Chapter 4 Delineation
Castien winced as his sip of everleaf tea scalded his sore throat. After working to extinguish the fire and move Alysia, he awoke with a throbbing skull, dry eyes, and irritated throat. The frigid, damp tunnels kept the fire contained, but they were not healthy to labor in at great lengths.
Heathford handed him a warm cloth that smelled of eucalyptus.
“This may ease the pain, Your Highness.”
Castien set his tea to the side and leaned back against the headboard before draping the cloth over his face. He breathed deeply.
“Thank you, Heathford.” Castien’s voice was raspy and muffled by the cloth.
“Lord Valengard accosted me in the hallway, requesting to see you. I told him you were ill, but he said you requested his presence. Is he to be believed?” Heathford droned.
Castien heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Heathford’s pause held what was certain to be several internal curses.
“Very well. I shall retrieve him, then see to your breakfast.”
Castien said nothing. He merely waited for his cousin to bluster in like a storm wind. He did not have to wait long.
“Fine day for investigation, is it not, cousin?” Finn’s voice grated.
Castien grunted. While he was immensely grateful for his cousin’s aid last night, he could do without Finn’s ever-chipper attitude.
“I see the investigation wall has expanded. Soon you shall run out of space,” Finn commented.
Castien remained silent, face covered. He did not need to see the walls to know what they contained. The lines and letters were seared into his memory and painted on the backs of his eyelids in streaks of gold by his Gift.
When he returned to his chambers after ensuring Wren’s safety, he wrote everything he had seen and learned.
His script was barely legible on account of how exhausted he had been, but it needed to be done.
He was always worried he’d forget something.
Alysia’s Gift came to mind at the thought, making him wince.
How they found her … it was a haunting sight.
“Tides, Cas, you’re worse off than I thought,” Finn exclaimed, drawing him out of his painful reverie.
Castien pulled the cloth off to find Finn lifting the edge of the Valengard tapestry that covered Wren’s wall.
It was covered in ink and pieces of parchment.
The only thing it was missing were her letters.
He kept those in a locked drawer along with her journal, though some of the details from the pages had made their way onto the wall.
Everything up there was not for Finn’s eyes. Only Castien’s.
“That’s not for you to look at. It’s not a part of the investigation,” he hissed.
Finn—as always—did not listen. Instead, he lifted the tapestry farther. Castien’s throat stung as he swallowed.
“You’re drawing again?” Shock threaded Finn’s words.
Castien scrubbed his face with the cloth in an attempt to regain his wits.
“No—well, not exactly.”
He hadn’t drawn in years beyond sketches of maps or puzzles. It wasn’t a good use of his time. Art was inherently emotional. He could not afford to get caught up in such a pastime. But as with every rule in his life, Wren was the exception.
Finn dropped the tapestry, then stalked over to Castien’s parchment-ridden desk and began to riffle through the contents atop it.
“What are you doing?” Castien demanded. His entire body ached, preventing him from standing. He could try, but it was not as though he could do much harm to Finn in this state.
“They’re all of her, aren’t they?” Finn asked. Castien did not reply. “You haven’t been drawing again you've just been drawing her.”
Finn turned to Castien, holding several sketches of Wren. He was going to smudge the lines if he wasn’t careful. Castien bit his tongue to keep from saying as much.
“Cas, this is—” Finn shook his head.
“I know!” Castien shouted, his voice cracking with the effort. He hit his mattress. “I know, Finnick. It is foolish and dangerous and hopeless. I am well aware. My Gift reminds me quite often. I do not need you to assist it.”
Silence wrapped a fist around the room. Castien’s jaw hurt from clenching so hard.
His forehead throbbed with a dull knifing pain.
He was so tired. Of restraining his every emotion.
Of getting things wrong. Of hiding. He was tired of it all.
Existence itself felt heavy, and he did not have it in him to pretend he was fine.
Finn stared at him for a long time, saying nothing.
