Page 52 of Beneath the Haunting Sea

Gods above, it was real. The Star-light, the Tree. She’dfeltit, they werereal.

Gods above,her mother.

“Did you touch it?”

She took a breath, trying to reassemble her shattered nerves. “No,” she managed. She was shaking violently. She couldn’t seem to stop.

Wen caught hold of her shoulders, gently this time. “Talia. Talia, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

She lifted one hand toher mouth, trying to focus on him. But her vision was fuzzy, the world spinning. She collapsed and he caught her, easing her to the ground. Rain dripped cold on her face.

He didn’t let go and she didn’t shake him off; his hands felt warm through the thin fabric of her dress; his presence tethered her to the earth. He looked at her intently. “Talia. Tell me what happened. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She stared at him, still shuddering. The rain fell harder but they didn’t move, locked in that one unending moment. “My mother’s dead,” she whispered. “My mother’sdead.” Her voice cracked. “She drowned at sea. She drowned and Rahn caught her in a net and dragged her into the Hall—”

“Talia,” he repeated, steady and serious. “You can’t help your mother. She’s gone. Rahn and the Hall of the Deadis just a story.”

“I thought the Tree and the Stars were just stories.” Her words were as shaky as the rest of her. “But—but down there—down there—” The sudden rush of tears choked her, and then she was sobbing on the hill, the rain churning the ground into mud beneath her dirty dress. She’d needed them to be just stories. But they weren’t.

Wen wrapped his arm around her, then eased her to herfeet. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of the cold.”

She allowed him to lead her, stumbling, up through the garden and into the house. The tears wouldn’t stop. All she could think about was her mother, leaping into the sea. Being dragged down into the shadowy Hall. Forced to dance before a goddess on a cold throne, always in pain. Forever dead, but not at rest, never allowed to find peace.

Wen brought her into the parlor, settled her into a chair by the fire, sat down across from her. The rain drummed against the window, running in rivulets down the glass. “Are you sure you didn’t touch it?” he asked her softly.

Talia gnawed on her lip, desperately trying to get a hold of herself. “I’m sure,” she choked out.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“The Tree is real.” She wanted him to denyit.

But he nodded, lines pressing into his forehead.

“Then why not Rahn’s Hall?”

The question hung between them for a moment, Wen studying her, clearly trying to decide what to tell her. How much to tell her. “No one can ever know if the Hall is real,” he said. “Not for sure. Because that would mean someone would have to go there, and live to come back and tell about it. And no one has.”

She wanted to agree with him, but she couldn’t. “How can some of the stories be real and not all of them?”

“No one knows what happens after death. So we tell stories about it.”

Another shudder passed through her. “But—”

“The dead don’t move,” said Wen softly. “The dead don’t feel. She’s gone, Talia. You can’t help her now.”

An errant tear slid down her cheek. “I miss her so much.”

Wen’s eyesglimmered with moisture. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You miss your mother, too.”

He nodded. “Every day.”

She drew a breath, blinking back the imagined horrors that still crept through her brain. Wen was right. She could no more help her mother than he could help his. She met his gaze. “What—what would have happened if I touched it?”

“Caiden’s mother touched it before she died. She contracted a mysteriousillness, and we think—Ithink—it came from that sliver of wood. It isn’t—it isn’t supposed to be touched, or taken out of the temple.”

The inscription from the obelisk flashed through her mind:May whoever touch or remove it from this place be accursed.

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