Page 50 of Ocean of Ink
“The most prestigious academy in the Seven Havens, and they cannot hire worthy protection for their so-called precious students,” Castien growled.
He would have to find a way to ensure Wren’s safety, as well as that of others under his care.
“Where is Percilean?” Castien asked as he thought of his charge.
“He’s asleep in his room, last I checked,” Finn said. Exhaustion made his expression droop. “His room is even more of a wreck than yours. There are blueprints everywhere, it’s maddening.”
Finn appeared to the world as a carefree, flirtatious lord, but he was actually rather particular about the state of his chambers. He had a place for every item he owned. If anything was ever moved, even a hair to the right or left, he noticed. Castien suspected his cleanliness derived from Finn’s father being the commander of the Lucent Enclave armies. Castien’s uncle was the definition of meticulous.
“Now that everyone is accounted for, and information has been obtained, I think it would be appropriate to get some rest,” Castien said as he eyed his cousin’s bruise-like undereyes.
Finn looked relieved, but still checked, “Are you sure? I can make a few more rounds while the news is still fresh.”
Castien shook his head. “I have plenty to work with. Get some sleep. I’ll send for you if I need anything.”
“I will take your offer because I have little energy to refuse,” Finn said with a breathy laugh. “I’ll come by your chambers when I wake up if you don’t call for me before then.”
Finn pushed out of the chair he was slouched in and stumbled to the door.
Alone again, Castien leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes. Not to rest, for he would not get to do that for some time, but to shut out external stimuli while his Gift worked.
There were more loose threads and unexplainable knots than ever before. Castien wanted to scream, to throw something. He was tired of dead ends. He wanted answers. He needed them. Pale blonde curls and bright blue eyes infiltrated his mind once more. He would succeed. Not just for his pride, or for the Order, but for her. Castien blinked open his eyes again, then stood. It was time to hunt.
Wren’s body ached as she came to consciousness. She fluttered her lashes and tried to make sense of her surroundings. Above her was a familiar sheer canopy and beyond it a vaulted ceiling. She was in her chambers at the academy. Memories came back to her in parcels. It was like trying to put back together a flower after someone had torn away the petals. The work was slow in her addled state.
The sound of a door opening made her turn her head. Blossom entered the room, and with her came the strong scent of hot peppermint tea. The maid carried the teacup to Wren’s bedside, then gasped when she saw her mistress was awake.
“Lady Kalyxi, how are you feeling? Are you in need of anything? I brewed a fresh cup of tea with extra honey for you.”
Blossom’s worry flitted about like a restless dragonfly. Wren was glad the emotion was dulled and not as sharp as what she’d felt before fainting. She was not equipped to handle more than this until she regained her strength.
Wren gripped the silken sheets as she attempted to sit up. Blossom hurried to her aid, pressing a palm to the center ofWren’s shoulder blades. Wren did not flinch away, for she knew Blossom and had been under her care for many moons now.
“Tea,” Wren croaked. Her throat was dry and her mouth tasted bitter.
Blossom carefully placed the cup in Wren’s hands. Wren cradled it in her palms and relished in the warmth it brought to her cold skin. There were layers of blankets piled atop her legs, but she still felt cold. Such was the way of her Curse. It drained her of life, making her a living corpse until she was able to recuperate.
“I retrieved your breakfast and lunch tray, but if they are not to your liking, then I can petition the chef for something else, perhaps something warm?” Blossom inquired as a shiver wracked Wren’s spine.
Wren took a ginger sip of tea. The peppermint scent coated her throat and nose, while the honey soothed the dryness. Tears stung her eyes at the blessed relief. Blossom was patient as Wren drank more.
“Some oats and cream would be lovely,” Wren requested. Blossom quickly straightened and made for the door, but Wren stopped her. “Wait, you must give a recount of the events. Have I slept multiple days or just from the night on?”
Wren could not afford to miss classes. It was only the first week, and she felt ill-equipped to handle the heavy course load.
Blossom returned to her bedside and sat on the edge of the mattress. A floral quilt on the very top of the mountain of blankets slid off and toward Blossom. All of the bedding was brought from Wren’s chambers back on the Wild Holm. She’d wanted to feel at home, though the pastel colors stood out against the dark wood furniture in a way that constantly reminded her she was far from all that she once knew.
“You have only slept just past lunch. I do not know what occurred to trigger the occurrence, but last night I came intothe drawing room to find you on the floor, on the cusp of darkness.” Blossom’s worry grew at this, and Wren winced as the emotion skittered across her nerves. “Miss Kierana was being apprehended. She carried a large sword. Do you recall if she threatened you? I attested to her kindness and friendship to you, but I will notify the headmaster immediately if she presented herself falsely.”
Wren shook her head. “No, Kierana–” Wren’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall what happened. “Kierana reached for her sword when she saw a group of people approaching the house. She did not harm me.”
The intense hysteria Wren had been attacked with echoed in her mind. She’d felt as though she had been ambushed by a pack of dyrekin. Anxiety and fear were giant claws shredding her to the bone.
“What had caused the group to come into the house?” Wren questioned. Accusations against Kierana’s character came to mind, but not the reason behind them.
Blossom swallowed and looked down. Wren clutched her teacup as the maid’s anxiety worsened.
“Another student was found dead,” Blossom said in a low voice.
