Beneath the Haunting Sea Page 3

  And then, as suddenly as they’d begun, they stopped.

  The ballroom doors burst open, and the Emperor’s personal guard marched in: twelve helmed soldiers with blue sashes slung across their bare chests. Half carried sabers, blades naked and ready in their hands, the other half spears. Talia gaped, not understanding.

  Until she saw, striding behind them with a tiger-sharp smile, Eda Mairin-Draive.

  Chapter Three

  SILENCE ECHOED AS EDA STOOD THERE, SMILING, her glance sweeping over the glittering courtiers. She was dressed in a simple, old-fashioned gown the color of pomegranates, with gold clasps at both shoulders and an embroidered, blue belt. Lilies crafted in delicate gold leaf crowned her head and oils gleamed on her skin. Talia recognized both dress and crown as exact replicas of those worn by the goddess Raiva in a mural in the old palace temple. Talia wondered faintly if equating oneself with a goddess was profoundly arrogant or just blasphemous.

  Eda spoke, her voice echoing sharply through the deathly quiet hall: “His Imperial Majesty Scain Dahned-Aer, Emperor of Enduena, Lord of Ryn, and Ruler of Od, is dead, claimed this hour by his long illness.”

  The crowd gasped, and Talia stared numbly at Eda. Her heart beat too fast, too hard.

  Eda’s smile sharpened. “I am His Imperial Majesty’s heir. For proof, I present to you these documents”—she snapped her fingers and a pair of attendants stepped forward, unfolding cream-colored pages affixed with the Emperor’s seal—”and His Imperial Majesty’s ring, which he bequeathed to me before he died.” She lifted her left hand high for all to see: a heavy gold ring in the shape of a tiger chasing its tail, with rubies for eyes.

  And then Eda’s own eyes found Talia’s. “This girl is an imposter, and a traitor to Enduena.”

  Talia stepped down from the dais almost without realizing it. “No.”

  “Evidence has been found detailing her long correspondence with Denlahn, and her plot to seize the throne.”

  “No!” Talia stood frozen on the dance floor, staring into the sea of courtiers who just moments before had meant to toast her health. They glared at her now, murmuring angrily. Some of them cursed and a few spat at her. She found Ayah in the crowd, her friend’s face wracked with confusion and betrayal.

  “Seize the traitor!” Eda commanded.

  Two guards came forward and clapped their hands on Talia’s shoulders, their fingers biting like stones into her skin.

  “No!” she cried. “I haven’t done anything, there’s been a mistake—”

  But they were already dragging her away, across the dance floor and past Eda, who didn’t even look at her as she went by.

  “Arrest her mother, too,” said Eda calmly.

  “No!” Talia screamed, writhing in the guards’ grasp. “Eda, you can’t!”

  Eda glanced back at her, one eyebrow arched upward. “That’s what you’ve never understood, my poor, dear Talia.” She smiled. “I can do anything I want.”

  Talia woke to the noise of bells and the choking scent of moldering stone pressed up against her cheek. She jerked upright, heart stuttering.

  Images of her own beheading had haunted her through the night.

  She was shocked she’d slept at all.

  Where was her mother? What was Eda planning to do to her? To both of them?

  And she couldn’t stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Ayah’s face. Did her friend really believe her capable of treason?

  She hugged her knees tight to her chin.

  The hours spooled slowly away, one thread at a time. Talia got up and paced the confines of the tiny cell: five steps from one wall to the other, just three between the hardwood door and the bare stone sleeping ledge.

  After a long while she heard bells again, distant cheering, the brash ringing of trumpets.

  She sat back down on the stone ledge, folded her hands in her skirt. Waited.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  Perhaps that’s all Eda intended for her—to waste away into nothing and fade into the stone, turn to dust for the wind to scatter.

  The day was at least half gone by the time she heard footsteps on the stone outside her cell.

  She went over to the door, heart pounding. There came the jangle of keys, the creak of wood, and the door opened, the sudden blur of orange torchlight making her eyes tear. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light.

