Page 12 of Ocean of Ink
Finn shot him a sharp look. “We were almost killed by a mimicta and we’re not even a foot from the Wall!” he exclaimed. “Another one could come at any minute.”
“That one was likely emboldened by the fact it wore the same uniform as us. Since Heron was an easy target, it was foolish enough to think we would be the same. You know most cryptura don’t leave the woods.”
Every year, the weapons students went to the top of the Wall and shot flaming arrows at the edge of the woods as a continual reminder to stay back. Thus far, the tradition held. Except for tonight, Castien supposed, but it was a unique circumstance. Where there were rules, there were always exceptions to said rules.
“The wordmostis what bothers me,” Finn grumbled.
They came upon the spot where the hidden entryway resided. With one last cautious look over his shoulder, Castien pressed the three bricks that signaled the door to open, then pushed the heavy rock door inward. Finn aided him in getting it open andclosed again. It could be opened by one man with great effort, but it was easier with two. Another piece of evidence pointing to Heron not being alone.
“We lived,” Castien said in a flat tone.
“No thanks to you,” Finn sniffed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash up and see if Alessia is awake.”
His cousin set off toward the academy without a candle to guide him. As against this reconnaissance as he claimed to be, he was best suited for the job, given his aptitude for navigating the darkness. It wasn’t Finn’s Gift–which was charisma–but it was something he had been trained in as the son of a war general.
“We aren’t done discussing theories,” Castien called after him.
Finn began to walk backward, wearing his signature dimpled grin.
“I am certain that you and your Gift can determine more without me to pester you. I will come by the study in the morning to see what you’ve come up with.”
“Fine. But be sure that you arrive early. We don’t have time to waste. Eventide is almost up. If there’s a murderer in our midst, we need to know before we’re trapped with them.”
“I will be prompt,Your Highness,” Finn taunted, using Castien’s formal title.
“Go away before I lock you outside the wall,” Castien replied with a laugh.
Finn saluted, then turned and disappeared under the cover of night. Castien walked slowly across the academy grounds, the candle in his hand flickering. He passed the library and glanced up at the tall stone building. During the semester, it was never dark inside. There was always a student or a professor hovering over a book. With how competitive the academy was, the students kept odd hours in order to stay ahead. And the professors constantly studied to ensure no student would best them in a battle of wits. Eventide was the only time the librarywent dark. Many of the non-essential academy staff went to their home islands while the Tides were able to be traversed, and the esteemed librarians were no exception.
Fog swirled around Castien’s legs as he made his way across the grounds to the House of Arythes, where his chambers were. The building was made out of similar dark stone as the rest of the academy’s facilities. The house resembled more of a fortress than a home. It was built by King Arythes of Grimhaven, a graduate of the academy, two hundred years ago. He’d wanted to create something that represented strength and power.
There had been renovations since then, but it still retained the imposing look the king had intended with two spired turrets shooting out of the top, and a wide entryway that made one feel as though they were walking into the mouth of a great beast. Furthering that feeling was the depiction of acrulkinthat was carved into the doorframe. Tentacles cascaded to the floor, all attached to a massive head with unblinking pearl eyes that watched all from the apex.
Castien passed beneath the creature and headed inside with discretion. There weren’t many students left on the isle due to the season, but those that were didn’t need to see him covered in cryptura blood. The grand foyer was dim, only lit by sconces that lined the walls. But down the hallway, he saw a puddle of warm light, indicating that some of his housemates were still awake and in the lounge. Voices and laughter floated to him.
He was careful not to make any noise as he turned off down the left hallway and made his way to the staircase that would lead him to the top of the turret where he had lived for the past two years. His candle was nothing more than wax and smoke by the time he reached his chambers. He pulled a small brass key out of the pocket of his academy jacket and let himself in. Once inside, he set his scabbard on his desk and the burnt-out candle beside it. Heathford would clean the blade and Castien’ssoiled clothes tomorrow. The butler always did as he was told and never pried or asked any questions. He had seen to Castien’s every need since the prince was a child, and next to Finn, was Castien’s most trusted ally.
Though Heathford was meticulous in many ways, the man could never keep Castien’s room in order. There were books stacked on every available surface, some open, some bookmarked, some simply turned upside down to hold their place. Loose parchment with various scribbles and seemingly nonsensical notes littered the floor. There was even a half-full bucket of paint that was used to counteract Castien’s habit of writing his thoughts on the walls.
Castien stripped off his clothes and left them in a pile near the paint. Then he rinsed his skin in the washroom with a bucket of cool water and a cloth before lying down on his large four-poster bed. All the while, his Gift tugged at his attention. It painted the walls of his room and now the ceiling with calculations and theories. Castien’s eyes darted in the darkness as it explained the ways he could have killed the creature faster or obtained more information. Then he went through each piece of evidence he had about Kalyxi’s death so far.
There wasn’t enough to gather a lead, but he felt he was on the precipice of uncovering one. He simply had to keep digging. The lack of time made him want to stay awake until he found it, but exhaustion weighed him down. His eyes closed, and his Gift followed him into his dreams, so that even while asleep, he never truly rested. But Castien didn’t mind the sacrifice, so long as he accomplished what he set out to do. It was his duty, after all.
Everything was yellow. As if Wren were in a painting and the artist had run out of all other colors. Those who came to attend the burial rite all wore various shades of the color. The carriage Wren rode to the Salt Hills had been swathed in yellow fabric. Daisies, marigolds, tulips, and lilies were tossed upon the white dunes. The whipping winds tore them away and littered the petals on the foaming Tides below.
Wren supposed she should be grateful that everyone considered her brother to be a pure soul. But she had been around polite society far too long and knew they weren’t wearing yellow to honor Heron. They were wearing it to appease her parents. Wren was already exhausted by the pageantry of it all. She’d stood atop the hill and greeted guests for so long that her legs were stiff and her lips were dry and salty from the sea air. The burial rite had still not begun. Judging by the line of carriages she saw from her perch, it would not start for some time.
“Lady Kalyxi,” a melodious voice called out over the wind.
Wren turned to face the person, her lemon-colored dress swirling around her ankles. Duchess Briony Alder held a large bonnet with a canary yellow ribbon against the crown of her head. Her matching dress clung to the outline of her legs beneath.
Wren curtsied. “Duchess Alder, thank you for coming.”
“I would never miss such a somber occasion. Your brother was a beautiful, pure soul. He will be dearly missed.”
“Yes, he will,” Wren agreed with numb lips.
Her energy was waning. She had not slept save for a few minutes the night before. All day, she’d been bombarded by her Tides-blasted Curse. The entire estate had been a whirlwind of emotion this morning between the servants, guests, and her family. Now she was surrounded by even more people. Each person’s emotions crowded her own. It was as though she were a sewing cushion stuck with hundreds of pins. There was no relief.
