Page 33 of Ocean of Ink
First classes take place at ten in the morning, and second at two in the afternoon. Arrive on time, for the doors lock when classes begin.
The ambassador must be as mad as their interaction in his office suggested. He placed Wren inBattle StrategyandDueling. She was not trained from birth to be an heir to the Riverwild estate as her brother was, but she knew that she would not direct a military nor would she pick up a sword.
Her eyes fell to the trunk in the corner of her chambers. Locked in a jewelry box and hidden beneath a pile of heavy gowns was her weapon of choice: Falconroot. It hadn’t been difficult to obtain the poisonous plant before she departed the Wild Holm. Her mother was Gifted in horticulture and had a fascination with unique plants. Wren had read in one of her mother’s garden journals about the properties of falconroot when steeped as a tea or diluted into a tincture.
She knew she did not possess the physical force necessary to take down whomever was able to kill her brother. But she had spent much of her life making herself small and undetectable. That ability would lend itself to being able to poison the murderer. However, she could only do so if she found the killer.
She recalled her last encounter with Castien and Finn on the lawn of the training grounds. The only merit to her class schedule was that she was likely to see both of them in Professor Ivanhild’s class. This would allow her to assess their strengths and weaknesses, as well as get close enough to them to gather information, so long as Ivanhild didn’t try to separate her from them.
A weary sigh fell from her lips, blowing the steam from her cup of peppermint tea. Though exhaustion seemed as a part of her as her muscles and bones, she did not take Everleaf tea this morning. It would not do her any good to be more on edge than she already was.
She set aside her tea and headed for the corner where the falconroot was. Heron’s journal was also there. The key to the jewelry box hung from an anklet she was wearing. She didn’t like leaving the book behind, but she couldn’t risk someone seeing it in public or stealing her bag. Her personal journal was hidden as well, stored beneath a floorboard she had pried loose beside her bed. That way, she could access it quickly, but it was out of plain sight.
Wren knelt beside the trunk and dug for the box. Once obtained, she unlocked it and took out Heron’s journal. She did not have much time before needing to prepare for today, but perhaps she could read something of worth. The pages lightly scraped against each other as she flipped through them, searching for something that might catch her eye. She paused on a page dated a few days before Eventide began.
The sequence is built on a strong foundation, but I have discovered cracks. Evil has infiltrated. I have heard things I cannot unhear. Where I once questioned, I can no longer. I must cut the strings of the marionette before something worse occurs.
Wren stared at the scrawl. Her heart ached with grief as her head swam with questions. Heron was strong, and his sense of justice even stronger. If he thought the Order had evil in its midst, he’d seek to expose it. His mission got him killed. Now, Wren was meant to pick up his mantle? She scarcely knew how.
A knock sounded at the door. Wren’s heart jumped into her throat.
“Lady Kalyxi? May I come in?” Blossom’s voice floated in.
Wren hurriedly locked the box and put it back where it was, then she rose and called out, “You may.”
At Wren’s invitation, Blossom entered the room with a pile of garments over her arm. She smiled brightly at Wren, her excitement bubbling like a hot kettle on the stove.
“Your uniforms have arrived in the nick of time!” the young maid exclaimed as she walked over and spread the clothing out over the freshly made bed.
Wren glided to inspect her new accouterments. The black dresses were made of fine linen and wool, and rimmed in silky smooth lace. The linen dresses had short cap sleeves, while the wool ones would go down to Wren’s wristbone. All of the dresses had the academy crest embroidered on the right sleeve near the shoulder, which was a depiction of a winged serpent similar to the ones that guarded the library. Below the illustration were the wordsKnowledge, Mastery, Power.
She thought of her brother’s journal entry and how he might have viewed this crest in light of all he experienced. Her heart felt heavy, but she pushed aside her emotions to focus on the task at hand. She needed to be prepared to face that which had stolen her brother from her.
“They are of a fine make, though quite plain by comparison to your dresses from home,” Blossom commented as she busied herself with sorting through a box of sashes and ribbons.
“They are rather lacking in color,” Wren agreed with a frown.
The style she was accustomed to involved much more elegance and variety. Riverwild’s seamstress delighted in creating dresses with unique materials and beautiful embellishments brought out of the Tides by merchants. These dresses would aid in her blending in, but she would feel less like herself in them.
“I spoke with Seamstress Helyna, and she passed on all of the rules by which you are to dress. You may wear any accessories of your choice, including sashes, ribbons, shawls, jewelry, and hats–so long as the hats do not obstruct the view of other students during class time,” Blossom rattled off the ordinances in a tone that mimicked the seamstress.
Wren smiled at her maid’s teasing of the harsh woman. Seamstress Helyna delighted in nothing other than efficiencyduring the short time Wren spent around her. She was unhappy that Wren arrived unannounced, but stated she would do her job well and in a timely fashion. And she did, but the woman’s cold expression and hands left Wren a touch homesick.
“I’m certain with all of those options we will be able to make something fashionable of these shadowy frocks,” Wren said.
Blossom nodded, her smile returning in full force. It made Wren’s heart light to see her lady’s maid bustling about the chambers. She had been worried that the change would prove too much for the girl, but she adapted quickly. Perhaps it was the reward that awaited her next Eventide that kept her from spiraling. Any servant who came to work on the Whispering Isle was revered amongst their class and paid handsomely for their sacrifice of leaving their homes. Blossom could return to the Wild Holm and afford a whole new class of living with her payment, if she so desired. Which was likely the only way she would, given that she was an orphan whose guardians did not dip her into the Tides in time. Being poor and Giftless made for a life of hardship if one was not ambitious.
“Would you like to wear something yellow today?” Blossom asked softly, her pity brushing over Wren like a feather.
“Actually, I would like to wear the forest green sash that Heron got me for my turn of the year. You may pair whatever other accessories you fancy with it,” Wren directed before taking a seat at the cherrywood vanity that was hers for the semester.
She took a sip of her tea as she waited for Blossom to gather all that was needed. Wren trusted her maid to ensure her appearance was an embodiment of excellence. There was no room for error, not even in her manner of dress.
Blossom laid all of the items out on Wren’s bed before hanging the remainder of the dresses in a large wardrobe that stood in a corner near her window. The maid then began work on Wren’s hair. Wren focused on the gentle tug of the comb, the sweet mintflavor of her tea, and the warmth of the nearby burning hearth. She grounded herself in these things, as well as the familiarity of Blossom’s chipper attitude. If she closed her eyes, she was back home, eight years old, waiting on Heron to burst in and steal a bite of her honeycake so she could chase him around the estate.
Blossom pinned up the last piece of Wren’s hair, tucking it into the jade comb she’d placed in the style to complement the sash. Wren was ripped back to the present as Blossom murmured, “Are you ready to get dressed?”
Wren stood with burning eyes and a tight throat. She’d buried her emotions only for them to claw out of the grave and haunt her most serene moments. But she could not let these feelings get the best of her. She clenched her jaw and focused on going through the motions of dressing. Once she was done, she inspected her reflection in the gilded mirror that hung on the wall opposite her bed.
