Beneath the Haunting Sea Read online

  “No.”

  The fierceness in her mother’s tone refocused her, and Talia angrily scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “What then?”

  Her mother squared her jaw, and for the first time in her life Talia realized her mother might not be the impenetrable marble queen Talia had always thought she was.

  “The Emperor is not to be denied. What he asks for … he receives.” Her mother lifted her shoulders and let them drop again, the careless gesture belied by the shake in her voice.

  “Did my father know?”

  “Of course he knew.”

  She let out a breath—she couldn’t have borne it if her father had only loved her because he thought she was his.

  “Talia, you have to listen. Perhaps I should have told you a long time ago, but the Emperor and I wanted to protect you. No one else knows, and no one can know until the Emperor makes the announcement. You can’t tell anyone—not even Ayah. It’s too dangerous. Courtiers will try to manipulate you, maybe even try to harm you. Promise me, Talia.”

  She felt blank and dull and numb. She didn’t understand how that even mattered. “Were there others like you? Is Eda my sister?”

  Her mother frowned at the unexpected question. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t matter now. You have to promise me. If anyone asks about your party, it is only to celebrate your coming-of-age. Do you understand?”

  Talia stared out beyond the rooftop. Heat rose in waves from the sprawling city below her. A crane winged its way across the sky, glinting silver in the sunlight.

  “Talia. Will you promise me?”

  She attempted to gather the shattered remains of herself, and turned her eyes to her mother. “I promise.”

  Chapter Two

  TALIA PRACTICED HER SPEECH IN FRONT OF her dressing table mirror while her parrot chattered from its perch and the fountains laughed just below her window. Her eyes were hot and itchy from too many sleepless nights, and she gave up trying to hold onto the formal words she was expected to say in a little less than six hours.

  She collapsed onto the floor and lay flat on her back, staring up at the white dome of her ceiling, at the curls of vines and blue orchids painted on the marble. A hot breeze blew through her balcony and she screwed her eyes tight.

  Tonight, the Emperor would announce that Talia was his heir, and her life would never be the same again. Already she felt like she didn’t belong to herself—she’d been passed about between seamstresses and dance masters and an ancient librarian who kept insisting she recite a passage from a dense religious text for the occasion. Her head had been measured for a crown. She’d been asked what she requested from the Emperor for a birthday present by a very stern steward. Talia had stammered something about a new saddle for her horse; the steward had blinked at her with amusement and said her father would supply her with an entire stable if she wished.

  She still couldn’t think of the Emperor as her father. She didn’t think she ever would.

  Tomorrow, she would move into the royal wing of the palace, into the prince’s old suite.

  Tomorrow, she would be someone else: heir to half the known world.

  “Talia Dahl-Saida, what are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes and jerked guiltily to a sitting position. Her friend Ayah Inoll stood there with her pale hands on her hips, curls of startling orange hair tumbling into her face. “Are you feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Talia stood up and walked over to her parrot’s perch, stroking the bird’s bright feathers as she avoided her friend’s question.

  “You’re not even dressed yet,” Ayah admonished.

  “I wanted some time to myself. I sent the attendants away.”

  “You are entirely too dramatic.”

  Talia glanced back to see Ayah grinning at her.

  “It’s not going to be that bad.”

  Talia forced a smile, trying to ignore the wrench in her stomach. She’d promised her mother to keep her true identity hidden, even though every last servant seemed to know. “I have to give a speech!”

  Ayah grabbed her hands and spun her around in a circle. “And be presented to the court as an eligible woman, and eat mountains of food, and dance with every handsome man in Enduena. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

  “I might not get to see you as much.”

  “Huen’s bones. Of course you will.”

