Page 15 of Ocean of Ink
But he would not be at rest in Wren’s eyes. No, there would be no rest for him or Wren until his killer was brought to justice.
Year 814, Week 22, Mira (Twelve years old)
I dreamt of blood again. It coated my hands, warm and sticky and wet. No matter how much I scrubbed with a cloth, it wouldn’t come off. Heron woke me up. I had been crying out in my sleep, scratching my palms and wrists.
He bandaged them for me, then took me to the meadow. We sat in the dewy grass amongst the wildflowers and watched as the sun rose. “A terrible night is always followed by a beautiful sunrise,” Heron had murmured as he twirled a yellow daisy in between his fingers. “Don’t forget that, Birdie.”
I decided right then that the misty pink of dawn would be my favorite color, for it meant the night was over.
Wren smoothed her hands over her yellow skirts as she walked down the hall of Riverwild Manor. Her satin slippers whispered against the floor. Sunbeams streamed through the windows to her right, creating pools of sunlight for her to step into every so often. She didn’t stop to bask in any of them. There was no time. She had to convince her father to let her attend the academy today, or else she’d be stuck on the Wild Holm until the next Eventide.
She had considered speaking to him yesterday evening, but he had busied himself entertaining council members long after the sun had set. So instead, she combed through her notes about Heron’s journal again. It didn’t prove helpful, but she had hopes that it would when she was on the Whispering Isle.
Wren arrived at the door to her father’s study. A large tree with extensive spindly roots was carved into the door. A symbol of his commitment to the council of the Wild Holm. She lifted her hand and knocked. According to his steward, he was scheduled to work from the study most of the morning.
“Come in,” the duke called out.
Wren grasped the bronze handle and opened the door. Her father glanced up from his paperwork as she walked in. She curtsied. He scowled. His irritation pricked Wren.
“Good morning, Father,” she greeted.
“Why do you disturb me?” he asked instead of returning her sentiment.
Wren closed the door behind her and walked further into the room. To her left was a hearth burning to stave off the chill of the morning. To the right was a bookshelf that held nothing but information that affected the management of the estate. The Duke of Riverwild did not read for pleasure, thus, he had no need for books. There was no art on the walls, much to Wren’s mother’s dismay. The duke had instructed the room to be kept sparse and painted a dark forest green, so dark it appeared black when not well lit. He did not desire anything frivolous in the place where he conducted business. The only luxury allowed was the glossy black pipe and sweet tobacco he kept in a mahogany case on top of his large wood desk that he sat behind now.
“I would like to attend the Obsidian Academy in Heron’s stead,” Wren got straight to the crux of the matter. Her father was not one to lend his ear for lengthy periods of time.
The duke set his quill down and looked at his daughter.
“And why would you want that?”
“The academy is said to be the best formal education in all the Seven Havens. If I am to be the heir, I wish to be the best possible.”
Her father chuckled bitterly. “It is comical that you believe you’re remotely capable of being the best. I will not send you, weak as you are, to ruin our family name at that school.”
Wren stood firm. She could not so much as shift her feet, or she would lose this opportunity.
“Give me one semester. That’s all I need. I’ll become the best in my class. If I don’t, I’ll come home.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “That is not enough. I will not have you waste months you could be learning from me when I don’t believe you’re capable of even the smallest modicum of success. What’s more, your brother died on those grounds. I cannot lose my remaining heir.”
Wren knew her father had other options after her for the heir. Her cousin was a better choice, but could only be instated if Wren were to die, or be married off to a higher station somewhere else. She bit the inside of her cheek. She had hoped not to have to resort to this, but she had to get to the academy.
“Perhaps I may not be capable of being the best student, but I am certain I would be able to find a husband of high rank.”
Her father raised a brow.
She went on, “If you allow me to go to the academy, I will return next Eventide betrothed or the best in my class.”
It was a foolish deal, but it was the only one her father was likely to take.
“Why do you want to go to the academy so badly? You have not shown interest in running the estate nor getting married. I can see no reason for this desire.”
Wren laced her hands behind her back at the base of her pearl-embroidered corset. She met her father’s cold brown eyes.
“I wish to honor my brother’s legacy.”
The duke sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his white shirt. He watched Wren. She squeezed her hands behind her back, but did not squirm.
