Something clicked in Talia’s mind. “Caiden and Wen have different mothers.”
Ro nodded, pulling another dress off the bed. “Certainly they do—why else would they have different surnames? The first Baroness was Enduenan—that’s where Lord Caiden’s dark coloring comes from. She was the daughter of one of the Enduenan ambassadors who was stationed in Ryn after it was made part of the Empire. She died when he was two, and then Master Wendarien’s mother—”
Lyna frowned. “Enough, you silly girl. Why must you prattle on so?”
Dairon returned just then, and Ro quickly snapped her mouth shut. The housekeeper had a smaller trunk with her, full of shoes and gloves. She made Talia try them all on, one after another, until she was satisfied Talia had enough variety. Then the maids packed those in the wardrobe, too, and all three bid her goodnight.
When they had gone, she went back to the window seat, Ro’s words echoing in her mind.
They went mad. One after the other.
Some rumors say they killed themselves.
Chapter Thirteen
TALIA WOKE JUST AFTER DAWN, HER MIND filled with a dread she couldn’t explain, the raw edges of half-forgotten dreams nibbling at her consciousness. She went immediately to the window and pulled it open, sucking in a deep breath of salt-drenched air. The sky was heavy with clouds, but it wasn’t raining. Away below her, the sea crept onto the shore, and once again she heard the distant strain of some unearthly music, whispering out there among the waves.
She blinked and saw her mother, drinking tea in the great cabin as the storm raged outside the ship. Can’t you hear it? The song of the waves.
Talia cursed, jerking away from the window and latching it tight.
But the music lingered.
She stepped over to the wardrobe and flung open both doors, running her fingers along the smooth material of the Baronesses’ gowns. They were all beautiful, though cut in the still-unfamiliar Ryn style. She pulled out a dress a shade of blue so dark it was nearly black, with long sleeves and tiny crystal beads sewn into the bodice and skirt. It shimmered in the gray light from the window, like a sky strewn with stars.
She put it on, struggling to fasten the back without help, but she managed it, finally. She tried not to dwell on the fact that the last woman who’d worn this gown was dead.
She tripped on the hem of the dress as she went downstairs and ran straight into Caiden—she would have fallen on her face if he hadn’t grabbed her arm.
He let go and took a step back as she gaped, flushing so hard she couldn’t even find her tongue to stammer out an apology.
He’d apparently been getting dressed on the way down the stairs, because his shirt flapped unbuttoned, giving her a full view of his muscled chest.
He laughed, white teeth flashing, and buttoned his shirt swiftly while she stared at him, her whole face on fire.
She scrambled for something witty to say, or anything to say at all.
He tucked in his shirttails. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said, evidently past the awkwardness already. “That was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve ever experienced, and I certainly didn’t help much. I’m afraid I might have acted like a fool.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “None of us were at our best.”
He laughed. “Definitely not. I was sorry to hear about your mother,” he added, sobering. “I understand how hard that is, and if you ever need anything at all, just ask. I’m here.”
His kindness touched her. “Thank you.”
He gave her a sideways smile. “I really can’t believe you’re going to marry my brother.”
The heat was back, rushing through her. “It wasn’t my choice.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“You don’t like Wen.”
“Wen is … Wen is …” He shrugged. “Wen is Wen, I guess. I’m not sure he’s entirely sane. He claims he hears voices—our mothers’ voices, haunting the tower, and an eerie music coming off the sea.” Caiden grimaced and Talia tried to keep the discomfort from showing on her face. “My father and I thought it best for Wen to get away from here—he had the opportunity of a lifetime with University, and he threw it all away. I’ll never understand why.”
“You said something about the gods, too. About a vision. What did you mean?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just … Wen puts too much stock in servants’ rumors—he won’t let our mothers’ deaths alone, and my father is having a hard time forgiving him for it.”
Some rumors say they killed themselves. Talia pushed Ro’s voice away. “What about you?”
“I like to think I’m a fairly forgiving person.”
She swallowed, losing herself in his piercing eyes. She suddenly never wanted to stop looking at him. Or him to stop looking at her.
And then she heard another step on the stair and turned to see Wen coming down, his glance torn between them. His jaw was clenched tight, dark shadows pressed under his eyes.
“Ah, Wen,” said Caiden. “I was just telling your fiancée good morning.”
Wen’s jaw clenched tighter still. For an uncomfortable moment, the three of them just stood there in silence. Talia didn’t know where to look.
And then Caiden flashed her another smile. “I’ll see you later, Talia. My horse needs a run.” He stepped past her, down the remaining stairs and across the entrance hall, disappearing out the front door.
She couldn’t help staring after him.
“Miss Dahl-Saida.”
Talia jerked her gaze toward Wen. “What?”
“Miss Dahl-Saida, I—” His forehead creased and he pulled his spectacles from his pocket, absently cleaning them on the tails of his shirt. “I’m sorry we didn’t get off to a better start yesterday. I’m sorry you’re so far from home and I’m sorry the Empress insisted on that … particular clause in her contract. I’m sorry about your mother—you can’t imagine how much. And I’m sorry I’m not more—” He shrugged, clearly frustrated, his eyes wandering to the front door. “—dashing,” he finished awkwardly.
She didn’t attempt to persuade him otherwise. “What is it, between the two of you?”
“I don’t want to talk about my brother.”
“Well, I do.” She crossed her arms, glaring at him.
He shifted his feet. “We’ve never had much in common. I think he despises me. Or is ashamed of me. Or both.”
“Why?”
His owlish eyes bore into hers. “Because he can’t see or hear the things I can. He thinks I’m mad, at best. Malicious, at worst.” “Are you?”
“No.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Dahl-Saida. I get too caught up in my music sometimes, trying to capture the melodies in my head, the cadence of the sea. It can be somewhat of an obsession—my father and Caiden don’t understand. I don’t mean to be cryptic or rude—and I don’t want you to hate me.”
She considered that, trying to see things from his point of view. “Then what do you want?”