  Ayah’s oath made Talia smile in earnest—her friend’s religious inclinations made her curse all the more amusing. It wasn’t popular to believe in the gods anymore—religion had scarcely been practiced at all in the last half-century, and it was rare to even find a working temple these days. The Emperor frowned upon belief in the old gods, and most people only used them to swear by. But Ayah hailed from one of the Empire’s colonies on Od, where the old myths were more generally accepted, and she had apprenticed with a palace librarian. Od supposedly had the greatest university in the world, but Eddenahr still boasted the best library—even though, according to Ayah, they were still trying to recover texts lost in a fire several centuries back. Talia didn’t like the library. It was huge and oppressively ancient and too easy to get lost in. If she believed in ghosts—which she didn’t—she was sure that’s where they would all live. Ayah was always nagging her to go in there anyway, quoting from her dusty religious books and trying to convince her that the gods were as real as the palace stones. Talia liked to tease her that if the gods did exist, it was awfully cruel of them to have made her hair so very orange.

  “What would I do without you, Ay?”

  Ayah grinned again. “Allow yourself to be very miserable. Now come on, I’ll help you get dressed.”

  Talia showed her the gown that had arrived that morning from the seamstress, and had to laugh as Ayah punched her in the shoulder and cursed again. “What on gods’ green Endahr are you miserable about, you ridiculous mongoose? Arriving at your coming-of-age ball dressed like a goddess?”

  The gown was beautiful. It was a delicate yellow silk so pale it looked like starlight, and its accompanying air-light sash was sewn with gold thread and glints of diamonds.

  “We don’t do anything for coming-of-age in Od,” said Ayah wistfully.

  “What do you miss most?” This was a question Talia had asked frequently, ever since she’d found a very homesick Ayah sobbing in the corridor outside the library four years ago. It seemed to help Ayah to talk about Od, and Talia loved hearing her stories. Sometimes Talia imagined visiting her friend’s homeland, but it was hard to wish to be somewhere else when she already lived in one of the wonders of the world, “the Jewel of Endahr.” Endahr was an ancient word that meant “the earth,” and Eddenahr’s name was derived from it, which seemed appropriate to Talia. Eddenahr really did seem like it contained the whole world.

  “The forests,” said Ayah. “Starlight through the trees. Winter.”

  Talia slipped into the yellow gown, and Ayah started fastening the back. “We have winter in northern Irsa.”

  “Not like in Od. Snow so high you can’t leave your cottage for days. Cold so sharp you feel it in your bones.”

  “Sounds miserable.”

  Ayah punched her in the arm again. “No disrespecting my homeland!”

  They both dissolved into laughter.

  There came a knock on Talia’s door and she went to answer it. An army of attendants flooded in, propelling her to her dressing table and wrapping a sheet around her neck so her dress wouldn’t get dirty as they applied her cosmetics.

  Talia tried to sit as still as possible while the attendants went to work. Ayah hovered nearby, chattering about the latest mythological text she’d been copying in the library all week, but Talia couldn’t pay attention. The words of her speech tumbled about with the memory of her father’s laughter, the image of the Emperor in the courtyard, spittle running down his beard.

  The attendants twisted her hair into elaborate braids and pinned them on top of her head, crowning her with fresh lilies that filled the whole room w
ith their sweet scent. Over the balcony, the sun began to sink below the city and Talia’s anxiety sharpened. It was nearly time. Soon Ayah and everyone else would know. Would Ayah treat her differently?

  The attendants brushed gold powder across her eyelids and painted her lashes with kohl. They stained her lips a deep blood red. They rubbed her arms and neck and shoulders with citrus-scented oil. They hung sapphires in her ears and slipped calfskin sandals onto her feet. Then they drew the sheet away.

  Talia stood from her dressing table and Ayah appraised her with wide eyes. “Caida’s teeth,” she whispered. “Beautiful.”

  They went into the corridor together, where Talia’s mother was waiting. She wore a red gown that cascaded like water to the floor, with a shimmering, gold sash. Her black hair was bound up with diamonds, her brown skin glimmering with that same citrus-scented oil. “Are you ready?” A question deeper than the one she’d asked hung in her dark eyes.

