Page 63 of Ocean of Ink
Ivanhild eyed her warily, while Cyprus looked on with interest.
“Lady Kalyxi, do be cautious of students like the princess,” Ivanhild advised, his worry washing over Wren like ice water.
“Do not fret over me, Ivanhild. I am keeping to the promises I made you.” Wren hoped she was convincing.
Ivanhild dipped his chin. “I trust that you are. It was merely a reminder.” His tone was gruff, but belied with gentleness that made guilt crop up in Wren. She was playing the game theacademy demanded, but the costs of playing were numerous. One of which was going back on her word. Ivanhild would certainly disapprove of her plans for this evening, but she had no choice but to betray his trust.
She stifled a sigh. Her brother was much better at all of this than she was. Heron would have been able to move in these circles without compromising his righteous integrity.And they probably killed him for it, her mind whispered. She pushed the thought aside.
“I, for one, support standing your ground against vipers like Calypsia,” Kierana said, earning a stern look from Ivanhild. “She thinks herself princess of the Seven Havens instead of just Grimhaven. That delusion should be challenged.”
“People like Princess Calypsia do not respond to verbal challenges,” Cyprus noted.
Ivanhild clapped him on the shoulder with a proud smile. “You’re quite right, my boy. Listen to Cyprus’s wisdom.”
“Well, since I cannot resort to challenges of the physical nature without being kicked out of the academy or worse, I will continue to insult her at every chance,” Kierana said.
Ivanhild’s displeasure was evident even without Wren’s Gift, but her friend did not budge. That was one of the many things about Kierana that Wren liked. She wished one day she could have the boldness Kierana did.
Wren glanced to see if Calypsia was still glaring at her, but caught Castien watching her instead. She raised a brow. He smirked.
“Did I tell you that Wren is interested in extra swordfighting lessons?” Kierana changed the subject.
Wren tore her gaze away from Castien and rejoined the conversation. She forced herself not to look at him again, though she swore she felt his dark eyes on her the entire time she was in the dining hall.
Castien fought to keep his concentration as he detailed the recent goings-on of the academy in his High Inquisitor journal. It was imperative that he give a thorough recounting of events, but he could not stop thinking about Wren Kalyxi. He had sent Heathford into the night with a letter for her not long ago. She was likely preparing for bed. His letter would arrive precisely at the moment she would presume he had foregone a reply. The idea of catching her off guard was thrilling. He only wished he could be there to see it happen.
Their exchanges were fodder to the fire of his Gift’s insatiable curiosity. Instead of quenching it, everything he learned about Wren only made the desire formoregrow. He had yet to experience something like this in all the years since he had been Gifted. His Gift kept contradicting itself. He felt the craving for knowledge of Wren as acutely as he craved water or food. Yet, at every turn his Gift reminded him of the dangers that came with growing closer to her.
There had been times when he was a boy that his Gift told him a path was foolish, and he went down it anyway. But hehad long put away those childish habits. So he was sure this was something different altogether. It both excited and concerned him.
Castien looked at the scarce amount he had accomplished. He could not go on like this. Wren Kalyxi was interesting, a puzzle to be solved, but she was not a part of his legacy. And that must always take precedence over everything else. He closed his eyes and began going through a lengthy math equation in his mind. It was a trick he had picked up last semester when searching for ways to grow in his Gift. It recentered him and helped him direct his attention on whatever task was right in front of him.
Math problem completed, he opened his eyes and set to work once more.
Several pages later, there was a short rap of knuckles that indicated Heathford’s presence. The butler opened the door to the High Inquisitor’s study and Castien’s attention was stolen by Wren once more. He scanned Heathford’s customary charcoal and black uniform. A slip of parchment was in his right hand. Castien’s heart accelerated until he saw the red seal.
“Did she not accept the letter?” Castien asked with a furrowed brow. Perhaps she sought to retaliate for the late arrival by refusing.
“I am afraid she was not present to accept,” Heathford intoned. “For she is out walking the grounds.”
Castien shook his head, not believing the butler’s words.
“Are you certain? I do not think Lady Kalyxi would break curfew to stroll about the property in the dead of night.”
“I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes,” Heathford replied.
“Do you know where she was headed?”
The library was open at all hours, but Castien thought with the curfew that had changed. He could not guess where else she would go, though.
Heathford’s expression was always somber, but it seemed even more so as he answered, “It appeared to me that she was headed for the south side of the Wall.”
Castien’s blood ran cold. Why would Wren be headed in that direction at this hour? It was not as if…he shot to his feet.
“The journal,” he murmured. Heron might have written about the Wall in his journal. If Wren was investigating her brother’s death as her latest entries suggested, she very likely could be going to visit the scene of the crime. He hoped Heathford was mistaken, but he could not take any chances. Because if he was right, Wren was going to get herself killed.
Castien threw on his jacket and grabbed his black cloak off a nearby rack. He would need to be as concealed as possible if he was to navigate the underground passageway and make it to the south Wall unseen. Fortunately, he had spent most of his life traveling through the shadows.