  Eda stood there, two guards at her back, that same gold-lily crown from last night circling her black hair. She was dressed in a deep-green gown, clasped again at the shoulders in gold. Her bare arms gleamed with scented oils and she wore a dagger at her waist. “Didn’t you ever learn to show deference to your superiors?” she said coolly. “You will bow before your Empress.”

  Talia sank to her knees on the hard stone floor, hating that she shook, hating that Eda saw it.

  “You tried to take everything from me. My birthright, my crown. You dared imagine you could be Empress, and now you grovel at my feet.”

  Talia jerked upright, staring Eda directly in her kohl-rimmed eyes. “I never wanted to be Empress—I never wanted any of this. I certainly didn’t try to take anything from you. You always thought you were so neglected and miserable, soliciting sympathy while putting yourself above the rest of us. You—the Governor of Evalla!”

  Eda’s eyes glinted. “The regent never thought me capable of ruling Evalla, Talia. I decided to take the Empire instead.”

  “You told the court I conspired with Denlahn!”

  “Denlahn is easy to hate. Easy to blame.” Eda shrugged. “I did what I had to, fought for every scrap of power I possess. It was just handed to you, and you squandered it. That’s why this morning I bathed in the sacred pool and was crowned Empress of Enduena, while you cowered in a cell like the miserable rat you are.”

  Talia studied Eda in the torchlight. “What do you want with me?”

  Eda smiled, sharp and humorless. “I want to pluck your heart out and use your sinews for harp strings.”

  Talia took an involuntary step backward, but Eda caught hold of her chin, fingers digging deep, forcing her to be still. She squared her jaw, despising her own terror.

  “But death is quick. Living is not. I want you to feel the depth of your own insignificance.”

  Her nails pressed even harder, cutting into Talia’s skin. “I’m banishing you from Enduena, little sister. On pain of death if you ever return. I don’t recollect which of my supporters I promised Irsa to, but I expect they’re already rearranging the furniture.”

  Without warning, she let go of Talia’s face and shoved her backward; Talia stumbled and fell, jamming her elbow hard against the stone.

  “You thought you would be Empress of half the world. Now you will see how far you will fall.” Eda turned to the guards. “Get her out of my sight.”

  “What about my mother?” Talia demanded as the guards hoisted her upward.

  Eda swept away without answering, and the guards dragged Talia through the prison, out into a bare stone courtyard. The sun was just vanishing over the western horizon, but there was enough light to see the executioner’s block in the center of the courtyard, the dark stains on the stones around it.

  Where was Eda sending her that was a fate worse than death? And what had she done to her mother?

  The guards brought her through a gate in the wall and down a hill to the outer edge of the city. The last gleam of sunlight disappeared, and one cold star awoke in the twilight.

  A carriage was waiting there. The guards shoved Talia unceremoniously into it.

  “Wait,” she said as they shut the door and latched it from the outside. The windows were nailed shut, making the air inside stifling and hot. “Wait, please—”

  But outside she heard the driver crack his whip. The carriage lurched into motion.

  She hurtled into the unknown, the white city and Ayah and everything she had ever understood fading fast away behind her.

  Chapter Four

  IT WAS NIGHT WHEN THEY REACHED THE sea. She could smell it through the rough sacking a guard had shoved over her head as he yanked her from the carriage. She could hear it, crashing against creaking wood, feel its sudden cold spray against her bare legs.

  She’d spent five days rattling onward in that awful carriage, with little food and nothing but her own dark imaginings to keep her company. Worry for her mother ate her up, dwarfing even her dread for her own uncertain future.

  And now she’d come to the sea.

  The long days of immobility made her unsteady on her feet. She tripped as her guard hauled her along, his grip too rough just under her armpit. She tried to shake him off, but his fingers dug deeper. Salt-drenched wind whispered underneath the sack, and a chill ran down her spine.

  The harsh cries of birds and shouting men tangled with clanging bells and snapping ropes. Wooden planks swayed back and forth beneath her, scraping her feet through the holes in her ruined calfskin sandals. The wind stank of salt and fish and tar. Her free hand scrabbled to pull the sack off her head, and she caught a brief glimpse of stars and dark water stretching out to meet the moon, before the guard jerked her across a deck and shoved her through a low door.

