Page 62 of Ocean of Ink
Wren walked into the dining hall with high spirits. Not only had she bested Castien in their exchange of letters, but she had unearthed something new from her brother’s journals. She deciphered one of his maps! It led to a secret exit in the Wall. Wren deduced that members of the Order must be the only ones with knowledge of this passageway. That further confirmed a member’s involvement in Heron’s death. They either took him outside of the Wall to be killed, or disposed of his body in a way that made it look like Heron’s own doing. It still made little sense to Wren as to how Kelda was connected, but she would focus on her brother foremost.
She decided upon her discovery that she would wait until everyone in the house retired for the evening, then sneak out and try to find the exit herself. She had no plans of leaving the grounds, but she wanted to be sure that what she had puzzled out was actually true. If it was, it was another clue. If it wasn’t, then she would return back to the journal and try again.
But first, she needed to eat.
The dining hall was full as ever. Students and professors congregated around tables to gossip and laugh. No one would be able to tell that a few nights prior was the death of one of their own. Wren could not fault them though. To ruminate on the darkness was dangerous. It brought about paranoia.
Wren’s gaze sought out Castien’s table first. There was not a single chair empty, as Wren had come to expect. She recognized all of those surrounding the prince. Finn, Alysia, Percilean, Calypsia, Adalin, and her brother Claud. All of whom Wren had met in at least one of her classes. She presumed that, given their proximity to Castien, they must all be in the Order too. It was hard to picture doe-eyed Percilean in the ranks of a secret society, but Wren knew by now that appearances could be deceiving.
Castien found her in the crowd. He didn’t change his expression or lift a hand to acknowledge her, but she knew he saw her. There was no mistaking the weight of his dark gaze. She knew it well.
Choosing to give him as much acknowledgement as he had bestowed on her, Wren turned her sights on the remainder of the dining hall. She searched the room until she saw Kierana sitting with Ivanhild and one other student whom she thought she recognized from her poetry class. Wren walked to their table and stood at the end.
“Is this a private conversation, or may I join you?” she asked with a polite smile.
The young man Wren did not know the name of looked up from his plate. His green eyes were dull, and there was a sickening amalgamation of emotions pouring off of him. Wren could scarcely make out a specific one. His uniform was pressed into clean lines, even after a day of classes, and Wren wondered if he had changed before dinner.
“You are always welcome wherever I am,” Kierana said and gestured to the chair beside her.
A small smile tugged at Ivanhild’s mouth.
“It pleases me to see you have made a friend in Miss Kierana,” Ivanhild said.
“I am grateful to call her a friend, to be sure,” Wren replied.
Kierana smiled. She reached out as if to touch Wren’s hand, but stopped short. Gratitude washed over Wren at the gesture.
“Have you met Cyprus yet?” Ivanhild asked and gestured to the despondent young man. “He is one of my apprentices.”
Wren tipped her head toward the man.
“I believe we have a class together, but I have yet to make your acquaintance. I am Lady Kalyxi of Riverwild, but please, call me Wren.” The young man brightened somewhat at her greeting. “Are you from the Wild Holm as well?”
It was common practice for children on the Wild Holm to be named after objects in nature, or even animals, like she and her brother.
“Yes, I hail from the Meadowview.” He took on a downtrodden tone as he added, “I am of no consequential rank.”
Sympathy for Cyprus flooded Wren. In a place like the Obsidian Academy, being of a lower rank could make your life miserable. He was likely scorned by many of the high-class students. That would explain his tumultuous emotional state. Wren decided to befriend the young man. If he were in Ivanhild and Kierana’s company, he must possess some amiable qualities.
“I have visited Meadowview. It is a lovely place. As a young girl, I often wished I could reside in one of the cozy hill hovels.”
Cyprus’s mood lifted again. He smiled, and Wren thought he looked much better when he did. She hoped that her kindness would help him push through another day here.
“I lived in one with my mother, and I can attest to their comfort, especially in the cold months,” he remarked.
Ivanhild watched their conversation with joy emanating from him. Meanwhile, Kierana quietly surveyed the room. Wren was used to Kierana’s constant observance of surroundings. She learned in one of their chats that Kierana was raised to assess every room for threats. And though her Gift was enhanced reflexes, her ability to see beyond the surface level of any given congregation was to be admired.
“I always imagined cuddling up in a blanket by the hearth in one, a cup of tea in hand,” Wren said.
She spoke the truth, though it was not a confession she would have made in front of just anyone. To say that she wished to live in a hovel when she had an entire estate at her disposal was far from appropriate.
“We spent many an evening that way,” Cyprus said. There was a tinge of sadness surrounding the warm joy present. He might be homesick, Wren theorized. She hoped she hadn’t ruined their pleasant conversation by reminding him he was far from home.
“Did you make an enemy of Calypsia?” Kierana interrupted their talk of cozy evenings. “She is shooting daggers across the room, and she knows better than to shoot them at me.”
Wren trained her gaze on the princess. Sure enough, her glare was hot as a fire poker. Wren smiled for show.
“We had a misunderstanding, but I cleared it up.”
