Chapter 8 Sick With Worry
Castien’s control was slipping away like driftwood during a storm.
Seeing Wren was agonizing. He wanted nothing more than to pull her back to him and breathe in her scent, relish in the feeling that she was safe and unharmed after everything that had occurred.
The shock of her pulling open the panel alone had threatened to make him lose his grip.
But he knew he had to keep his wits about him for the conversation ahead.
Wren was here for answers, not because of an attachment to him. She did not suffer as he did. It was foolish to hope she longed for him the way he did for her. He needed to focus on the task at hand rather than get caught up in the magnitude of his unrequited affection.
“Are you going to tell me why you know these tunnels as if they were your home?” Wren asked as Castien lifted the lantern he’d brought to light their way off the ground.
Castien sighed. He wanted to ask her why she knew about them in return, but he suspected that would be met with enmity.
Still tired from falling ill, he did not possess the energy for the fight he had proposed.
When he read her words, they stirred up a maelstrom of emotions within him.
His main desire was to see her. To confirm if she truly felt the way her words suggested.
Based on their initial interaction, he wasn’t yet sure.
Their banter was as easy as ever, but he felt the distance Wren put between them as if it were a physical wall she had built.
Castien reached for his wit, but it felt like searching for a quill in a too-full schoolbag. It was taking too long to find it.
“Would you indulge me in your theories first? In your letter it sounded as though you had some,” Castien tried.
Wren frowned in the lantern light. Castien intended on guiding her to one of the rooms so they could be more comfortable—and safe.
The murderer had access to these halls, and while Castien was armed, he’d feel better about being in a room with only one exit.
The maze where they currently stood had the potential for darkness around every corner.
“You sound as if you are ill,” she said instead of answering his question.
“I am tired, that is all,” he lied. “Perhaps you could wait to conduct your investigation until we reach our destination? I think we’ll both feel better if we are sitting down.”
Wren watched him in the flickering light.
Her eyes roved over his figure. He was suddenly acutely aware of every detail of his personhood.
The untucked shirt with his collar splayed.
His trousers wrinkled from a day’s wear.
And his hair that he had run his hands through too many times for it to be anything close to presentable.
“Very well. Lead the way.”
Castien dipped his chin, then swung the lantern in the direction they were going.
“Please stay close.” He made his request in a gentle tone.
Wren’s features twisted as if she abhorred the thought, but she listened nonetheless, coming to stand close to his left.
He held the lantern with his right hand as they walked down the stone hall in silence.
Castien wanted to rush, but he forced himself to slow down and be alert.
He memorized the scuff of Wren’s slippers combined with his boot falls, so that he could identify any change in the echoes of them.
Soon enough, they reached the small library Castien intended on conversing within.
He opened the door and took the lantern as well as Wren’s bag to the table in the center of it.
Wren stood in the doorway, not following.
Castien let her, not wanting to push her, though he would prefer if she didn’t keep her back to the darkness for long.
He found a matchbox in a drawer beneath the tabletop and set to work lighting candles throughout the room.
His energy was waning, leaking out of him like he was a barrel of wine with a hole in it.
“This is the first room I found when I got lost last night,” Wren said as he was lighting the last candle.
Shadows swayed like dancers at a ball. They cast Wren in sharp lines, accentuating the dark circles beneath her eyes and giving the blue depths a haunted quality. Castien saw the remnant of her fear still lingering.
“I brought you something,” he replied.
Curiosity edged the fear out of her expression. She took a step inside.
“I know that you are not well-versed in weaponry, but given the circumstances, I thought it appropriate to supply you with some form of self-defense,” Castien explained further.
Wren’s eyes widened. She walked toward him.
Castien’s eyes went to the open door. He desperately wanted to close it.
Doing so would provide a barrier between them and an assailant.
A few extra seconds to grab his sword in the event of an attack.
But he could not risk making Wren uncomfortable.
He knew her past from the contents of her journal.
To push her while she was still reeling might break her.
“You brought me a weapon?” she asked, disbelief in her voice.
Castien reached behind his back for the dagger he stored in his belt. It was simple in nature. A silver handle with three black diamonds in the hilt.
“Is this Finn’s?” Wren asked when Castien laid it on the table.