  She nearly collided with a brown-skinned man in a naval uniform and blue cap, who caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. He looked about forty and had a captain’s sigil pinned to his collar—she recognized both uniform and sigil from the envoys who reported regularly to Eddenahr with shipping reports for the Emperor, though she didn’t remember seeing this particular captain before.

  “Hey, now!” he said, peering behind Talia to frown at her guard. “There’s no cause to be discourteous to a lady.”

  “You have your orders, Captain, and I have mine. She’s your responsibility now.” And then her guard was gone, his boots creaking back across the deck the way they’d come.

  She was on a ship, Talia realized belatedly, staring through the doorway at huge white sails that billowed full in the light of the moon. Men clambered on the rigging, hauling ropes and shouting to each other. The sea shimmered black beyond the rail.

  It was only then that she understood the true scope of Eda’s words. I’m banishing you from Enduena, little sister.

  “Welcome aboard, Miss Dahl-Saida.”

  She turned back to the captain, who gave her a polite bow. “I’m Captain Oblaine Al-Tesh, at your service. I believe you know my other passenger.”

  He stepped aside so she had a clear view of what had to be the ship’s great cabin. In the center of the low chamber, lit by a green glass lamp swaying from the ceiling, stood a wooden table ringed with chairs. Behind it, square-paned windows, tall as grown men, were set into the side of the ship, winking out into the night.

  A woman crouched on one of the windowsills, the dirty red silk of her dress pooling in tatters to the floor, black hair hanging in knots on her shoulders. She lifted her head, remnants of kohl and gold powder smeared across her cheeks.

  “Mama!” Talia cried out, lunging across the tilting cabin and into her mother’s arms. “I thought I’d lost you—I thought you were dead!”

  Her mother kissed her hair and hugged her fiercely. “My dear, dear girl. I thought I’d lost you too.” She sounded more tired than Talia had ever heard her, and dark circles sagged under her eyes. But her smile was bright. “It seems the gods are watching out for us.”

  Talia flinched. She wished her mother wouldn’t bring the gods into this—sometimes she was as bad as Ayah. “How can you say that, when everything went so wrong?”

  Her mother’s smile vanished; she seemed suddenly listless and ill. “The gods saved us, Talia. Don’t blame them for what Eda did. I think she’s been planning this for a very, very long time, no doubt bribing supporters with her parents’ fortune. And I suspect the timing of the Emperor’s death was no accident.”

  “Before I hear any other treasonous remarks,” said Captain Oblaine behind them, “Her Imperial Majesty commanded me to give you this.” He held out a letter, sealed in red wax. “For you, Miss Dahl-Saida.”

  She took it, breaking the seal with her thumb and squinting at the elegantly penned words in the dim light. Beneath her the ship creaked and swayed, and water slapped up against the hull.

  Aria Dahl-Saida, formerly the Countess of Irsa, and her daughter, Talia Dahl-Saida, are hereby stripped of land and titles, and banished to the imperial province of Ryn for the duration of their lifetimes, under pain of death if they should ever attempt to return to Enduena, by order of Her Imperial Majesty Eda Mairin-Draive, gods-blessed Empress of Enduena, Queen of Ryn, and Ruler of Od.

  Talia felt numb, seeing her fate inscribed before her eyes in stark ink. She passed the letter to her mother without a word.

  Ryn was the most remote part of the Empire that Eda could possibly send them to. Besides Od, it was the only other non-mainland province, located thousands of miles northeast across the sea, and was little more than a large island. The Emperor had conquered Ryn on one of his first campaigns, shortly after ascending to the throne some forty years ago. Ryn’s only export was fish, and by all reports, its people were uneducated and boorish.

  They might as well be going to the ends of the earth.

  There was a knock on the door, and a sailor stepped in with a laden tray, which he balanced expertly against the roll of the ship.

  “I expect you’re hungry,” said Captain Oblaine with a kind smile as the sailor set three places at the table and then left again.

