“What do these do?” I ask the Heiress, pointing to the silver, more to fill the silence and give myself time to think than because I really care.
She smiles sadly, like she knows I’m not actually looking for an answer, but humors me anyway. “I don’t know. They’re a Fiorden shipment I just got back. I need to test and catalog them.”
But my gaze has already been pulled back to the correspondence. There are years and years of it. I read enough already to know that she’s telling the truth about Marcus’s involvement, but it would take days to read through the stack of documents. I know I should read every single piece of paper. I need to understand, but the thought makes me so tired.
All I want to do is crawl into bed and wake up to find everything is back to normal. I’d go downstairs and listen to Marcus make the breakfast announcements. I’d spend my day hiking the grounds or trying to eavesdrop on meetings or sneaking out with Brekken. I’d practically be a guest of the inn. Everything would be out of my hands, and I’d experience all the beauty and grandeur of the summit from the sidelines. I wouldn’t understand the weight that comes with being at its center.
Instead, I’m the Innkeeper for now, and I hate it.
Something on the papers catches my eye, and my finger traces the ink on the page. A name: Sylvia Morrow.
Mom.
Her cell phone number is listed beside it. It’s still the only number I know by heart, the only number I could dial in my sleep. Forgetting to breathe, I scan up to the top of the page. The heading says HOSTS.
What the hell does that mean?
I look up at the Heiress for explanation, when a knock from the hall makes our hands freeze, our heads swiveling toward the door.
The Heiress’s eyes dart toward the papers, and she gestures at me to put them away. I hurriedly cram them into the still-open desk drawer and shut it, careful not to let it slam. Then I take a cup of tea from the side table and hold it mid-sip, like we’ve just been in the midst of a casual chat, as the Heiress opens the door.
Taya is standing in the hall, one hand raised to knock again. She sees the Heiress first and takes a step back, starting to apologize—but then she sees me in the room and freezes, her eyes darting between the old woman and me.
“Good afternoon, Heiress. Maddie, hi,” she says, clearly confused to find me here. “Graylin’s been looking for you all morning. We’ve checked everywhere.”
I get up and busy myself with the tea tray. The rows of Fiorden silver glint invitingly at me from the Heiress’s desk, especially a silver dish with a gold inlay of a winged snake wound around a staff, like you see on the signs of doctors’ offices. The familiar symbol—I can’t remember what it’s called, something Latin?—snags my attention, and I instinctively seize the moment to slip it from the table into my jacket pocket. Even as I do it, I’m not sure exactly why. Maybe to know what all the fuss has been about. To figure out how the magic works.
“Thank you for the talk,” I say to the Heiress, carrying the tea tray out into the hallway.
When Taya and I are on the staircase and out of earshot, my shoulders relax for the first time in what seems like ages.
“What’s going on? How are you feeling?” I ask Taya beneath my breath.
She shifts her feet. She still looks pale and tired, just like last night, but there’s something else buried there too. Shock. Fear.
“We have a problem,” she says darkly.
A groan escapes through my gritted teeth. “What is it now?”
Taya looks right at me. “News got out about the Solarian on the grounds. And that the door to Solaria is open.”
16
Someone is shouting in the reception room. “It only makes sense!” he yells.
Standing alone in the hallway—Taya’s gone to find Graylin—I recognize the voice as belonging to Lonan, the Silver Prince’s associate who traded gossip with me at the bar my first night here. His words are blunt and heavy, weapons that will shatter our fragile peace if I don’t disarm him and defuse the situation. I reach for the door, my breath coming fast.
“We didn’t open it,” Princess Enetta shoots back. Her anger suffuses the air, echoes ricocheting from wall to wall. “I already told your Silver Prince—”
She falls silent as I burst into the room. The door bangs off the wall and bounces back. I catch it with one hand and shut it quietly behind me, heart racing.
Lonan and Enetta face each other in front of the fireplace, a gaggle of concerned-looking delegates hanging back behind the circle of armchairs. The fire pops and flares dangerously, and maybe I’m imagining it, but the ground seems to tremble a little. The air crackles with tension and magic.
Lonan’s gaze moves to me and stops, cold. “Madeline,” he says. His voice is no longer loud, but flat and unnerving. “What is the meaning of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the door to Solaria was open? That there was a beast on the grounds?”
My breath, already ragged, vanishes in my chest. All eyes in the room snap to mine.
“It was for all of our protection,” I say in a rush. “We didn’t want to cause a panic. I’ve posted guards outside the door at all hours, and we’re in the process of resealing the door right now.”
My voice breaks on the lie. I must sound as hollow as I feel.
It’s a shitty excuse. Even I know that. Now that I’m pinned under the weight of their shock and searching gazes, all the reasons I had for keeping the news hidden evaporate from my mind. Didn’t the guests of Havenfall deserve to know they were in danger? What kind of stupidity or arrogance does it take to hide something like that?
“And this Solarian monster in the woods,” Lonan goes on. “Did it come from outside, from Haven, or did it come through the door?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Their expressions are withering. I’ve never felt more useless, not even when I was a child at Havenfall. Not even the time when Enetta’s father Elirien caught me playing hide-and-seek with Brekken under the dinner table and reprimanded us in front of the entire delegation. I’ve never felt more unworthy to fill Marcus’s shoes, to take his place as Innkeeper.
“I will meet with the Fiorden delegation this evening,” Enetta says, raising her voice to address everyone in the room. “And if they decide that they wish to leave, we will do so.”
Betrayal shoots through me. Enetta knew the door was open, but now that everyone else does, she wants to take her delegation and go? “But …”
The word sounds high and wild. I stop and take a breath, imagining stripping the jagged panic from my voice like bark, until it’s smooth and featureless. Take a breath, start again.
“Your Highness, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The magic of the doorways is delicate, as you know. An early exit by the Fiorden delegation could disrupt things. It could cause the Solarian door to open further.”
“And then we will be in our own world, ready with our army to meet anything that should come through,” she counters. “Not trapped here like … like …”
“Sitting ducks,” I supply, my voice popping out of its own accord. Again I feel the crazy urge to laugh, like at Nate’s funeral.