Page 18 of Ocean of Ink
“Perhaps,” Castien echoed.
He was growing weary of this puzzle. His Gift had never been wrong. There was no reason to doubt it now. He simply wished it would present an answer to at least one of the many questions it posed to him. The timing was not ideal, either. He would be expected to call a meeting of the Obsidian Order at the start of a new semester. It was not often that the Order met all at once. It would be suspicious for so many of the school’s most elite students to disappear at the same time. But at the beginning of every semester, the High Inquisitor was expected to address the members. Throughout the year, Castien would be called upon for problems and maneuvers to ensure the best for those in the Order. At this initial meeting, he would make it known to members new and old how the system worked, the rulesfor aiding one another, and remind them of the importance of secrecy.
This was all easy enough. As the son of an emperor, he was accustomed to addressing crowds and handling problems. The subject of Heron Kalyxi’s death, however, was not one Castien was looking forward to speaking about. He preferred having answers, whether he planned on revealing them or not, before discourse.
“What do you think Calypsia meant by she thought this year would be entertaining?” Finn asked.
Castien set off toward the House of Arythes. Before facing the crowds in the dining hall this evening, he wanted some time to himself. He and Finn walked near the shrubs that lined the Wall. The looming structure shadowed their steps and cooled them from the sun. Heathford followed ten paces behind.
“I don’t attempt to know the inner workings of her demented mind,” Castien groused.
“And if she had something to do with Kalyxi’s death?”
Castien cut his eyes toward his cousin. “Then I would need more evidence besides our disdain for her existence.”
Their grassy path led them to the House of Onyxim first, where many of the professors lived. The house had only one color scheme: black. The wood siding, ornate trim, shutters, and porch; every piece of the building was darker than night itself. Many first-year students were known to run right into it on especially dark evenings. Castien and Finn scanned the area as they passed for any professors who could overhear their conversation.
“Her being from Grimhaven should be evidence enough,” Finn said in a low tone.
There were several students and a few professors from Grimhaven at the academy. Not all of them were as vindictiveas Calypsia, but they were all extremely competitive and self-seeking.
“But it isn’t. So we will continue our search.”
Finn sighed. “Of course, High Inquisitor.”
Castien shot him a reprimanding look for his brazen use of Order terms in public. Finn did not seem to pay him any mind. The two walked up the steps of their shared house.
“Prince Castien!”
Castien turned toward the voice. One of the younger, newer members of the Order came rushing toward the bottom of the stairs. Percilean Dalor was from the Lucent Enclave and had been following Castien and Finn around like a lost puppy since they were all children. When Percilean’s Gift of engineering made itself known on his thirteenth birthday, Castien’s father told him to be sure to nurture the younger boy to secure his loyalty to the Lucent Enclave in the future. Castien had done just that, in spite of the annoyance Percilean often inspired.
“Yes, Percilean?” Castien asked.
“Professor Ivanhild is back from the Wild Holm! The ship just came into port.”
The ship must have been closing in when Castien was distracted by Calypsia’s nonsense.
“And what does this matter to me?” Castien drolled.
“Lady Wren Kalyxi is on the boat,” Percilean panted. He must have run from the docks.
Castien stiffened. He felt Finn’s gaze on him.
Heron’s sister was on the Whispering Isle. Eventide was almost over, so this was not a visit. She would be staying.
“This year will be entertaining, indeed,” Finn murmured.
Castien ignored Finn and Percilean both. He stalked inside and up to his room. All the while, his Gift painted the air with theories.
Wren tilted her face up to the sun and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. Though not quite on solid ground yet, she cherished being off the boat. She did not share her brother’s love of sailing. The Heartless Tides had been true to their name during her travels. The ship had been relentlessly rocked. Waves had crested the deck and soaked her to her bones with chilling water. She had taken to spending most of her days inside the dark cabin where her cot was, clinging to Heron’s journal and imagining the calm meadows of her countryside home.
“Do not get attached to the sunlight, it is rare here,” Ivanhild said.
Wren opened her eyes to find the professor standing in front of her once more. He had left her on the docks with his crew and Blossom, her lady’s maid, while he went to notify the staff of her arrival. Since she was an unexpected addition to the academy, preparations would need to be made.
“Heron spoke about the weather during his last visit.”
He’d said it was maddening. That did not bode well for Wren, who was often scolded by her mother for spending too muchtime basking in the bright rays. Already, fog was creeping in. It covered her feet where she stood on a long pier and brushed her bare arms as if it were a person passing by in a ballroom.
