Tides of Secrets (The Obsidian Academy Duet #2)

Chapter 1 Smoke and Mirrors

Fear was the worst of adversaries. It was a masterful swordsman, quick to slice at one’s senses.

Wren’s mind was shredded into thin slivers.

She was scarcely able to tell down from up, much less what to do in a moment such as this.

There was no practicality. There was only the smell of smoke and a man she both knew and did not.

“My torch,” she managed to choke out. “I dropped my torch.”

Castien's eyes studied the air around her. She knew not how his Gift worked but suspected he was more focused on it than her at this moment. All the better, since she was without possession of the wits necessary to deal with him.

“I am leaving. If you want to live, you will follow me,” he said in a tone that shut the door on the possibility of a fight. Wren could not even stick her foot in before it closed, for he followed his statement with action and immediately started off in a direction opposite of Alysia’s body.

She stumbled over herself to follow him.

Her muscles were stiff, another byproduct of her despicable foe, fear.

Or perhaps that was the penetrating cold that seeped through Castien’s coat draped over her shoulders.

If it wasn’t for the bone-rattling chill, she would have dropped his coat in the dust and hoped it burned with the secrets he kept in these dark halls.

Castien took a sharp left turn ahead of her, and she picked up her speed to keep pace with him.

His head barely turned over his shoulder, but she knew he was ensuring that she was still behind him.

The action muddied her mind further. How could someone keep secrets as he did yet show care toward her?

Flashes of her past came to her in quick succession, and she stifled a whimper.

The blood that clung to Alysia reminded her of the blood that stained her brother’s clothes.

The bloodguilt that clung to her hands even now.

No, Castien was not the only one with secrets, but that did not ease the sting of betrayal.

If he was down here, then he knew about Heron and the Order.

He read Wren’s words about her grief in her letters and still deprived her of the knowledge he no doubt had.

“The exit we are using is a few paces ahead.” Castien’s deep voice broke into Wren’s silent turmoil.

Wren had a sea of questions to ask him but knew they did not have the luxury of time for conversation.

Castien stopped in front of a wall that had a small handle protruding from it.

Wren would have never found it on her own in the darkness.

The thought made her stomach turn. What if she had found the murderer before she found Castien?

Perhaps one might suspect Castien himself as the killer, but he would not risk her telling anyone if that were the case.

She drew comfort from that, though her anger toward him still flared hot.

Castien paused with the hidden doorway cracked. He pressed his face to the opening for three breaths, then pushed it open the rest of the way. Wren followed him into the dimly lit room. Paintings hung from every available surface, and sculptures littered the floor. A gallery.

“We are in the Obsidian Assembly,” Castien told her as he pressed the painting back against the wall.

Castien turned toward her, his posture stiff, not a trace of emotion to be found in his dark eyes.

The tense line of his jaw told her he was holding back.

In order to maintain full use of his Gift, he had to suppress any extreme emotions.

She thought of the letter where he had confessed his weakness, and the many they had shared over her time here at the academy.

The trust they had built shook in the face of this betrayal.

Her chest ached. Was she to be deprived of every good thing in her life?

Words fought for purchase in Wren’s mind, but none of them won her voice.

“You will return to the ball,” Castien instructed in a stern tone. “I will escort you, then tend to the matter below. You will tell anyone that asks that you were feeling ill but are better now. You will not speak of the passageways or Alysia or the fire. Do you understand?”

Wren met his cool gaze with fire.

“And afterward, you will explain to me everything you know, or else I will go straight to the headmaster. I have the distinct feeling she does not know about those passageways.”

Castien’s gaze darkened to pitch. He took a step toward her. Wren staggered back, fear clawing at her throat.

A twinge of hurt broke through the steel barrier around his emotions.

Each time Wren discerned something from him, it felt like taking a breath after having been underwater.

At one time, she basked in the freedom his suppression brought her; now, all she craved was to know more.

Especially in the precarious state they found themselves in.

“Tides, Wren, I’m not going to hurt you.

” He pushed a hand through his hair, further mussing his curls.

“There are things you do not understand. I care for your well-being; that is why you are up here and not down there with Alysia.” The harshness of his sentiment struck her like a blow.

“But make no mistake, you possess little leverage in this situation, and I will not be blackmailed. Do as I say, and because I am your friend, I will endeavor to enlighten you after. But we do not have time for mind games.”

He punctuated his monologue with a step toward the door.

Wren followed after him, the same as she did in the passageway.

Every time she collected her thoughts about Castien, he blew them away like leaves in the wind.

He called her his friend. Perhaps before tonight, she would have bestowed that moniker upon him, but now it seemed impossible.

However, she reasoned, the same could be said of her.

Heron’s journal was a book of secrets no doubt Castien longed to know.

Wren finding the passageway was a revelation that Castien would have to reckon with, too.

And yet, he called her his friend. Said he cared for her.

They stepped out into the hall, which possessed better lighting than the gallery, and as such had Wren blinking to adjust to the sudden change.

The farther they walked, the more Wren began to recognize.

As they neared the ballroom, emotions crested within Wren.

Her brow furrowed. While the ball had been a tumultuous mixture earlier, it was now decidedly unified.

Panic and hysteria poured over her like a kettle of boiling water as they came upon the door. She struggled against it, but it was even stronger than the night of Kelda’s death. Without thinking, Wren grasped Castien’s arm.

“Wren?” There was concern in Castien’s voice, but she could not feel if it were true due to the agonizing burn of those in the ballroom.

Wren’s knees weakened under the weight of it all, and she fell into Castien.

He held her up, her head pressed against his chest. She fought to stay conscious, her eyes rolling.

It was in this moment that the door cracked open and a familiar head of blond hair appeared.

“Cas!” Finn’s eyes were wild as he took in the picture before him. “I was coming to find you.” He glanced behind him and slipped out of the door. His figure blurred in the golden light of the amber sconces.

“Is she hurt? Did the cryptura do this?” Wren saw his blue eyes frantically take in her slumped figure.

“Cryptura? What in the Seven Havens are you going on about, Finnick?” Castien’s voice took on a frustrated edge. His hand brushed gently over Wren’s hair, and she did not have the wherewithal to flinch away.

“You have not heard? A cryptura made it over the Wall.”

Wren felt the shock reverberate through Castien’s chest. It was the final blow to her consciousness. Her eyes fell shut, and she slipped away.