  Oblaine sat at the head of the table and poured tea, while Talia took a seat next to her mother. The two of them piled their plates high with biscuits and salted fish. A week ago, Talia would have sneered at such fare—now it seemed a feast fit for the Emperor himself. She’d had nothing but dust-dry bread and stale water since her party, and she found it horrendously difficult to not devour everything in sight like a starving hound.

  “Where are we?” she asked between mouthfuls.

  The captain took a swig from his mug, which Talia suspected contained something stronger than tea. “Just leaving the main port in Evalla. If we catch a steady wind we should reach Ryn before autumn.”

  Talia nearly choked on a biscuit. “That’s half a year from now!”

  “It’s a long way. But I’ve made the journey many times, and perhaps the wind gods will favor us.”

  “And the sea goddess too,” said Talia’s mother unexpectedly.

  Oblaine laughed. “The sea goddess favors no one but herself, if the stories are to be believed.”

  “They’re just stories,” Talia snapped.

  “Right you are.” He took another drink. “Seafaring men tend more toward religion than most, but I only care about a safe journey and a ship in one piece at the end of it. My men can sort out which of the gods to thank. Ryn, now there’s a place filled with superstitious people. They’re always going on about the Tree—supposedly that’s where it fell, when the gods tore it out of the ground.”

  Her mother was eating at a much slower pace, trembling as she lifted her fork. “All stories have at least a grain of truth in them. One ought to think carefully before dismissing them out of hand.”

  Talia frowned. Her mother hadn’t gone on about the old myths in years—what was wrong with her? “Do you know where Eda’s sending us once we get to Ryn?” she asked the Captain.

  “You’re to be wards of Baron Graimed Dacien-Tuer, the Governor. Used to be a prince before Ryn became part of the Empire.”

  So Eda was shutting them away with other forgotten royalty. Talia would have no life to speak of, no future. She stared at her plate, her appetite gone.

  “I’ll endeavor to make your journey as comfortable as possible. You’ll have to stay belowdecks during storms and keep out of my men’s way, but other than that you’re free to go where you please.”

  Her mother drooped in her chair, and Talia laid a hand on her arm.

  “We need to rest now,” she said to the Captain.

  Oblaine nodded. “I’ll have one of my men show you to your quarters at once.” He scraped back his chair and stood, eyeing them with a distant sort of pity as he left the cabin.

  Her mother’s shoulders shook and tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed like a wholly different person from the impenetrable woman Talia had known all her life, and it scared her. “What’s wrong, Mama? We’re together now. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Can’t you hear it?” her mother whispered.

  The only sound was the water, slapping the sides of the ship. “Hear what?”

  “The waves. They’re singing.”

  Chapter Five

  TALIA WOKE IN A CRAMPED BUNK TO the motion of the ship beneath her, sunlight slanting in through the porthole. The quarters she shared with her mother were hardly bigger than the prison cell back in Eddenahr—nothing but two narrow bunks opposite each other, with a scant bit of floor between, and a chipped porcelain chamber pot shoved up against the wall. There wasn’t room for luggage, even if they’d had any.

  She lay quiet for a few minutes, listening to the creak of wood and the grasping waves, hoping her mother would be back to her normal self after a good night’s sleep. She glimpsed sky and sea through the porthole, merging on the horizon into an endless stretch of gray.

  There was a knock at the door and she slipped from her bunk to answer it. An older Enduenan sailor with silvering hair smiled at her over the bucket of water and slab of soap he was carrying.

  “Captain thought you and your mother would like a wash, and something clean to change into. This was all we could scrounge up, I fear.” He nodded at the assortment of clothes draped over one arm. “I’m Hanid, first mate.”

  His friendliness cheered her. “Thank you, Hanid.”

  “Sure thing, Miss.” He set the bucket on the floor before handing her the soap and the bundle of clothes. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  And then he ducked back out of the cabin.

  Her mother stirred and climbed out of her bunk, looking bewildered. “Where are we?” Her voice was rough with sleep.