Chapter 3 Throne of Obsession
Wren floated to consciousness slowly. A mixture of cinnamon and peppermint filled her senses.
She scrunched her nose at the unfamiliar scent.
Her limbs felt stiff and numb from the cold.
She curled her fingers into a fist and let out a low groan as they ached with the movement.
As she uncurled them, the tips brushed against … a stone floor? Where was she?
Her eyes felt as though she’d been standing atop the Salt Hills for too long.
They were gritty and dry. She blinked them open, then clumsily scrubbed at her face.
Her entire body was sore. It felt as though she had been in a fight and lost. With great effort, she pushed herself up to a seated position, still trying to regain her sight in the dark room.
“She lives.” A bemused voice punctured the silence.
Panic shot through Wren. She scrambled backward on the floor, whipping her head about to see where the voice came from.
Across from her, seated below a painting that bore a shocking resemblance to him, was Finn. He spun a dagger in one hand, the blade flipping between his fingers in a way that revealed just how skilled he was.
“W-what are we doing here? Where’s Castien? What happened to me?” The questions tumbled out of Wren’s mouth in quick succession.
“No need to panic, darling Wren.” Finn smiled wryly. “I have been assigned to your protection, not demise. You passed out, I imagine, from shock. Castien left you with me while he tends to the mess below. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”
Finn did not stop spinning his blade. Wren’s memories came back as she watched the dagger warily. Her dance with Castien. Sneaking into the tunnels. Finding Alysia. Then Castien. Following him up …
“You said a cryptura got inside the Wall.” Wren murmured her final thoughts before she passed out. “What happened?”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Finn shook his head. “You answer me first. What has my cousin propelling himself into danger, besides his usual propensity for finding it?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Finn answered her with an exasperated look.
“He did not have the time, given that he needed to put out a fire.” He pointed the dagger at her.
Wren’s blood chilled. “Would you stop avoiding my questions? I’ve been rather bored watching you sleep while Cas gets to have all the fun. The least you can do is answer me.”
Wren scooted farther back, searching the room for some kind of weapon.
Surely there was an antique dagger that she could grab.
She wasn’t delusional enough to think it would save her, but maybe she could at least harm him before he killed her.
Wren liked Finn, but his loyalty lay with Castien.
She wasn’t sure if that still extended to her.
“Tides, you’re paranoid. If I give you this, will you talk?” Finn slid the dagger across the stone floor to her. It stopped just short of slicing her foot.
Wren slowly picked up the silver hilt. Three black diamonds were embedded into the handle, but there were no other adornments. What it lacked in flair, it made up for in sharpness. Wren was afraid to hold it. She did not know how Finn spun it without harming himself.
“Alysia was killed,” she said while staring at the dagger. Wren felt Finn’s shock like a jab to a tender bruise. She winced but continued. “When I found her, I dropped the torch I was carrying. It started a fire. I ran into Castien, and he led me out.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you were in the tunnels or how you found them?”
Wren looked up. Finn’s posture was relaxed, his legs splayed out in front of him. He even wore a smirk. But she could tell by the emotions radiating off him that the news of Alysia’s death rattled him.
“If you tell me how you and Castien know about the tunnels, then I’ll consider it.”
Finn chuckled, but it sounded hollow.
“Please tell me you presented Cas with the same deal.”
Wren looked away again. More chuckles echoed off the walls.
“I won’t take your deal, but I will keep up the end of my previous bargain,” Finn said after a pause.
“A cryptura got over the Wall while many of us were still dancing the night away. I know little except that it gravely injured one guard and slightly maimed another before running away. They were chasing it down when you showed up at the ball.”
“I thought the Wall kept all the cryptura out.” Wren was aware her comment was foolish, but she had little else to offer on account of her spinning mind.
Her brother was killed outside the Wall. Kelda in. Alysia in. But now a cryptura had gotten in. Was there a connection? Or was this merely an unfortunate coincidence?
Finn hummed in response. A chill racked Wren’s frame. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, dangling the dagger from one hand. This was when she realized she was wearing Castien’s coat. She recalled him wrapping it around her.
“Do you know how long they’ve been gone?” Wren asked as she looked over at the painting of the stately king she knew hid the secret passageway.
“Unfortunately, Ambassador Westover must not have had any say in the design of this room, because it is lacking in timepieces.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Wren’s mouth.
The tension in her abdomen was beginning to unwind.
If Finn wanted to hurt her, he could have.
Instead, he gave her his dagger. That seemed counterintuitive to wanting to kill her.