Castien waited for the dam on his cousin’s words to crack.
For Finn to spill out his every thought about the matter as he always did.
But such a moment never came. Instead, Finn quietly set the sketches back down and crossed over to the investigation wall once more.
“You wrote something here about Alysia, but I can’t make it out.” Finn spoke, his voice a pitch lower than usual.
Castien reached for his tea, taking a gulp of the liquid before forcing himself to answer. He was thankful Finn was changing the subject. It was just a shame that the topic was not pleasant.
“Her ears were cut off,” Castien replied.
Finn stiffened. The hand he was tracing the words with formed a tight fist before falling to his side.
“Kelda’s heart. Alysia’s ears,” Castien said, shaking his head. “Heron doesn’t fit in. He was cut open, but evidence suggests that was the mimicta’s doing.”
The only connection that remained was that all three of them were members of the Order.
“Perhaps it was both?” Finn suggested. “We cannot trust a cryptura—that much is true. So even if the mimicta took Heron’s form, it still could have lied to spite us. Which reminds me, I gathered more knowledge of the attack last night.”
Castien waited expectantly. With everything that had happened in the last day, it was difficult to keep up with it all. He needed to be informed of everything, though, especially if there was a possibility it was all connected.
“I have heard two stories. One is that a vupyr jumped down from the Wall and attacked. The other belief is that the vupyr simply appeared out of the mist, and they don’t know how it got in.
Either way, it injured two guards. One, they’re unsure if he will make it through the day.
His throat was ripped out. The other is in shock, but less hurt. ”
Vupyr were vicious things, as all cryptura were.
They were known for their bloodthirst. If one was unlucky enough to come across the creature unprepared, they’d be found drained of blood with bite marks all over.
The drawings in some of the journals Castien had read depicted them as lean semihuman creatures with hunched backs and protruding fangs.
He’d also read it was common for them to gather in packs and attack unsuspecting travelers.
Castien wondered why more than one didn’t scale the Wall, if that was even how it got in.
“Who took the demon down?”
“Ivanhild led the charge, from what I heard. I don’t know if they questioned it or killed it on sight.”
Not all cryptura could speak. A great many of them were at best animalistic, at worst mindless killers. A few of them had minor capabilities of speech, like the mimicta and vupyr. Harpen had vocal capabilities, too, but they only used them to lure in their prey, not communicate.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted their conversation.
Heathford eased inside with a covered silver tray.
The butler brought it to Castien’s bedside and deposited it next to his tea on the nightstand before removing the domed lid.
A bowl of dark brown broth with flecks of green sat on the tray next to a large hunk of buttered bread.
Likely a special request, considering soup was not usually on the menu for breakfast.
“You instructed me to stay privy to any news,” Heathford stated, folding his hands together in front of him. “Would you like a report now or after breakfast?”
“Now, please, Heathford,” Castien said as he reached for the bowl.
His throat had not improved, and he needed his strength back to attend to the matters at hand. He tipped the bowl to his lips and took a long sip. The salty broth was both delicious and comforting.
“Lady Fairweather’s body was found on the edge of the gardens this morning.
There has been an increase in guards patrolling the grounds, and I am told no student is to leave their room until a plan has been concocted on how to resume classes safely.
The academy’s investigation team is also out questioning those who last saw Alysia. ”
Castien’s brow furrowed. Extra guards would merely bring the illusion of safety.
The only hope would be that such a performance would deter the killer.
Everyone at the academy would be more watchful and on edge.
That would make any intelligent person cautious.
And though Castien did not want to attach a positive title to a despicable monster, the murderer had to be intelligent to have killed three students and not been caught.
“What of professors? Staff? Servants? Any of those could be the killer,” Finn pointed out. “Not to mention forcing us to stay in the same house does not make us safe if everyone is a suspect.”
“I do not make the rules nor do I pretend to know the logic behind them, Lord Valengard,” Heathford said in a tired voice. “I merely sought to report to the prince what he need know.”