  Talia sucked in a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she lied.

  When she stepped into the ballroom, bells resounded in the city below to call up the moon—Talia could just glimpse its silver edge through the gauzy curtains adorning the open balcony. Thousands of candles in iron stands and glittering chandeliers cast flickering shadows over the white-and-gold inlaid marble floor. People were already dancing, to the music of harps, flutes, tuned cymbals, and the resounding pulse of a booming drum that echoed in the huge domed chamber.

  The attendant in the doorway announced Talia and her mother as they stepped through: “The esteemed Countess Aria Dahl-Saida, Governor of Irsa, and her daughter, Talia Dahl-Saida.”

  Talia tried not to think of the “Imperial Highness” that would be added to her name after tonight. She shuddered.

  Ayah didn’t get an introduction. She slipped in behind them and gave Talia a wave as she pushed her way through the dancers to the refreshment table at the back of the room. As much as she’d teased Talia about it, Ayah didn’t care to be the center of attention either. Her bright hair and pale skin already made her stand out.

  Talia glanced at the raised dais a few feet from the refreshment table where two carved-ivory thrones stood empty. “I thought the Emperor would be here already,” she whispered to her mother.

  Her mother frowned. “So did I, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” She grasped Talia’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that. Your father would be, too.”

  She knew her mother didn’t mean the Emperor, and her eyes started to tear.

  Her mother smiled. “Don’t cry, my dear girl.”

  For the first time in years, Talia pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder and hugged her tight. She wasn’t alone in this. Her mother would be beside her, guiding her, helping her. And once Ayah got over her anger at Talia for keeping such a huge thing from her, Talia knew she could count on her friend’s help too.

  Her mother kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Talia.”

  They drew apart, and Talia turned to see a young man sweeping an elegant bow in her direction. He was startlingly handsome, with midnight-black hair and skin a few shades darker than hers. Diamonds gleamed in his ears, matching the crystals sewn into his cobalt and black silk jacket. “Lord Rone Hohd-Lorne at your service, my lady. Would you care for a dance?”

  Talia had never met Rone before, but she already disliked him. He was the son of the Baron of Tyst and she’d seen him beat a hound once. But it was her duty to dance with anyone who asked at her coming-of-age ball, so she put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

  They danced, Rone’s hand pressed against the small of her back, his warm breath too close to her cheek and smelling of spiced wine. She had the sudden, horrifying realization that because she was now the Emperor’s heir, she might be made to marry someone like Rone. Marrying for love was not a luxury an Empress could afford. The Emperor’s marriage had been political—hers would be, too.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Dahl-Saida?”

  Rone’s words startled her out of her thoughts and she lost track of the dance, tripping over her own feet and causing her partner to stumble as well.

  Irritation flashed across his handsome face. “I had expected the future Countess of Irsa to be a more accomplished dancer—you’ll have to work on that if you want to catch a husband.” He had the gall to wink at her.

  She wanted to smack him—she didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with this right now. “And here I expected a man who beats his own dogs to have beautiful manners. Excuse me.”

  Talia left him standing stupidly in the middle of the dancers and stalked over to the refreshment table, ears burning. Ayah wasn’t there anymore. Talia glimpsed her out on the dance floor, whirling about in the arms of a gawky Marquis.

  Talia resisted the urge to slip out to the balcony and scramble onto the roof. Ayah would follow her eventually, with a stolen jar of wine and a skirt full of cakes. They’d drink until they got dizzy and lick cake-sugar off their fingers and not come down until the party was over.

  But she couldn’t do that anymore. Future empresses didn’t do that.

  “Dance, my lady?”

  Talia cast a regretful look at the refreshments—squares of lamb glazed with honey, sugared cakes and mango sweetmeats, iced wine and spiced tea—and turned to accept the outstretched hand of a courtier’s sweaty son who was just straightening up from a bow.

