“No, you’re not.” She brushed her fingers briefly across his sleeve. “I’m sorry about your father.”
He caught her hand with his own, pressed it tight. “I’m a ride away if you need anything. Goodbye, Talia.”
And then he swung back up onto the gelding and rode away into the winter darkness, leaving her with a faint sensation of loss that didn’t quite fade with his hoofbeats.
Chapter Thirty-Five
IN THE MORNING, TALIA PULLED ON A worn gown and slipped downstairs, nearly colliding with Anira and a laden breakfast tray.
“I was just about to bring this up for you, Miss.”
“I fear I’m not hungry just yet. I actually wanted to ask if I could borrow a shovel.”
“A shovel?”
Talia shoved her hands in her pockets and tried to look innocent. “I thought I’d do some gardening.”
The old servingwoman raised her eyebrows, laughter lines crinkling her papery cheeks. “While it’s still winter? Dearie, you aren’t going to be gardening.”
Talia opened her mouth to protest, but Anira held up one hand. “Master Wendarien left instructions that you need quiet and peace. We’re not to interfere with any … gardening … you might wish to do.” She winked. “I’ll find you that shovel.”
And that was that.
She slogged through the snow down to the hidden cove, the shovel slung over her shoulder, a lantern dangling from one hand.
She set to work, beginning the long job of digging the ship out of the sand. It was harder than she thought, and she regretted skipping breakfast. She dug and dug, until her hands started to blister and the sea crept in at her heels, knocking over the lantern. The light snuffed out.
Talia yelped, and scrambled out onto the shore again.
This was going to take much longer than a day.
She trudged back to the Ruen-Shained, vowing to be better prepared tomorrow.
For the rest of the day she poured through the books she’d brought from the library, searching for further mentions of journeying to Rahn’s Hall. Anira brought her tea. The white cat curled up on her feet and fell asleep, but Talia didn’t notice.
She read a book about Ryn’s history, and found an interesting tidbit about the Ruen-Dahr: It was reportedly built by a sailor nearly four centuries earlier in order to “set a watch on the sea.” Talia found the phrasing intriguing, especially considering how similar it was to the end of the myth about Lida and Cyne. Their children had “set a watch” because of Rahn. Was that the purpose of the Ruen-Dahr?
Talia didn’t want to think about that. She shut the book and switched to one about ship repair.
When night came, she left her books in the parlor and went upstairs to the cozy room Anira had given her. A white moon looked in through her window as she pulled the dead Baronesses’ gowns from the carpetbags and took them apart, seam by seam.
It was very late when she’d finished, but sleep was awhile coming. Even here, a mile away from the sea, she could hear the music, twisting in her mind, burrowing into her heart. Calling her down to Rahn’s Hall. When at last she slept, the haunting melodies followed her into her dreams.
Her days settled into a pattern, and gradually her plans started to take shape.
In the mornings, she went out to the cove and dug until the tide drove her away, slowly uncovering the boat. It turned out to be bigger than she imagined: a dinghy over twenty feet long, with a fitting for a mast that must have long since rotted away.
In the afternoons she read and read, as much as she could about the gods. She’d found a whole book about their Words, fascinating accounts of men and women who used them to transform into various creatures and move mountains. But it wasn’t the book Wen had told her about, filled with the actual Words themselves, and turned out to be vastly less helpful than she’d hoped.
She found a story about a girl called Dia, who sailed to the Hall of the Dead to rescue her brother. When Rahn wouldn’t let him go, Dia chose to stay in his place among the dancers so her brother could be free. That wasn’t quite the solution Talia was looking for, but at least it gave her more proof that the Hall could be found.
She read about sailing and ship repair, grateful for all the things Hanid had taught her so many months ago. She hunted through the Ruen-Shained’s disused study and found half a dozen crackly old charts of the Northern Sea, a tarnished but functioning sextant, and an ancient compass in perfect working order.
In the evenings, Talia sewed together her patchwork sail with the material from the dismantled gowns. It grew before her, billowing over her knees like a multicolored wave.
And at night, when she fell asleep, she dreamed of the sea, of herself tormented in her mother’s place, black water crushing her into oblivion.
It took her almost a week to fully uncover the boat, her hands blistering against the rough wood of the shovel. But she managed it at last and was pleased to see that the ship was in remarkable shape. No cracks in the hull or the stern. A workable rudder, even an ancient oar lying in the bottom. She’d need to find a mast, somehow, and seal the outside of the ship with pitch and work up all the riggings. But the little ship seemed to be as sound as if the gods themselves had bound it with Words of protection. Maybe they had.
The afternoon she freed the ship, Talia trudged back to the Ruen-Shained to find Wen perched on the front steps, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He leapt to his feet when he caught sight of her.
“Thought I’d come visit, see how you were. If you don’t mind, of course,” he added hurriedly.
“Not at all. It’s good to see you.” She smiled, glad she’d washed most of the grime off her hands in the ocean before coming back—though there was no hiding the mud on her hem.
If Wen noticed, he didn’t say anything. He smiled in return, and they walked into the house, shutting the door against the cold wind. The snow had melted over the last few days, but it wasn’t warm enough to stand around outside for very long.
“Tell me all the news,” said Talia.
Wen leaned back against the door. “Blaive’s decided to redecorate. Dairon is all in a huff, and Ahned’s frowning deeply at the amount of money she’s spending. No one’s told him about the party she’s planning yet.”
Talia laughed. “She’s gotten bored.”
He grinned at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek. “Indeed.”
“What about you?”
He sobered a little, and scratched at his ear. “Same as always. Writing too much. Spending too many hours in the music room.”
It was only then that Talia noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping,” she said with concern.
“I’ve been worried about you.”
“You came to check up on me.” She said it gently, so he’d know she wasn’t angry.
“I’m glad you haven’t slipped off anywhere,” he admitted.
She poked him in the arm. “I promised I wouldn’t do anything crazy, remember?”