Page 90 of Ocean of Ink
Wren’s dress flounced as she skipped to the piano bench. She smiled up at the monster, and he caressed her cheek in return.
“You are so beautiful, my perfect porcelain doll,” he cooed. “Play the song I taught you last week.”
Wren bobbed her chin, her ringlets bouncing. “Yes, Duke Aceran.”
She set her small hands on the keys and began to play. A soft, romantic tune filled the room. The monster hummed in delight beside her. His hands did not join hers on the piano. One settled on her knee–
Wren shook her head, trying to wrench herself out of the past. Finn’s hand grasped hers, but she did not feel or see him. The ballroom blurred around her like water spilled over a freshly penned letter.
The scent of tobacco filled her nostrils. She felt hands all over her. Raspy whispers. And that dreadful song playing and playing. Never fading away, no matter how much she plugged her ears or covered her head.
Then the shake of thunder. A crackle of lightning out the window. Heron, soaked in water, his white shirt bearing faint red streaks. A blade washed clean by the rain. A confession whispered into the stormy night.
Wren beat on his chest. “Why, why? I loved him!”
Heron held her to him, though she pushed away. Silent for so long. Never had he been so silent. Then, torrential agony ripped through her. Guilt and anger filled her mouth like acid. Not hers. Heron’s.
Wren’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Her feet moved, but not of her own accord. Her gaze frantically scanned the room.
“Wren?” Finn murmured as they met in the center. “Are you all right?”
Wren shook her head. Her words stuck in her throat like a clump of dry bread. She broke away, her whole body trembling. Without a parting word or curtsy, she rushed toward the nearest exit. Her peers must have taken notice, but she was focused on her escape. She burst into the hall and then ran to the front doors of the assembly hall. She fled into the night.
“Miss?” One of the guards standing watch took a step forward. Wren waved him away and started down the lantern-lit path. Her shaking legs only carried her a few more steps before she had to grasp hold of one of the wooden poles. Black dots danced at the edges of her vision.
The sound of the door opening again made Wren turn around. Castien ran toward her, stopping two paces away. In the distance, the song of Wren’s past played on, muffled but present.
“I-” she tried to speak, but a sob choked her.
Castien took a step forward, his hand lifting, then dropping.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Just breathe for me.”
Wren wiped beneath her eyes as she nodded. She stayed silent and drew in a few measured breaths.
“I have a bad memory associated with that song,” Wren murmured once she had regained her voice. “I feel foolish for running away. Finn must be cross with me for abandoning him.”
Castien shook his head. “He will not be angry, just worried, I’m sure of it.”
She did not deserve a friend like Finn. All he wanted was a dance, and she could not manage that.
Weak, pathetic, broken–
“I am sorry you were taken back to the past.” Castien’s voice broke through the darkness.
“I wish that a song could not have so much power over me,” Wren whispered.
Castien held her gaze. Seeing too much. Knowing more than he should. Yet never showing how he felt. Only with him was Wren allowed such a luxury as not to be subjected to his every emotional whim. How she wished she could know now, though. What did he think of her?
“We could make a new memory, if you’d like.”
The song was halfway over, the instruments rising to a crescendo that made Wren’s chest tight.I want to be free, she begged her mind. Castien held out his hand. Beneath the lantern light, she saw the gray smudge he had shown her at dinner. A reminder of the words he had written to her. They had shared an ocean of ink, a sea of parchment, all laced with secrets and memories. Somehow, Castien Valengard had become the one person in the Seven Havens that Wren felt safe with.
Wren slid her trembling palm against his. His skin was warm and his grip strong but not too tight. She stepped toward him to close the distance. He hovered a hand near her waist.
“May I?” he rasped.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His hand settled against the dip of her waist. Warmth spread from his touch. A fluttering feeling came to life deep within her. Hers? His? She could not tell for how shaken she was.
