“And the gods gave it to them.”
A faraway look came into her mother’s eyes as the wind clawed at the sheet and the clamor of bells grew louder. “The gods plucked the Tree from the ground, and cast it down again. It fell with a terrible noise to the earth, and many men and women were crushed beneath it.
“‘This is your Tree!’ the gods said. ‘Be content in its death, for now you must gather food for yourselves.’ They were angry with mankind, and so they withdrew into their separate realms of mountain and wood, water and air. They ruled the world from afar and showed themselves no more to men.”
“Blaidor wept,” said Talia above the rising wind, “Tahn’s wife. She mourned for him, while the rest of the people mourned for the Tree.”
Her mother smiled again. “You know the stories better than I do, dearest. What happened next?”
“The Tree lay dead on the earth for three hundred years. Mankind did not flourish as they once had, now that they faced sickness and death. They no longer ate from the sacred Tree. No one dared to touch it.”
“And then?” prompted her mother.
“Mankind began to forget the gods and the glory of the Tree. They grew proud.”
“That’s right. Only when the rain fell or the sea raged or the earth shook did mankind think of the gods, but their names seemed nothing more than ancient words in children’s rhymes. Some men even doubted that gods ever existed and did not believe in the sacred Tree.”
“Haisar. He was arrogant and foolish.”
“Yes, Haisar. He wished to build a ship, great enough and strong enough to bear him to the ends of the earth and back, to win him fame and glory among mankind. He felled many trees and shaped them into ships, but they always failed to take him where he wanted to go. Nine times he nearly drowned. So he looked upon the great Tree and he didn’t care that it was ancient and good and ought to be respected.”
“He struck it with his axe,” said Talia. “The earth swallowed him whole for his crime.”
“And how does this story end?” her mother asked.
“The gods didn’t want to leave the sacred Tree to mankind anymore, and risk further dishonor. They fought each other for the keeping of it.
“Tuer wished to take the Tree to the tallest mountain. Raiva wished to plant it in her woods. Huen wished to take it under the earth, and Hahld to plant it where all the streams and rivers met. Mahl and Ahdairon wished to take the Tree with them to the air, and Caida to return it to the Stars. Uerc wished to take the Tree to the cliffs on the edge of the world.”
“But,” said her mother.
“But Aigir wished to take the Tree with him into the depths of the sea, where no trees had ever grown.”
“And he did. He had grown very strong, and so prevailed against the other gods. He took the Tree to the middle of the Northern Sea, and planted it there. The Tree thrust its roots down into the depths, and stretched its bare white branches up into the sky, and lived once more.”
“And there it grows still.”
Her mother smiled. “The end.”
The storm broke all at once, rain and dust and wind slamming through the windows.
Up in the tower library in the Ruen-Dahr, the story of the Tree unfolded before Talia once again, sparking memories she’d long forgotten, making her miss her mother so much it hurt.
She gripped the book tightly, drinking in the words, forgetting that she needed to return Ahned’s keys before he missed them.
Hours slipped away.
Rain beat against the window and she lost herself in reading, not lifting her head again until she had turned the very last page.
Chapter Seventeen
SHE WAS THE LAST TO ARRIVE AT dinner, hair still damp from her bath. Her rose-colored gown fell in graceful folds from the high waistline, a half dozen gray and pink silk flowers sewn into the center of the bodice.
The Baron was sitting at the head of the table. He looked up as she came in, while his sons both stood and bowed.
“You are very late this evening, Miss Dahl-Saida,” said the Baron, his eyebrows drawing together.
She swept around to her usual chair and sat down. Wen and Caiden resumed their seats as well. “Apologies, sir. I lost track of the hour.” She’d bolted from the library, slipping the keys back onto their nail a moment before Dairon found her in the kitchen. She’d used another excuse, inquiring about a bath. Dairon eyed her darkly and said she ought to learn to use her bell—didn’t they have those in Enduena? But she’d kept the library key. It was tucked inside a dancing slipper, shoved in the deepest corner of the wardrobe. She hoped Ahned wouldn’t notice it was gone.
The Baron grunted a little, and Lyna and Ro came in with dinner—more roasted fish, with hot, honeyed apricots, and a cold cucumber soup.
“Did you have a pleasant day, Miss Dahl-Saida?” asked Caiden as she cut off a piece of meat.
“Tolerable. I—” she cast around for an explanation of what she’d been doing that had made her late. “I was out in the garden for much of it. Until it started raining, of course.”
“Were you?” said Wen beside her, speaking for the first time. “I didn’t see you there.”
She eyed him coolly. “You must have been wrapped up in your music.”
“On the contrary: I worked in the garden much of today.”
Talia gave a careless shrug. “We must have missed each other. What about you, Caiden? How do you avoid boredom in the Ruen-Dahr?” She wanted to ask if he’d forgotten his promise to go riding with her, but she didn’t quite dare.
Caiden laughed, his teeth flashing white. “Still going over the review with my father, I fear. Lots of things to sort through after three months on the road.”
“What do you do other days?”
“I work on the accounts. I go riding—sometimes all the way to Wen’s holding, sometimes to the village, sometimes just down to the beach.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she said it anyway: “I thought the sea was forbidden.”
Wen tensed beside her and Caiden’s forehead furrowed. The Baron seemed to go even paler than usual.
Caiden tried to laugh it off. “I stay well away from the sea, of course. You know that, Father.” He patted the Baron’s arm.
“Why is the sea forbidden?” Talia looked straight into the Baron’s gray face. “What are you all trying to hide from me?”
“Talia,” said Wen.
“Why are there so many secrets in this gods-forsaken house? You can’t lock everything away or dam up the sea and keep it from flowing. Why do you still live here if the Ruen-Dahr has caused you so much pain?”
Tears welled in the Baron’s eyes and dripped down his cheeks.
She pitied him suddenly, but she didn’t take back her words. “I was sent here against my will. I deserve to know what has happened in this house if I’m to be forced to stay here. There’s so much you’re not telling me, and I need to know why.”
The Baron blinked at her, tears still falling.