Page 23 of Beneath the Haunting Sea
Talia rose from the dressingtable, uncomfortable in the corset and borrowed gown and feeling less like a lady than she ever had in her life.
She lifted her chin and went to take his arm.
Ahned escorted her down into the vestibule and led her under the sweep of the stair to the double doors, which were open a crack. He rapped on the left one and pushed it open further, nodding at her to go in.
She slipped through, andthe door shut with a click behind her.
She found herself in a large, airy hall that might once have been a ballroom. Unlit chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling, the crystal baubles tangled with dust and cobwebs, and sheets were draped over a few scattered pieces of furniture like ghosts in their mourning whites. Gray light streamed in through half a dozen arched windows on one wall, rainpouring against the glass. Two men—one young and one much older—were waiting for her there.
The young one stood facing the window, his back to the door. The old one was hunched in an ancient armchair, stuffing bursting out of the threadbare fabric.
Talia blinked at the scene, a little confused. She thought she was coming down for a late lunch. What was going on?
She paced toward them, dustswirling up from the floor. The old man lifted his head and the young man turned from the window. He was indeed the boy from the music room, dressed formally now in gray trousers and jacket, a white cravat stiff around his neck. His eyes followed her all the way from the door, but his body remained rigid.
She stopped a few feet away, resisting the urge to curtsy. Whatever her current status,she was the daughter of an Emperor, and therefore the Baron’s superior.
“Miss Dahl-Saida,” said the old man, his voice gravelly and rough, “you’ll forgive me if I do not rise. The rain makes my bones ache.”
Talia dipped her chin in acknowledgement. Up close, she realized that he wasn’t as old as he seemed. He looked exhausted, his skin sagging and gray, like he was weighed down by some long,unshakeable illness.
“I am Baron Graimed Dacien-Tuer, Lord of the Ruen-Dahr, Governor of Ryn. I’m told you’ve met my son, Wendarien Aidar-Holt.”
Her glance slid over to Wen. He was still watching her intently, rain beating hard on the window behind him. His hands were curled into fists, tendons straining tight against his pale skin. “I have,” she said.
The Baron nodded and looked up at hisson. “Wendarien?”
Wen dug in his pocket and pulled out a small box made of dark wood inlaid with the emblem of a white tree. He opened it. Inside, on a square of red silk, lay an intricate silver ring set with a pale blue stone.
He picked up the ring and laid the box on the windowsill, then came a step nearer, took Talia’s right hand in his left, and slid the ring onto her index finger. It fitperfectly.
She snatched her hand away and leapt backward, anger and mortification blazing hot within her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Baron frowned. “Miss Dahl-Saida. Need I remind you that this betrothal was the first and foremost point in Her Imperial Majesty’s contract?”
So, this is what Eda had planned. She was making sure, from thousands of miles across the sea, that Talia knewher place: heiress of nothing, Empress of no one. Eda wanted her to remember that fact every day for the rest of her life.
Rain beat against the glass. Wen watched her intently.
“If you refuse to accept the Empress’s terms, I will expel you immediately from my house,” said the Baron. “You will be as you are. Penniless. Friendless. Alone.”
Once more she saw her mother, leaping into the storm,her purple gown filling up the square window.
“Wendarien,” said the Baron, evidently taking her silence for acceptance.
Wen took her hand again, his jaw tight. This time she didn’t pull away, just stared at him.
The Baron’s voice came, horrible and obdurate as marble. “These two souls together pronounce their intention to be joined, as husband and as wife, and are hereafter marked only foreach other, as signified by this ring.”
The formal words of betrothal.
She looked at Wen and he looked back, and said nothing. His hand over hers was calloused and cold. Her mind wheeled.
“Do you agree to abide by the terms of this binding?” said the Baron.
Wen stared at her. The rain fell on and on.
“Wendarien,” said the Baron, his tone dark and harsh.