“Thank you, Heathford,” Castien said before Finn could reply again. “Is there anything else? News of the cryptura attack?”
Heathford gave a somber nod.
“A guard was being taken out of the infirmary wrapped in mourning cloth when I arrived in the assembly hall.”
Finn bowed his head in respect at the news.
Castien saw in the taut nature of his usually relaxed stance that his cousin was just as furious as he was about the death.
Both of them were set on solving this mystery, and every time another person died, the blood was on their hands too.
Though it was not definite, Castien felt as though the cryptura and the killer had to be connected.
His Gift drew a line between the two in his mind’s eye.
“The killer knew how to get into the tunnels.” Castien voiced what his Gift was beginning to scrawl as the broth restored his strength just barely. “Which means they may also know how to get through the Wall,” he finished, his heart pounding at the thought.
“That would confirm that the killer has to be in the Order. Watching someone enter a tunnel is one thing, knowing the exact pattern of the Wall is another,” Finn said.
Heathford busied himself with cleaning Castien’s desk, staying nearby in case he was needed. Castien did not mind him hearing their conversation. The more he knew, the more he could listen for.
“But, there are others who know the Wall’s exits. Guards, for one. Most professors and several staff.” Castien pointed out the flaws in the logic as they popped up in his vision.
“I know we cannot solidify a theory based on feelings,” Finn prefaced as he paced the large rug in front of Castien’s bed.
“But, it feels as though they must be connected. Heron, Kelda, and Alysia were all members of the Order. Alysia was found in the tunnels, which only the Order knows about. Heron, outside the Wall, also something related to the Order. And now a cryptura being let in the same night Alysia is killed?”
“It could have been lured in as a distraction. Something to keep us occupied while the killer assimilated back into the crowd in the ball,” Castien thought aloud.
“But something is still not right. Let’s say you’re correct, and the killer is in the Order, the pattern is off.
Heron was made to look like an accident.
As if he wasn’t meant to be found at all. ”
That little detail wouldn’t leave Castien alone. It nagged at him constantly, especially as he continued to grow in closeness to Wren. He wanted to bring her brother’s killer to justice almost as much as she did. To do that, though, everything had to line up, and it simply wasn’t.
“You’re positive that Wren has nothing to do with it?” Finn asked the question, his voice drenched in hesitation.
Castien glared at him. “How could she have killed her brother?”
“Perhaps someone else did, and this is her revenge,” Finn said, though he didn’t look like he quite believed it himself.
In their final moments, may they rue the day they spilled Kalyxi blood.
Castien recalled the line from one of Wren’s journal entries. She wanted to repay the killer in kind, but everything else suggested that she did not know who the killer was. Castien shook his head.
“No, I am certain it was not her. Her journal led me to believe she was looking for a specific murderer, not going on a killing spree. Not to mention the fact that she is dreadful with a weapon. I don’t think she could fake such ineptitude.”
Finn chuckled. “That is true. I didn’t think of that. There’s also the fact that when we were alone I gave her my dagger and she held it as though she were afraid of cutting herself.”
Castien’s head reared back. “You gave her your dagger?”
“She was terrified. Borrowing it placated her. I didn’t think she was a murderer at the time.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose I don’t now, either. But that doesn’t leave us with many theories.”
A sigh fell from Castien’s lips. He did not have the energy to interrogate Finn about his antics.
“No, no, it does not.”
“Forgive me for intruding, Your Highness,” Heathford intoned. Castien glanced over at the butler. “But perhaps you could speak with Lady Kalyxi. She might have knowledge you don’t, and combining it could lead you somewhere. If she is as harmless as you say, it would not impose much risk.”
Finn and Castien shared a look. The suggestion would be wise, if Wren were truly harmless. But she was far from it. She might not be good with a sword, but she still had the ability to cut Castien to the core. And he was uncertain if he was prepared for such an encounter.