Page 30 of Ocean of Ink
“If it keeps him from acting in such a manner, yes,” Castien replied.
“Would you like to join us? Finn was telling me of your loss, but I found it hard to believe.”
Castien took a spot on the corner of the blanket, leaving plenty of space between himself and Wren.
“I am afraid it’s true. I was distracted this morning.”
“I should have cut his shirt so you would believe me,” Finn said with a playful grin.
“I’m not sure if that would have helped.” Wren met Castien’s gaze. Up close, her eyes were a bright blue reminiscent of the sky above them. “I have heard you are a talented swordsman and battle strategist.”
“I have had great teachers here at the academy,” Castien said, instead of asking where she heard about him.
“Yes,” Finn interrupted. “The professors here are spectacular. You will learn and maybe beat us both on these very grounds.”
Wren dipped her chin and smoothed her skirts. “I am not very fond of fighting. I much prefer knowledge to brawn.”
Castien filed that tidbit of information away with the rest of his limited knowledge of Wren.
“Have you gotten your class schedule from Westover the Wretched yet?” Finn asked. “He’s known to give new students the opposite of what they wish for, so you might end up training with us after all.”
Wren paled at the mention of Westover. That was not out of the ordinary, though. No one enjoyed their first meeting with him. It took time to realize the value he brought to the academy.
“I have met with him, but he did not give me a schedule yet.”
That was an anomaly. Castien recalled being handed a slip of paper after the evaluation. Finn had gotten the same.
Finn leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “I don’t suppose you wish to tell us your deepest fears and greatest weakness?”
Wren shook her head, a small smile playing on her pink lips. “I don’t think that would be wise.” Her eyes flicked to Castien, then back to Finn. “Why would you want to know such things?”
“How else are we to become the best of friends if we don’t share secrets?”
Amusement flickered across Wren’s expression.
“That is true. Perhaps if you share yours, I will grow confident enough to share mine.”
Castien watched their exchange with interest. She handled Finn’s eccentricity with ease.
“Very well.” Finn leaned in further. Not so close that it would be improper, but just enough to draw surprise from Wren. “I only possess one weakness. And it plagues me greatly, or rather, plagues my clothing.” He grasped Castien’s shoulder. “My love for my dear cousin is my greatest weakness. It forces me to succumb to the torture of sparring with him on a regular basis.”
Castien expected Wren to laugh, or scoff, but she did not. Her countenance dimmed. What had Finn said to upset her? Castien looked to his cousin, who seemed as lost as he was.
“What a privilege,” she murmured. “To have love be your greatest weakness.”
The two men grew quiet. Wren hadn’t meant to delve beyond the surface of conversation. She suspected they were conducting some sort of interview of her personhood. But Finn’s flippant terming of love as a weakness transported her back to the blue velvet couch in Ambassador Westover’s office. The pain of the memory loosened her tongue, and now she would need to recover from her mistake.
Fortunately for her, Finn seemed as eager to change the subject as she was.
“Do you know what bonds friends more than sharing each other’s secrets?” he asked with a smile that did not quite match the one he gave her upon his arrival.
He was not panicked, but Wren sensed an undercurrent of anxiety in him. Her gaze shifted briefly to Castien. Nothing. She felt no emotion in him. How was that possible? Even the most somber of people she had met gave away something through their feelings. She could not believe anyone to be devoid of emotion, so he must be in control of it, which was all the more dangerous.
“Sharing other people’s secrets!” Finn answered his question in an overly jovial tone.
Wren looked away from Castien’s dark brown eyes and met Finn’s shining blue ones.
“You mean for us to gossip.” Castien’s voice was low but strong, the intonation of which could command any room. Wren supposed that was useful, given his station.
