“To be your friend, I hope.”
She didn’t know how to respond. The betrothal might not be his fault, but he could have warned her or objected or something. And his continual niceness was almost grating—she’d liked him better yesterday when he’d cursed like a sailor. “I can’t promise that right now.”
“Fair enough.” He slipped his spectacles back into his pocket. “In the meantime, how do you feel about breakfast?”
Talia and Wen ate alone in the dining hall. Caiden wasn’t back from his ride yet (she tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed), and the Baron remained upstairs. Wen told her that happened quite a lot.
Wen was quiet and fidgety and wouldn’t stop looking at her, obviously wanting to talk more, but she had no desire to pick up the threads of their conversation. She was too restless for company—she needed to be alone.
She excused herself as politely as she could after her second cup of tea, and slipped back out into the vestibule, to the front door.
“Can I help you, Miss Dahl-Saida?”
The voice made her jump, and she wheeled around to see Ahned standing in the hall. The Baron’s steward was dressed the same as yesterday—stern dark suit, black-and-silver hair tied back at the nape of his neck.
“I thought I’d go for a walk.”
Ahned took a few paces toward her. “I can show you the garden.”
“I’m going down to the shore.”
Ahned raised an eyebrow. “The sea is forbidden, Miss Dahl-Saida.”
“Why? Who forbids it?”
“The Baron.”
“And why does the Baron care where I walk?”
“Because it is his house, Miss, and it is his rule.”
“Am I just supposed to wander around inside for the rest of my life?”
“You may walk in the garden, or go to the stables, or follow the road down to the village. But the sea is forbidden.”
She jutted out her chin, refusing to let him rattle her. “Why?”
“Miss Dahl-Saida, if you cannot be trusted to obey the rules, you will not be allowed out of the house at all. Is that understood?”
She glowered at him. “Perfectly.”
“And can you be trusted?”
“Of course.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Swear by the gods you won’t go down to the sea.”
Why could she never seem to escape the gods she didn’t want to believe in? She swallowed and forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I swear by the gods I won’t go down to the sea.”
He nodded. “What will it be then—garden or village or stables?”
“Garden.”
Another jerk of his chin. “This way, Miss.”
He walked back into the hallway, and Talia followed. They went past the empty dining room and through a door, into a short passageway that ended at another door. He stopped to unlock it, pulling a ring of keys from his belt. She eyed them with extreme irritation.
“I hope you have a lovely walk,” he said, and went off down the hall.
Talia stepped into the garden, pushing the door shut behind her. She would have hardly called it a garden—it didn’t deserve the name. It was merely a rambling rectangle of cold earth, enclosed on three sides by high stone walls overgrown with ivy. On one end marched several rows of bedraggled rosebushes sprouting knotted blossoms; on the other stood a willow tree overhanging a murky pool, limp leaves trailing in dirty water. There was a wooden hutch, which might have once housed birds, nailed into the side of the tree; now the carved doors sagged on their hinges, dirt and debris visible inside. Certainly a far cry from the Emperor’s gardens, with their elaborate fountains and overflowing lily pools, macaws squawking at her from their aviary.
She thought of her father, taking her to see the tigers, of her mother, promising she could have a parrot of her own. She thought of Ayah, wandering obliviously through the lily gardens with a book in her hand, spectacles pinching her freckled nose.
And she thought of Eda, mocking her for her dirty feet and ripped skirts after tumbling in the dust with a new litter of hounds.
Talia paced the grim square of earth, wandering through the knotted roses and over to the willow. It wasn’t raining today, but the sky was still heavy with clouds. The wind blew up cool from the sea, bringing with it snatches of melody steeped in longing. She tried not to think about it.
There was an old stone bench by the pool, vines curling up its legs. Talia sank down on it and stared into the water. Lily pads floated on the surface of the pond. A hesitant white flower, just beginning to bloom, peeked up between the tangle of green; she caught a hint of its heady fragrance, and it reminded her of Eddenahr. This pond had once been beautiful, or at least someone had tried to make it so. She wondered which of the Baronesses had tended to it—Wen’s mother, or Caiden’s. She flushed, and scolded herself.
So Wen happened to have an incredibly handsome and intriguing and courteous brother. That didn’t change anything.
Although Ayah would disagree. Talia grinned, imagining the lively discussion the two of them would have about Caiden’s many admirable qualities—lingering of course on that morning’s encounter on the stairs.
She threw a pebble into the pool, then got up and walked around the garden again. There was a gate in the front wall that looked out onto a graveyard, which she turned away from in a hurry. The back wall had a gate too, half-concealed with ivy, and she stopped to peer out toward the sea. She could feel it calling to her, a restless tugging at her heart.
The gate was locked, but she climbed the iron lattice and hopped down to the other side. Her promise to Ahned made her uneasy, and she glanced back.
The house loomed above her, grim and dark, ivy creeping up the weatherworn stone. She could certainly understand why people thought it was haunted. But she didn’t see anyone watching her, so she turned toward the sea again and started down the path winding away from the garden.
She’d only gone a few paces when she found a door set into the hill.
It was obviously ancient, made of carved stone. Two chains stretched across it, looping through iron rings on either side of the door and clasped tight in a heavy padlock that hung in the center.
She wondered what was inside. A temple? A crypt? She leaned forward to examine the carvings in the stone, worn by centuries of wind and weather and partially obscured by the padlock and chains. But she still recognized the Tree, huge and beautiful, its branches curling up into heaven. Around its base stood people wielding spears and battling the towering gods, who lashed lightning at them. A woman knelt at the very base of the carved door, her head bowed, weeping.