The driver jabbed his thumb at Talia.“Was paid to deliver her here. You did receive notice of her arrival?”
“We were expecting two ladies. Weeks ago.”
The driver shrugged. “There’s just her. Ship was delayed on account of weather.”
“I see.”
Talia kept chewing on her cheek, trying not to feel like an unwanted horse at an auction.
“Well then.” The driver handed Ahned the leather chest. “Payment, as promised. The annual installmentswill of course be forthcoming. You may inform the Baron.”
“Of course.” Ahned looked at Talia again. “Do you have trunks? Any luggage to bring in?”
She shook her head.
“Ah, well. Best get out of the wet.” He opened the door wider.
The driver tipped his cap to Ahned and dashed back to the coach.
Talia took a deep breath and went into the house.
She stepped into a grand stone entrance hall,dim light slipping through the windows set high in the vaulted ceiling. It was just as cold in here as it was outside, if less damp. Talia shivered, dripping water on the floor like a half-drowned cat.
Ahned came in behind her and shut the door. “Welcome to the Ruen-Dahr, Miss Dahl-Saida. Give me a moment, and I’ll see if your room is ready.”
She nodded and he disappeared up the sweeping staircaseon the far end of the foyer. Underneath the curve of the stairs was a large pair of double doors, the dark wood carved with shapes she couldn’t distinguish from this distance. Across the room to her left an open doorway led into a carpeted hall.
As she stood there waiting for Ahned, she became gradually aware of a faint thread of music, winding its way from somewhere deep in the house. She’dnever heard anything quite like it: soft and sad and beautiful, too. The rain pounded overhead and the music seemed to twist into the scattered rhythm, like the melody was just as natural as the weather.
Minutes ticked by and Ahned didn’t return. Talia’s toes and fingers grew numb with cold. She fidgeted, anxious, impatient, wanting just to sit down with a cup of tea or curl up by a warm fireor—gods above—take a hot bath. She wished Ayah were here—she’d have found some way to get into mischief already.
Talia cast an irritated eye up the stairs, but Ahned still didn’t appear.
The music wound on as she waited, tugging at her strangely, and after a few more moments she couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to find out what it was. With one last glance at the staircase, she crossedthe foyer and stepped into the hall. The music grew a little louder. She passed a doorway that looked into a small dining room and kept going. The hall turned to the right, drawing her past a few more doors, all shut, and then at last to the source of the music—a room in the back of the house spilling light and melody into the corridor. She stopped in front of the door and peered in.
The roomwas small, but comfortable. A pair of armchairs were pulled up to a small fire; a window in the back wall looked out into the rain. Haphazardly-arranged shelves, overflowing with books and sheet music, lined the walls. Between them hung all kinds of instruments—viols and miniature harps, flutes and recorders of various sizes, a half dozen drums, and more that Talia had no names for.
Underneaththe window stood another instrument she didn’t know. It looked like a harpsichord—same shape and strings, same black-and-white keys marching up and down its widest part—but it had a completely different sound.
A young man sat behind the not-harpsichord, lost in creating the mesmerizing music that Talia had heard from the entrance hall. He looked to be about her age, with a wiry build and armstoo long for his sleeves. He had light brown hair and skin paler than Ahned’s. The inhabitants of Ryn clearly didn’t spend much time in the sun, although—Talia glanced at the rain running down the window—maybe there wasn’t much sun to spend timein.
She stood there and watched him play, his hands running so easily up and down the keys that she wondered whether he controlled the music or the musiccontrolled him.
And then he lifted his head and saw her in the doorway. His fingers froze over the instrument and the music cut off abruptly. He blinked at her, his bright blue eyes owlish behind a pair of silver spectacles, and he seemed to grow paler than he already was.
He jerked to his feet, still staring, and slammed a cover down over the keys so hard it made Talia jump. “Who are you?”he demanded.
She suddenly wondered what she must look like to him: a half-drowned stranger who hadn’t had a real bath in half a year.
“I’m Talia.” Her voice came out in an undignified high squeak. “Talia Dahl-Saida,” she added, more firmly, “heiress of Irsa.”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head, stepping around the instrument to come over to her. Up close he was several inches taller than Talia,his thatch of hair falling into his eyes and curling a little around his ears. He had a spattering of freckles across his nose and a cravat hung loose around his neck.
He grabbed her arms. “You can’t be here. You have to leave.” He turned her about and propelled her back into the hallway.
She jerked free. “I beg. Your. Pardon?”
He unhooked his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, pacing a few stepsdown the hall before coming back to her. He shoved his spectacles into his shirt pocket and swore, vehemently, by all nine gods and a handful of spirits Talia had never heard of before. “I don’tbelievethis.” He finally looked at her again.
