. It’s not safe.”
“Because you’re meeting that guy Whit. That buyer. You’re pawning off stuff from the Realms.”
“No, actually.”
The Heiress comes toward me. I don’t back away, even though part of me wants to, and she opens the bag a few inches so I can glimpse inside. I expect to see silver, but instead I see green. The Heiress is carrying a crap-ton of cash.
“I’m the buyer,” she tells me, enunciating each word. “I’m recovering artifacts sold away from Havenfall long ago. I’m bringing them back to the inn so they’ll be safe. So can you please make yourself scarce and we’ll talk about this later?”
“No,” I say, planting my feet, trying to hide that her words have taken me off guard. Then who sold them in the first place? “If that were true, you wouldn’t be sneaking around. Marcus would have known if something like that was happening.”
At that the Heiress laughs, short and harsh. “You think I’m the one who brought this trade to Haven?”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that there are many things your uncle has kept from you.”
The anger roars up under my skin in a heartbeat, like embers sparking to life. “Marcus would never do something like that. Havenfall is his whole life. Literally his whole life.” I step forward. “He would never put it in danger like this—”