  She danced for what felt like hours, the heat in the ballroom barely broken by the jasmine-drenched night air blowing in from the balcony. She thought the lilies in her hair must be wilting already. Every so often she glanced at the empty ivory thrones and felt a fresh wave of panic. Where was the Emperor?

  And what about Eda? She wasn’t here either.

  Her absence was probably purposeful—it would make a statement. The court would notice that Talia did not have the support of the Countess of Evalla when she was announced as the Emperor’s heir, which was politically disastrous. Evalla was the most powerful province in Enduena, boasting its own private army and navy, and it was one of the largest trading hubs in the world. Without Eda on her side—

  Gods above, did Eda already know about the Emperor’s announcement? Was that the reason she’d failed to come?

  Talia excused herself from her latest partner and went to find her mother, who was standing near the balcony with a cup of wine in her hand, speaking to an attendant. Whatever the attendant was saying made her mother’s face smooth over into that courtier’s mask that meant she didn’t care to broadcast her feelings. The attendant bowed and slipped away, and Talia stepped up to her mother.

  “Is the Emperor coming?”

  Her mother shook her head, a hardness coming into her eyes. “He’s very ill and can’t leave his rooms. You’ll have to make the announcement yourself.”

  “What?” Talia hissed. Her stomach turned over, and she suddenly regretted every single bite of food she’d ever eaten.

  Her mother’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “You’ll be fine. Just give your speech like you’ve been practicing, and explain at the end that the Emperor couldn’t be here.”

  “I’m not telling the entire Enduenan court I’m their next Empress. I can’t announce myself.”

  “You have to. The Emperor’s already signed the necessary documents to prove your claim. We’ll show them to the court tomorrow.”

  “Mama—”

  But her mother had already grabbed her arm and was steering her toward the dais.

  She felt like the walls were closing in around her, squeezing all the breath out of her lungs. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me do this.”

  But then they were standing on the dais, just in front of the thrones, and her mother was smiling brilliantly at the mass of courtiers and calling for quiet.

  Talia swallowed, fixed in that spot on the dais and blinking out at the crowd, her speech skittering through her mind in the wrong order. She searched for Ayah but couldn’t find her.
r />   “It is my great honor to present to you my daughter, Talia Dahl-Saida.”

  That was her cue. But every word she had ever known had gone completely from her head.

  The courtiers waited, a sea of whispering skirts and silk sashes and elegant jackets. They shifted where they stood, wine glasses in their hands. They would toast her health when she finished speaking. If she spoke at all.

  “Talia?”

  What was she supposed to say? Why wasn’t the Emperor here to do it for her?

  She finally found Ayah in the mass of courtiers, and her bright smile gave Talia enough courage to begin.

  “Friends and—friends and honored guests.” She bunched her skirt in one hand, crushing the delicate material, and went on: “It is—it is my great privilege to accept the—the responsibility that—”

  Away down in the city she heard bells, clamoring suddenly from the spired towers, all of them ringing at once: alarm bells. It couldn’t be a storm coming—it wasn’t the season, and the night had been clear.

  Talia shot a panicked look at her mother, who nodded tensely for her to continue. But she’d lost her place and had to start over.

  “Friends and honored guests. It is my great privilege to accept the responsibility of—of the Emperor’s heir and future—future Empress of Enduena. I—I swear to—”

  The bells grew louder and louder as the wind blew their jangling music into the ballroom.

  She fought to go on: “I swear to uphold the honor of the Empire, enforce its laws, and serve it to the best of my ability, as long as—”

  Another gust of wind tore through the room, so strong it ripped a lily loose from Talia’s braids. The flower fell, quiet and spinning, to the gold-and-white marble floor. She stared at it, feeling strangely outside of herself.

  “As long as—as long as I draw breath,” she finished, still looking at the fallen lily.

  There was no applause, no toasting—the courtiers were confused by her speech. The bells rang on and on, until Talia thought the world might be swallowed up in their noise.