She cried out and folded his hand in hers, but it was cold. It was so, so, cold. She couldn’t feel anything. No pulse. No faint hope of life. “No,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Wen, no. Please, please, no.” And she cradled his head in her arms and rocked him back and forth, sobbing. She loved him. She loved him so deeply, and she’d realized it too late. She hadn’t ever told him.
She wept into his hair, entirely broken.
“Daughter of Endain,” came a voice, as strong as the sea, “why are you weeping?”
She lifted her head and saw the Whale, swimming a short distance from the shore, one black eye fixed upon her. “Whale,” she breathed.
“I am here,” he rumbled. His voice sounded as if it was coming to her through all the weight of water and time, down from the beginning of the world, and on past its ending.
“But you were dead.” Snow swirled around her, diaphanous and white.
“And so I was, for a while.”
“I don’t understand.”
The Whale hmmmm’d, low and long. “Rahn’s power was broken when she was destroyed. The wicked things she and her servants did are now undone forever.”
“Can you save Wen?” Her fingers curled tight around his pale, cold hand, willing herself to feel a heartbeat. But there was nothing.
“You already did,” said the Whale. “And now he has saved you. He was the only one who could.”
She thought of her dream, flying so long, thorns digging into her shoulders. Not thorns—claws. “He carried me here. All the way from Rahn’s Hall.” Her voice broke. “You said he would die for the love of me.”
“And so he has,” said the Whale, gently.
She bowed over Wen, clinging to him, grief overwhelming her.
“Do not despair, daughter of Endain. Love can change many things. Even fate.”
She lifted her head and the Whale was gone, like he had never been there at all, nothing but the endless iron sea stretching into the horizon.
She glanced back into Wen’s pale face, memorizing the freckles scattered across his nose, his half-grown beard and the snow clinging to his eyelashes.
“I love you,” she said softly. “Forgive me, Wen. Forgive me for waiting too long. For not understanding sooner.”
And she bent her head and softly kissed his lips.
His mouth was cold and smooth, but it warmed faintly against hers. Her heart seized. She didn’t draw away. Slowly, impossibly slowly, she felt life and breath come whispering into him. Beneath her hand, splayed across his chest, his heart began to pulse, steady and strong.
She raised her head, a cry choking out of her, and Wen’s eyes flew open. He gasped for breath, gulping it in like a drowning man. He sat up, chest rising and falling, drinking the air. Alive. Whole. Well.
She stared at him, her hand going to her mouth. She was crying again. She couldn’t stop.
His eyes found her face, and held there. “Talia?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in a long time.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed. “I thought you were dead.”
His jaw worked, tears sparking in his own eyes. He reached out one hand, and smoothed his fingers over her cheek, wiping the tears away. He touched her eyelashes, gentle as a whisper. “I’m not dead.”
A sob choked her, and Wen leaned closer, fingers trembling over her chin, caressing the curve of her neck. “I’m not dead.” He lifted his other hand and wrapped both around her face.
She stared into him, her joy hot and bright.
He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, one and then the other. He kissed her cheek and her neck, and his lips were soft as the snow, but infinitely warmer.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, crushing him so tight against her she could feel his heartbeat.
And then his mouth found hers. Light sparked through her body, her heart pulsing hot. He tasted like fire and storm and music; she could feel his strength, and his softness, too.
Snow swirled around them, thick and wet, but she didn’t feel it, swallowed up in the fierceness of their kiss. She never wanted to let him go.
He drew back before she was ready, looking at her with bright eyes, his smile overwhelming her.
“I love you,” she told him, her mouth mere breaths from his. “I have since the day you showed me the mirror room. Since before. But I didn’t know it, not then.”
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, the smile not straying from his lips. “I’m afraid I’ve loved you a little longer than that.”
She laughed, and he grinned and then kissed her again, lingering and long.
When he pulled away, he put his arm around her and drew her close. She lay her head on his shoulder.
“Will you stay with me?” he asked her.
She stared out into the sea, snowflakes vanishing into the silver-gray waves. “Gods, Wen,” she whispered into his neck. “I could never be happy anywhere without you.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
THEY WALKED UP TO THE HOUSE THE back way, and found that the garden had collapsed into the temple. Slabs of stone poked up through dead roses at odd angles; dust swirled strangely with the snow. The door was broken in half, unable to bear the weight of the hill, and the air smelled of roses, and fire.
They stood and stared at it awhile, Wen’s hand caught fast in hers. “The Tree is gone from the world,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t need temples anymore.”
Ahned met them at the front door, peering at them strangely. He didn’t ask any questions, just led them up to the tower library. Shards of black glass littered the floor, remnants of the mirror room. No need for a guardian anymore, either, since Rahn was destroyed.
They had tea with Ahned in the parlor. Talia felt like a stranger, her eyes darting constantly to Wen’s, wondering when they could be gone. “Where are Blaive and Caiden?” she asked.
The steward stirred sugar into his tea, but didn’t drink any. “They’ve gone together to review the province. They took it very hard when you disappeared. Blamed themselves.”
“But are they well? Are they happy?”
Ahned smiled. “They always were a tumultuous pair, but they seem to have mended whatever breach lay between them. They’re to have a child in the spring.”
A weight lifted from her shoulders.
He sobered again, studying her and Wen in turn. “Two months after you disappeared, the wreck of a boat washed up on shore. We thought for certain you were both dead. Then, nine days ago, you appeared on the beach in the ruins of a great feathered creature, caught in some enchanted sleep. We couldn’t wake you. We didn’t dare move you. You had the look of ones who were gods-touched.”
“And so we were,” said Wen, his eyes far away. “We went to the ends of the earth, but the gods saw fit to bring us back again.”
Ahned shook his head, bewildered.
They stayed only long enough, after that, to pack up Wen’s music and a few changes of clothes for each of them. Ahned found them wool coats, and they shrugged them on in the vestibule, snow falling thicker outside the windows. The steward eyed them unhappily. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until the Baron and Baroness return? Or at least until I can hire you a carriage from the village?”
“Thanks, Ahned, but no.” Wen glanced at Talia.
“We’re meant to be moving on,” she agreed.
Ahned sighed. “You’re unlikely to find a ship to take you until spring, in any case.”
“We’ll find one,” said Wen.