The only solace she could find was in not thinking about it, and that was no comfort at all. It left her feeling numb and awful. Empty.
The coach lurched over a stone, shaking Talia from her thoughts. It turned onto a rutted path that wound steadily upward. She strained her eyes out across the hills, yearning to catch some glimpse of the sea. The wind blew harder, shaking the coach from side to side, and Talia pulled the awful blanket tighter around her shoulders. Where had Eda sent her?
The coach climbed higher, the road grew steeper. Talia thought she caught the sudden hint of salt in the air blowing under the door. Her heart slammed hard against her ribcage.
The carriage came over another ridge and then she did see it: the gleam of the sea off in the distance. A thrill went through her, and she hated herself—the sea had taken everything from her and yet here she was, as glad to see it again as a drowning man gasping a longed-for breath of air.
The coach turned and Talia lost the ocean behind a grassy bluff. She tried to swallow down her disappointment.
On and on they wound through the hills, her anxiety mounting with every moment.
And then—
A break in the road, the coach wheels clattering onto cobbled stones, a tall grim house rising above her, the sea gray and restless behind it.
She tamped down her nerves as the driver swept open the coach door and handed her out. She left the blanket on the seat in a burst of Enduenan pride, but she wasn’t sure it mattered—she was still dressed in the cast-off trousers and shapeless, worn shirt Captain Oblaine had given her half a year ago. The lady she used to be had been left far behind in another life. She looked like what she was: an outcast, an orphan. A nobody.
She squared her shoulders and peered at the house, a sprawling old mansion that had clearly seen better days. The stones were weathered, the slate roofs crumbling, the windows smudged and dark. Several crooked towers stretched up into the sky, and from the highest one flew the Imperial banner: three stars on a blue field edged with gold. It flapped listlessly, its edges ragged and fraying. The scent of the sea wrapped all around her and she heard the waves pounding hard on the shore beyond the house. She longed to run down to the beach for a proper view, but she forced herself to stand there, waiting for some instruction from the driver.
She glanced back to see him wrestling a small leather chest from under his seat, and she heard the clink of coins as he tucked it under his arm.
“Well, m’lady,” he said in a mocking tone, climbing down from the coach. “Let’s be rid of you.”
He strode up the cobbled drive to the house and Talia followed, anxious and jittery. She didn’t precisely understand the conditions of her stay here, but, if Eda had anything to do with it, they couldn’t possibly be pleasant.
The clouds broke, rain falling icy and cold, and they ran the rest of the way, darting up several steps to a tall brown door that was mercifully sheltered by the overhanging roof. The driver grasped the brass knocker and rapped three times.
Talia clamped her teeth down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from shaking.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, crisp shoes on hard stone, and a moment later the door creaked inward to reveal the plain face and starched cap of a middle-aged servingwoman. She peered at them with some annoyance, her eyes darting from the driver to Talia and then back again. “What is it? His Grace isn’t expecting visitors today.”
“Delivery from the Empress.” The driver jerked his head in Talia’s direction. “Miss Talia Dahl-Saida, erstwhile heiress of Irsa. Is the Baron at home?”
The servingwoman blinked a few times. “I’ll fetch His Grace’s steward.” She shut the door in their faces.
The driver swore, glaring at Talia like everything was her fault.
She shifted from one foot to the other, in a dual attempt to generate warmth and dispel her nervous energy. The rain pounded hard at their backs—the driver would be soaked through on his trip back to the village. The thought gave her more pleasure than perhaps it should have.
The door opened again. A tall man stood there, dressed in a smart black coat and crisp cravat. He was somewhat past middle age, with the shockingly pale skin Talia was growing used to seeing in Ryn, and dark hair shot through with silver, tied back at the nape of his neck.
“Good afternoon,” he said, addressing the driver, though his glance rested briefly on Talia. “You have word from the Empress? I’m Ahned, the Baron’s steward.”
The driver jabbed his thumb at Talia. “Was paid to deliver her here. You did receive notice of her arrival?”
“We were expecting two ladies. Weeks ago.”
The driver shrugged. “There’s just her. Ship was delayed on account of weather.”
“I see.”
Talia kept chewing on her cheek, trying not to feel like an unwanted horse at an auction.
“Well then.” The driver handed Ahned the leather chest. “Payment, as promised. The annual installments will of course be forthcoming. You may inform the Baron.”
“Of course.” Ahned looked at Talia again. “Do you have trunks? Any luggage to bring in?”
She shook her head.
“Ah, well. Best get out of the wet.” He opened the door wider.
The driver tipped his cap to Ahned and dashed back to the coach.
Talia took a deep breath and went into the house.
She stepped into a grand stone entrance hall, dim light slipping through the windows set high in the vaulted ceiling. It was just as cold in here as it was outside, if less damp. Talia shivered, dripping water on the floor like a half-drowned cat.
Ahned came in behind her and shut the door. “Welcome to the Ruen-Dahr, Miss Dahl-Saida. Give me a moment, and I’ll see if your room is ready.”
She nodded and he disappeared up the sweeping staircase on the far end of the foyer. Underneath the curve of the stairs was a large pair of double doors, the dark wood carved with shapes she couldn’t distinguish from this distance. Across the room to her left an open doorway led into a carpeted hall.
As she stood there waiting for Ahned, she became gradually aware of a faint thread of music, winding its way from somewhere deep in the house. She’d never heard anything quite like it: soft and sad and beautiful, too. The rain pounded overhead and the music seemed to twist into the scattered rhythm, like the melody was just as natural as the weather.
Minutes ticked by and Ahned didn’t return. Talia’s toes and fingers grew numb with cold. She fidgeted, anxious, impatient, wanting just to sit down with a cup of tea or curl up by a warm fire or—gods above—take a hot bath. She wished Ayah were here—she’d have found some way to get into mischief already.