Chapter 5 The Fox
Wren stared at the blazing hearth across from her bed until her eyes burned.
She’d awoken early that morning, but when faced with the prospect of thinking of what all had occurred in the night, she shut her eyes and succumbed to sleep again.
It was now almost midday, and she had not yet left her bed.
If Castien hadn’t instructed her to clean up before going to sleep, she might still be covered in dirt.
Another reason she found herself still in bed was the absence of classes.
Wren suspected it would be the case given the events of the night prior, but her suspicion was confirmed by a note left at her bedside from Blossom.
She was glad to be quarantined for the time being.
It made her future endeavors of interrogating Castien more difficult, but for now, she desired to be away from the insidious world she was trapped in.
A gentle knock pulled Wren’s attention to the door.
Blossom shuffled inside, wearing her anxiety like a frock.
The poor maid was not used to this level of secrecy.
She was a good servant, loyal to her core, but Wren had never asked this much of her.
Coming to Blossom in the late hours of the night covered in dirt when there were dead bodies showing up was not kind to the maid’s delicate sensibilities.
Wren supposed the constant ache of Blossom’s anxiety was the proper punishment for drawing her into a maze she was not designed to navigate.
Blossom set a tea tray at Wren’s bedside, then gazed at Wren with wide, worried eyes.
“The headmaster and a few others from her team wish to speak with you,” she said quietly.
Wren responded with a weary nod. She had expected as much. No doubt many of her peers noticed her sudden departure from the ball. Such an exit was bound to cause suspicion.
“I told them you came back sick from the ball, just as you said last night. I do not know if they believed me, though.”
Wren mustered a smile for her maid.
“Thank you, dear Blossom. Why don’t you go rest for a little while once you send them in? You have taken care of me well enough this morning.”
Blossom curtsied. “Yes, my lady. Thank you.”
The maid turned to go, and Wren’s eyes caught on black fabric draped over a chair by the fire. Panic burst through her.
“Blossom, wait!” Wren gestured to Castien’s jacket. “Bring that to me.”
Blossom hurried away from the door to the coat.
She grabbed it and gave it to Wren, who shoved it under the mountain of blankets atop her mattress.
The fabric brushed against her bare leg, and she tried not to think of how she had been carefully wrapped in it just a few hours ago.
How Castien’s dark eyes had flashed with deep concern.
“Thank you. Can you think of anything else out that should be put away?” Wren asked carefully.
Blossom scanned the room. Wren did the same.
“Your dress has been washed and is hanging in the laundry chamber. I don’t know what else would be a problem.”
Wren nodded. “Good. Thank you again. You may send them in now.”
Blossom chewed on her bottom lip as she exited the room. Wren would have to work to get the investigators to believe she was here all night. Blossom was not the most confident of witnesses.
After a tense moment, her door opened again.
Wren drew the covers up farther when she noticed that there were men accompanying the headmaster.
Ivanhild was among them. He looked particularly worn down.
She could not discern his emotions, for they were lost in the general muddled nature of the party, but she was certain he was displeased at her being a suspect.
He told her to be careful, to stay out of danger, and she had flung herself into it without involving him.
Wren would have to convince him and the others she had no part in any of the evening’s events.
Two men took post by the door, while the headmaster, Ivanhild, and Professor Aurelian stood at the end of her bed, blocking the hearth.
Wren found Aurelian’s presence curious. The professor accompanied Ivanhild to the Wild Holm to give over Heron’s remains.
Aurelian had been irritable and obstinate toward everyone, even while sailing back to the academy.
Wren had not seen him since she stepped off the boat onto the Whispering Isle.
The headmaster must consider him trustworthy to have included him.
“Good afternoon, Headmaster,” Wren said in a demure tone. “Forgive my informality of dress. I have been under the weather since yesterday evening.”
The headmaster’s keen eye surveyed Wren, as well as her bedchamber. Her expression was made more severe by the dark circles under her eyes and the high neck of her black dress. She looked like a harbinger of doom. Wren supposed that was intentional. After a moment, the woman dipped her chin.
“I am sorry to bother you in such a state, but given the circumstances, you understand we must dispense with propriety.” Headmaster Acanthia’s words were careful. Chosen with a purpose. She desired for Wren to know that Wren’s rank did not hold any weight in this moment.
