He glanced at the dress without seeing it, tears creeping into the corners of his eyes. “I miss them, you know,” he whispered. “Every day. But the gods took them from me, and I cannot get them back.” He put his head in his hands and wept, his thin shoulders shaking.
Talia’s heart wrenched. She crossed the room and knelt beside his chair. “I’m very sorry, sir,” she said softly. “I will never stop missing my mother, not ever. It hurts too much, so I try not to think about it. But I do anyway. Part of me is always thinking about it. Remembering how she died. Remembering how she lived. Remembering her, because I’m the only one left to do it.” She tried not to think about where her mother was now, but she couldn’t help it—water choking into her lungs, an agony of darkness and pain that never ended.
The Baron lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “That’s it exactly. The boys—the boys miss them, too, but not like me.”
She felt a deep twist of compassion and kinship for this poor, wasted man. She leaned over and kissed his papery cheek.
“I wish I could bring them back,” he whispered.
She jerked away from him. “What did you say?”
Tears slid down his pale face. “I wish I could bring them back.”
Shouldn’t she be wishing that for her mother? Drowning for eternity. No escape. No release.
“Gone forever,” the Baron muttered to the fire, his chin dropping forward onto his chest. He sighed and fell asleep, his breaths coming in rattling rasps.
Talia crept from the room, dread knotted tight around her heart.
What if she could bring her mother back? What if there was a way to free her? What if—
She ran right into Wen, who was coming up the stairs the other way.
She stopped short and he did too, staring at her with his mouth hanging open. She struggled to keep control of herself, digging her fingers into the skirt of her dress. “Why did Caiden’s mother go down to the temple? How did your mother drown?” She took a steadying breath. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I want to know what it is.”
He looked at her, the muscles tight in his jaw. “I can’t tell you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand.
“I have to show you.”
She blinked at him. “All right.”
He studied her, and it felt like he was looking deep down to her core. “Is that a wedding gown?” he said softly.
“Yes.”
A quiet smile touched his lips. “I think it’s bad luck for me to see you. Though I’m glad I have.”
She gave him a hesitant smile back, and he flushed a little. “Meet me in the library,” he told her. “I know you have a key.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed. He bowed and strode on up the stairs.
She went back to her room, slipping out of the unfinished bridal gown and into a patterned gray dress.
“Did the Baron approve?” the seamstress inquired, laying the gown in the box with the rest.
“He did,” said Talia.
But she wasn’t thinking about the Baron.
Chapter Twenty-Six
WEN WAS WAITING FOR HER WHEN SHE stepped into the library, his tall form dark against the window. His expression was serious, his eyes hard. “Do you know about the Words of the gods?”
“They’re mentioned in the myths,” she said after a few moments of uneasy silence. She felt again that hidden power she’d sensed so strongly when she’d first discovered the library. “Words of power, given to the gods at the beginning of the world. The spirits learned them, too, and taught them to a few mortals, or so the story goes.”
Wen nodded. “The Words were written down in books. Kept hidden. Kept secret. Some say they can be found in any great library in the world. I found one of them. And I think my mother—and Caiden’s—found it, too.”
He turned to look at the left wall of the tower, and spoke three words in a language she had never heard before. The words sounded more like music than speaking; she could feel their power.
A doorway appeared in the wall, shimmering and black.
Talia drew a sharp breath.
“The Words of opening,” he said, answering her unspoken question. Intensity burned in his blue eyes. “You have to promise me something.”
Her throat constricted. “What’s that?”
“When you see—when you see what I’m about to show you, don’t do anything rash.”
Gooseflesh prickled up and down her skin. “I’ll try not to.”
He gave her a tight smile, and held out his hand. “Are you ready?”
She took his hand, and his fingers folded warm around hers, steady and certain. “Yes.”
They stepped side by side through the doorway.
She found herself in a cool, dim chamber that smelled of wine and honey, dust swirling up from the floor. The ceiling and walls disappeared into shadowy darkness, so Talia couldn’t tell how big the space really was. Tall mirrors the color of obsidian filled the room, too many for her to count. They seemed eerie, and she realized it was because they didn’t reflect anything at all.
“What is this place?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Look in the mirrors and you’ll see.”
She stepped up to the nearest mirror.
The black glass stared back at her, impenetrable, and she held her breath. Then it wavered, and began to change.
Inside the mirror she saw the void, or rather, she felt it, an impossible darkness where no life could possibly exist. Three Stars appeared, wheeling in that darkness, and she knew somehow she was witnessing the making of the world. She couldn’t even comprehend it, but it was beautiful, and it made her ache.
She heard Wen’s voice as if from a great distance, felt him tugging her hand. “Come. You must not look too long.”
And she allowed him to pull her away from the mirror.
The coldness of the chamber crept into her. She stepped up to a second obsidian glass.
The mirror stared blankly back at her for a few moments before the surface began to ripple, and an image shuddered into being. She saw the Tree growing beautiful and good out of the earth, its branches spread wide, fruit bursting amidst its leaves. She could smell the Tree, touch it, hear it. She thought it was singing to her. But no, those were the gods, raising their voices in the shelter of the Tree, making music to the three blazing Stars.
And then, Wen’s voice in her ear, his hand pulling her away: “You must not look too long.”
She looked in a third mirror, and saw mankind’s rebellion against the gods playing out before her eyes. She watched the gods uproot the Tree and fling it to the ground in their great anger. She saw men and women die, saw Blaidor weeping bitterly. Talia felt the ancient woman’s sorrow like it was her own; fiery tears dripped down her cheeks.
Wen tugged her away.
She looked into a fourth mirror, and saw the gods warring over the fallen Tree. She watched Aigir claim the victory and plant the Tree anew in the midst of the ocean.
In the fifth mirror, the gods plucked two of the Stars from heaven, and Huen of the Earth and Aigir of the Sea bound them like jewels in bands of gold and silver.