While she still didn’t trust him, she believed herself safe for the moment.
“He does have an unusual obsession with them, doesn’t he?” she pondered aloud.
“That he does. I’m afraid Castien is going to turn into him one day if he’s not careful.”
Wren could not stifle her laugh. She turned her head toward Finn, who was smiling. His emotions had mellowed, though there was an undercurrent of anxiety that felt like a corset pulled taut around Wren’s rib cage.
“You cannot truly think such a thing. Castien is far too logical.”
Finn tapped his fingers on his knees. Wren got the sense he preferred having something to do.
“Logic bows at the throne of obsession.”
Wren’s brow furrowed at the eerily poetic line.
“And what obsessions plague Castien?”
Amusement flickered across Finn’s face. He pushed a hand through his blond locks.
“Such matters are not mine to share. I’m afraid you’ll have to inquire yourself.”
As if on cue, the latch to the door clicked. Too fast for Wren to react, Finn was on his feet and had plucked the dagger from her hands. The illusion of her safety evaporated. Nothing could have stopped Finn from killing her where she sat, nothing but the sheer fact that he did not want to.
Wren scrambled to her feet as Castien staggered inside.
She scanned him for injuries but found nothing other than dirt and sweat.
Behind him were Percilean and Eindar. Percilean was not a surprise given his proximity to Castien, but Eindar?
His presence caught Wren off guard. Did that mean that Kierana was a part of the Order, too?
Surely Kierana would have told her. Wren felt more off-balance than ever.
She knew upon arrival that she could not trust anyone, but to have it proven in such a manner was trying.
“I take it the situation has been handled?” Finn asked, back to spinning his dagger.
Castien dipped his chin. His dark eyes met Wren’s. She could not sense any emotions from him and was left to wonder what he was thinking.
“You’re awake,” he rasped.
Wren nodded.
“Is Alysia—”
Castien stopped her. “Her remains were mostly intact. The fire damaged her dress the most, but we made sure she was wrapped before moving her aboveground.”
Wren drew in a shuddering breath. She thought of Alysia’s bloody face staring up at her in the torchlight.
How awful she must have looked after being burned, too.
And it was Wren’s fault for being a scared little girl and dropping her torch.
Perhaps there would have been more clues to generate a lead if not for that.
“Hopefully, once the academy is done with the cryptura, they will find her body and begin work on the investigation in earnest,” Castien said with a weary sigh. “For now, we must return to our chambers and not speak of this.”
Wren looked at Eindar. He did not shy away from her gaze, but she felt his unease. Percilean’s anxiety was higher than anyone else in the room, and he kept his eyes trained on the floor.
“Finn, slip back into the ballroom to assess the situation and ensure that no one is suspicious of any of our whereabouts,” Castien commanded.
Finn’s Gift of charisma would come in handy for that sort of task. Wren wondered how many times he had used it to cover up something like this before.
“Eindar and Percilean, use the passageways to return to your chambers. Let no one but your staff see you return. Clean or dispose of your clothes. If anyone asks, you left the ball early because you were tired. Do not speak of this night with anyone but the people in this room. Understood?”
“Yes,” they said in unison with a slight bow.
“Good. Be on your way. All of you,” he said, nodding to Finn.
Finn glanced at Wren, then back at Castien.
“As you wish, dear cousin.”
Perci and Eindar disappeared behind the painting while Finn exited the room, his steps as silent as a wraith. Castien turned his attention to Wren. Exhaustion lined his eyes. She wondered when the last time he had a full night’s sleep was.
“I will escort you back to your chambers using the passageway. It is clear of danger.”
Wren wrapped her arms around herself. Castien followed the movement with his eyes.
“Why did we not go with Eindar and Percilean, then?” she asked.
“I thought you might prefer not to be so outnumbered. And, I also thought that you would ask too many questions, even though I’m not answering any until you rest. I didn’t want to subject Percilean and Eindar to that after a long night.” He smirked.
“You intend to answer my questions tomorrow?” Wren asked, not acknowledging his other point, though it warmed the ice wall around her heart.
“I intend to try, yes.” Surprise shot through Wren at his response. “But I wouldn’t count on liking my answers.”
Wren’s nose wrinkled at his addendum. Though it was shocking that Castien was willing to even entertain her questions, she had no hope that his answers would be the full truth.
He had too much at stake, as did she. The two of them had shared much in their frequent correspondences, but they would never reveal all of themselves.
There would always be something greater pulling them in different directions.