“Of course. I am open to answer any questions you might have. I hope they lead you somewhere fruitful. My heart has been heavy and troubled since my brother’s death, and only made worse so with the following of so many others.”
Wren was sure to remind the headmaster of her brother, to give credence to her lack of involvement.
She also spoke of the others as a reminder that it was the headmaster’s fault the killer had not yet been brought to justice.
If Heron’s death wouldn’t have been ruled out as a cryptura attack brought on by his own actions, then perhaps the investigation would be further along.
Ivanhild visibly swallowed, no doubt recalling his and Wren’s conversation about Heron’s death. Aurelian shifted next to the headmaster, but his expression remained flat, as did the two guards’ by the door.
“We have been told by several witnesses that you were seen fleeing the ball after dinner.” The headmaster began without acknowledging Wren’s previous statement. “Where did you go after you left?”
“At first, just outside of the Assembly. Prince Castien followed me out to check on me” —Ivanhild bristled at the mention of Castien— “and then walked me back to House of Adira. We were seen by the guards in front of the Assembly and this house.”
They were not seen disappearing beneath the ground. Nor were they seen in the halls or gallery as far as they knew. The story she and Castien decided on before parting ways was that they both went to their chambers early. Wren, to rest. Castien, to study.
“Did you leave your room for any reason during the night?” the headmaster asked.
Wren shook her head. “I bathed and went to bed. I awoke to the news of last night’s tragedies.
” Wren looked down at her comforter in a show of false devastation.
“Alysia was so kind to me. I-I can’t believe she’s gone.
And to lose a guard, too? It’s all so terrible.
I am afraid to even leave my room.” Wren placed her fingertips against her lips.
She felt a prickle of worry and almost smiled in triumph.
Ivanhild. She was certain it was from him.
He believed her. And as such, he would advocate for her innocence with the others.
Wren would feel bad for her deception if she were truly guilty.
But confessing her whereabouts would only distract the investigation, not aid it. It was better this way.
“Do not worry, Lady Kalyxi,” the headmaster soothed in a stilted voice. “We will bring the killer to justice.”
Wren reached for her tea, letting her handle tremble ever so slightly.
She took a ginger sip and blinked up at the headmaster.
It was not as though she was entirely lying.
The situation was terrible, and she was afraid to leave her room.
But her terror was not one that showed externally.
No, it was a deep-seated entity that drained her until she felt achingly hollow. Such things did not perform for others.
“We will leave you to your recovery. If you recall any details, do let us know.”
Wren nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you, all of you, for your dedication to this noble cause.”
The men by the door puffed their chests in response, taking her compliment to heart.
Or rather, to their egos. Meanwhile, the three true investigators skulked out the door, discouraged and defeated.
Though she knew Ivanhild didn’t desire for Wren to be found guilty, he and the others needed to find someone.
The longer this went on, the more the reputation of the academy was at stake.
While the cryptura attack could be ruled off as a terrible accident, the rest could not.
No cryptura has ever staged a body. They kill to eat.
Once she was alone, Wren allowed her mask to fall.
She set her tea to the side and slid deeper beneath the blankets to stave off the ever-present chill housed in her bones.
In doing so, she felt Castien’s coat again.
Her stomach twisted as she pulled it out.
Her fist tightened on it, intent on throwing it across the room, but something made a crinkling sound. Wren’s brow furrowed.
She searched the internal coat pockets, and her fingers brushed against parchment.
Heart in her throat, she pulled on the paper.
Out came a folded letter with a familiar red seal.
Had Castien written this before all that happened?
She traced the fox pressed into the wax.
How fitting, given his cunning nature. Her gaze flicked to the fire, then back to the letter.
Wren’s legs were sore and weak when she stood.
Her steps to the hearth were as unsteady as her emotions.
She reached it after some effort and swallowed as she held the letter out above the flames.
The heat of the fire kissed her fingertips.
She lowered the paper with stinging eyes.
But before the flames could take his words from her, she snatched the letter back.
Oh, how she despised herself for being so weak. But she could not bear the unknown. Her curiosity would forever be her downfall it seemed. She sank into the chair by the hearth, broke the seal, and read.