Page 47 of Ocean of Ink
Finn dipped his chin again, then left Castien alone in his chambers. Castien’s eyes dropped down to the journal once more.
Wren was alive.Castien could not consider himself a success with another life lost, but he had not utterly failed. He would find the killer, and they would meet the same fate their victims had. And until he uncovered their identity, he would ensure that no harm befell Wren. It would not be a simple task, as the latterentries in her journal suggested a disdain for him that would keep him at a distance not suitable for protection. But he was determined to be her safeguard in the absence of her brother. After all she had gone through, she deserved to have someone watching out for her, even if it was done without her knowledge.
Castien glanced out the curtain once more before he gently placed Wren’s journal beneath a false bottom in his desk drawer, then locked it. Next, he pulled out one of his many notebooks and began copying everything he had written on the wall. He would have to paint over it so that the professors and guards would not see all of the details. Heathford, if he was present when the investigation party arrived, would dissuade them from entering, but it was best to account for all possibilities.
The chaos of the events gave him time to do so. They would comb the grounds more than once before venturing into any of the houses. It was what they had done when they searched for Heron’s body upon his disappearance.
Castien settled into a state of calm that juxtaposed all that he had felt while reading Wren’s journal. Though it was difficult to push aside thoughts of her scared and alone, he forced himself to do so. It would help save her from her brother's and Kelda’s fates.Hewould save her.
“I am afraid that I am not very good at this game. It must be boring to play against an opponent you beat every time,” Wren said to Kierana.
The two of them sat in the drawing room of the House of Adira, sipping peppermint tea and playing a game of Tidesmark. They sat across from one another at a small painted white table. A fire that Kierana’s maid had recently stoked emulated a steady warmth against Wren’s back. The room was empty save for them and the furniture, the other ladies that occupied their house having retired to their chambers some time ago.
Kierana smirked. “The satisfaction of winning is never boring.” The clanswoman shuffled the deck of cards. The markings on her exposed arms looked like shadows in the light of the hearth. Both she and Wren still donned their academy dresses, though they had discarded their embellishments on the soft pink sofa nearby. The pile of jewels, ribbons, and pearls would fetch a grand sum.
“However,” she conceded. “I did anticipate you to pick up on the game faster.”
Wren yawned into her palm. “Perhaps if I were not so exhausted by the course load, I would be able to. I am not sure how I am to make it through an entire semester,” Wren confessed.
Over the course of her time with Kierana, she had yet to find anything of suspicion in the young woman. While Wren had no plans of disclosing her true reasons for attending the academy, she felt safe enough to speak candidly about the classes and students with her.
“You will get on your feet soon enough. All first-year students have the same struggle, especially if they are not used to such a rigorous schedule. I can help you with anything you need,” Kierana offered.
Wren shot her a wry smile over the rim of her teacup. “You’re only saying that because you want to teach me swordfighting.”
Kierana’s answering grin was lined with mischief. Amusement flickered like the fire warming the room. “It appears my motives are transparent.” A touch of sobriety entered her expression. “But I do think it would be beneficial for you to learn the skill at a rapid pace. You should not walk about without a way to defend yourself. It amazes me you did not learn before this.”
Given Heron’s ability, it made sense for her to be shocked at Wren’s lack of knowledge. But Wren never had the desire to take a life, not until her brother’s was stolen. And even now, she wasn’t convinced she was capable of doing so with a sword.
“Heron didn’t want me to learn. He said he would always protect me.” Wren’s words were barely above a whisper. Kierana was also the only person Wren had spoken to about her brother. She couldn’t bear to say much, but occasional sentences were manageable.
Kierana did not reply as she dealt another hand. Wren sensed that her newfound friend did not desire to play another game as much as she wanted to keep her hands moving. Kierana’s griefwas subtle, but whenever Heron was brought up, it tightened like a noose around Wren’s neck. The woman had not been forthcoming with her connection to Heron, and Wren theorized that perhaps Kierana had feelings that went beyond that of a sparring partner.
“I will do my best to pick up the torch your brother left behind,” Kierana said after she had given them each seven cards. “But I ask that you at least take your dueling class seriously. You can learn a lot from Professor Ivanhild, and it will help you should you find yourself in any trouble.”
Wren could not tell her that she had no choice but to excel in the dueling class. She had to succeed at becoming the best student in her class, or else she would have to secure a betrothal. Wren anticipated that her punishment for returning home with neither of those accolades would be for her father to choose her husband for her. He had been waiting to use her in an alliance for years, and the only person who stopped him was dead.
“I promise that I will do all that is in my power to learn everything Professor Ivanhild has to offer.” Wren paused, knowing that she would regret this, but having to say it all the same. “And I would graciously accept your help in ensuring that I don’t get low marks.”
Kierana brightened, her grief dissipating in the wake of excitement.
“I am happy to help! Perhaps tomorrow we can practice when the sun is high?”
Wren’s shoulders drooped. She had hoped to rest for much of the day, then attempt to socialize as a part of conducting her investigation. The last thing she desired after hours of classes and coursework was to lug around a heavy sword. But she knew that she would struggle in dueling if she did not accept help.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Kierana.”
A flash of light drew Wren’s eye to the window that faced the front of the house. Torches and lanterns floated in the darkness, coming closer. Wren felt something she could not quite name as whoever the collection of people were approached. A great force was pressing against Wren’s awareness. It was as though someone had poked a dam with a sewing needle. She tried to breathe through the sensation and focus on the game as Kierana flipped the card on top of the deck over.
Wren’s leg began to bounce under the table. A line of sweat traveled down her back. What was happening? The lanterns came closer and closer. Her throat grew tight. She took a sip of tea and barely got it down without choking.
“Who could be approaching at this hour?” Kierana asked when she noticed the light too. The clanswoman reached for the sword she had propped up against a nearby sofa.
A door creaked open, likely the entrance. Hysteria struck Wren like a blow to the stomach. She doubled over at the force of it.
“Are you all right? Wren? What’s wrong?” Kierana was uncharacteristically anxious as she knelt on the floor beside Wren. Her anxiety only worsened the symptoms.
Wren clutched her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart was beating so hard she feared it would come out of her chest at any moment. Tears streamed down her face. Her mouth began to water with the foreboding sense of incoming nausea.
