Page 73 of Beneath the Haunting Sea

He fiddled with the rim of the goblet. “I have nothing to say.”

She wasn’t about to be put off so easily. “Yes, you do.”

His jaw tightened. The sun slid from view beyond the western hills.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

He still wouldn’t look at her,but she didn’t take her eyes from his face. “I want you to explain.”

“I’m going to marry Blaive,” he said to the window.

“Why?”

“Because I love her.”

The words fell flat and Talia felt empty. “No, you don’t.”

“I didn’t make you any promises, Talia. I was flirting with you. That’s all.”

“That isn’t all,” she said fiercely. “And you know it!”

He jerked away from the window, wine sloshingover the rim of his cup. “You were betrothed to Wen from the beginning. I was always meant for Blaive. There never could have been anything between us.”

“You said you’d talk to your father. Get him to call off my engagement to Wen.”

“It was nothing more than a meaningless dalliance. I was angry with Wen, and I wanted to hurt him. Anything that happened after that—gods.” He cut himself off. “I’msorry if you took it for something more than that, but that’s all the apology I can offer.”

“You bought me Ahdairon. You kissed me. You promised to help me reclaim the gods-damned Empire. You told me youloved me—”

“I never loved you.”

“You said—”

“I. Never. Loved you.” Every word was hard as flint. “I loveBlaive,and I’m marrying her in the morning. That’s the end of it.”

She set her jaw.“Blaive was right, Caiden Estahr-Sol. You always do what your father tells you.”

His eyes burned holes straight through her.

“I wish you much happiness,” she choked out. “Both of you.”

And then she left him alone by the window in the swiftly gathering dark.

It was freezing in the stone building on the top of the hill, the relative warmth of the Ruen-Dahr seeming far away. Candles filled theniches in the walls, flames dancing bright, but there was no fire to combat the harsh winter wind seeping in under the door.

This place had once been a temple—the walls were carved with scenes from mythology, and there was an ancient stone altar at the back of the room. It reminded Talia of the forgotten temple beneath the garden, but there were no mythical relics here. Sometime in the last centuryhard wooden benches had been brought in, two rows of four arranged on either side of a short center aisle. Unaccountably, the whole place smelled like summer and heady wine. It overflowed with flowers: snowdrops and primroses, daisies and lavender and heather. There were even bundles of cabbage roses from the florist’s hothouse.

Talia sat stiff on one of the benches, clamping her teeth togetherto keep from shivering. Wen was sitting on her right, a few handbreadths away. His cravat was neatly tied, his jaw shaved smooth. But she still glimpsed ink stains on his fingers. They hadn’t spoken much since the night in the old Baronesses’ suite, but the sight of him always relieved her, a breath of fresh air in the stuffy confines of the Ruen-Dahr.

Blaive’s father and her two younger sisterssat across the aisle, while the Baron and Caiden stood near the old altar. The wedding had been planned too suddenly for any of Ryn’s aristocracy to arrange travel in the dead of winter, and, from Ro’s account, the Baron hadn’t spoken to any of them in a decade, anyway. Still, it seemed almost a somber affair, despite the flowers.

The Baron was shaky on his feet, leaning heavily on a gold-headedcane shaped like a bird. He looked incredibly ill—the carriage ride couldn’t possibly have been good for him.

She didn’t want to look at Caiden, but she forced herself to. He was dressed formally, in a crisp midnight-blue suit and cravat, his hair meticulously trimmed. He stood rigid, his eyes staring away beyond her to the door, waiting for his bride.

Waiting for Blaive.

Talia hadn’t wantedto come, but she’d allowed herself to be woken early and handed into the hired carriage with Wen and the Baron. She should have hidden up in the library.

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