Page 23 of Ocean of Ink
Finn ran a hand through his hair. “Very well. I shall endeavor to make her acquaintance this week.” He stood to go. “Do try and get some sleep tonight. The shadows beneath your eyes are as dark as the ink on the walls.”
Sleep would come with answers, but Finn ought not hear that. He would only worry, in his own pestering way, and Castien didn’t need that. He needed Finn to find a lead for them to latch on to.
“Thank you,” Castien replied. “I’ll see you in the dining hall this evening.”
“I despise Princess Calypsia, but I am grateful to her that she’s getting you out of your chambers. The less you interact with people, the more surly you get.”
Castien thought the opposite, but it didn't matter. He had to make an appearance tonight, and likely many more times over the semester. It was the only way he could observe the goings-on of the academy. Relying on others, even those he trusted like Finn, was not ideal. They couldn’t discern what his Gift could.
Castien turned back to his wall of postulation. Finn left, and Castien thought he heard him say something to Heathford about making the prince morepresentablebefore dinner.
“Why are you here, Lady Wren Kalyxi?” Castien murmured.
None of the theories would be confirmed without further evidence. It seemed all his Gift had been able to bring yet again were more questions. There were more opportunities for information with Heron’s sister present, but more pressure as well. Castien rolled his tense shoulders and tipped his head from one side to the other. He would uncover the truth and protect the Order. He’d come this far. He would not fail his family legacy. Not now, not ever.
Wren tried not to show her discomfort as Ambassador Westover smiled at her. His expression was feline, and Wren felt she was too much like her namesake to relax. She was a frightened bird beneath the shadow of a lion.
“How did you know I would be here?” Wren asked, since it didn’t seem the man was going to speak first.
He leaned back and steepled long fingers over his purple waistcoat. Ambassador Westover’s office and clothing were the most color Wren had seen since arriving on the island. The garment didn’t match any of the other pieces he was wearing. His blue pinstripe pants and white jacket clashed with the deep purple waistcoat. Wren and Blossom sat atop a vibrant blue couch, while the professor’s chair was a ghastly orange. The walls were covered with various framed art pieces and a rainbow of painted clocks, all set to different times. Wren was unsure if a single timepiece was correct, as she couldn’t remember looking at one in the headmaster’s office.
“Your brother had two weaknesses,” he stated. Wren’s fingertips dug into the velvet seat. “One, was that his desire forjustice blinded him to most everything except for that which he believed was morally pertinent.”
Wren nodded. This she knew. Heron was a righteous man who sought the ultimate good. Sometimes that made him singular-minded, but that aided his pursuit all the more. He was rarely distracted, always vigilant. Such behavior wasn’t usually harmful, except for when it led to going too far. Wren believed this was what caused her brother’s death.
“The second was you.”
Wren flinched. She hadn’t been prepared for the verbal attack. The professor didn’t look malicious, though, nor did she feel any hatred toward her. Why, then, would he say something so wretched?
“I don’t understand.” Wren’s voice was quiet, barely heard over the incessant ticking of the clocks surrounding her. Blossom’s anxiety pulsed in time with the ticks.
“Love can be both a strength and a weakness, Lady Kalyxi,” the ambassador murmured. “Your brother loved you so much that he would do anything for you. Even if it compromised his sacred moral code.”
Wren met the ambassador’s golden gaze. Did he know? Heron told Wren they would take the incident and her resulting Curse to the grave. But if this man’s Gift was powerful enough, perhaps he wrenched the story out of her brother.
“What does that have to do with me coming to the academy?” Wren asked.
Ambassador Westover shrugged with an air of nonchalance.
“I made the assumption that you loved him just as much. Such a feeling would drive you to his place of death for a myriad of reasons.”
Wren stared and said nothing. She wanted him to list his theories, but she didn’t want to give him reason to think any of them were correct.
One of the clocks began to chime. The ambassador pulled a silver pocketwatch out and opened it before snapping it shut and returning it to whence it came.
“I am certain you will hear and speak of your brother much over the coming weeks, so I shall spare you any more. Let us therefore begin your evaluation.”
Wren wordlessly waited. Blossom uncrossed and crossed her ankles twice. Wren touched the maid’s knee to still her.
“Do you believe yourself to have any weaknesses?”
Wren’s brow furrowed. Was this a trick question?
“I am not so prideful to think I don’t possess faults,” she answered.
“So you do not believe vanity to be amongst those faults, then.”
Wren wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained.