Castien shook his head. The action made his vision swim. He clenched his hands and blinked a few times. His strength had returned some over the course of the day, but going without sleep for so long burned up what little he had gathered.
“He has a matching one.”
The blades had been given to them by Finn’s father when they were both young boys.
It was a gift for completing their first semester of weapons training.
The experience had been grueling, to say the least, and the daggers were their trophy for enduring the worst of it.
Both he and Finn had kept them in pristine condition since the day they got them.
Castien had other daggers, but when he looked in his armament trunk, this was the one that stood out.
“Finn’s was rather sharp,” Wren said warily.
“All good daggers are,” Castien replied with a wry smile.
Wren shot him a look. “I do not have experience with carrying such weaponry on my person. I am liable to hurt myself before I can inflict harm on another.”
Castien gestured to her bag, which he’d set next to the lantern on the table.
“Put it in here for tonight, then inquire if Kierana has any belts that you could borrow. She will not protest you being better armed.”
Wren looked down at the dagger. “She would be thrilled that I had a weapon of my own, but I’m not certain she will wish to speak with me if I am forced to lie to her. I doubt the suspicious events of last night escaped her notice.”
Castien lowered himself onto a nearby couch. Exhaustion made his eyes and limbs heavy, but he fought it off.
“Eindar will take care of Kierana’s suspicion for you.
To her, you will have been safe in your bed the entire night.
I take it you have not yet spoken to her?
” Castien rasped the question. His throat was beginning to grow sore again.
He wished he would have sent Heathford for tea.
It was still possible to ring for him, but only from his office, which he could not take Wren to.
Wren crossed her arms. “You are sick, aren’t you?” she questioned.
Castien rubbed his temples. Being back in the tunnels had made his headache return. It was foolish to meet down here, but what was Castien around Wren if not a fool?
“It is nothing of your concern,” he mumbled. “I will be fine after a night’s sleep.”
If he could obtain one. Such a thing seemed to be as rare as the treasure wayfarers spoke about in taverns along the coast of every isle.
“Should you be down here? The air is more stagnant and it’s frigid.” Wren sounded worried, but Castien must be mistaken. She wouldn’t fret over him.
“All is well.” The words came out more slurred than he intended. “Though perhaps starting a fire would be wise if we are to be down here for some time.”
Castien had started to grow cold more quickly than usual. He forced himself to stand and stumble over to the nearby hearth.
“How can you have a fireplace at all underground?” Wren asked from beside him. She was following him, standing closer than necessary.
He paused and looked down at her. Surely, he had to be dreaming. For he had never seen concern like this in Wren’s eyes before. The blue depths swirled with worry.
“It shares a chimney with a fireplace above it,” he explained as he stared into her eyes. “Are you worried about me, Lady Kalyxi?” The question was a whisper, light as a quill feather.
“Should I be?”
He let out a chuckle, though it hurt his throat.
“It is going to be a long night if all we do is answer questions with questions.”
Wren’s brows pulled together.
“I think it will be a long night either way, given your state. Go lie down on the couch. I will start the fire.”
“A lady should not do such work,” Castien protested.
Wren grabbed his arm, making him suck in a sharp breath.
“A lady shouldn’t be alone in a dark room with a man she isn’t married to either, but here I am. I think we are past propriety. Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”
Wren tugged him toward the couch and he followed, still in shock that she was touching him.
His Gift had been weak much of the day and evening, but now it was practically gone.
If he had more energy, he’d be worried about the walls around his emotions falling next.
The last thing he needed was to be laid bare before Wren. What he felt would send her running.
Castien fell back onto the couch when Wren pushed on his chest. She placed a hand on his forehead, and he gripped the fabric of the couch beneath him. He could not withstand this torture.
“Tides, Castien, you’re burning up,” she admonished before pulling her hand away. Thankfully, he possessed just enough mental fortitude not to beg for her to put it back. The threads of his sanity were barely intact.
“My dearest Wren.” Castien looked up at her through hooded eyes. An emotion he could not name flickered in her gaze. “It sounds as though you are worried about me.”
Wren shook her head.
“For someone so intelligent, you can be quite daft.”
Castien’s eyes fell shut as he let out a weak laugh. “Indeed.”
He heard her let out a heavy sigh.
“I will tend to the fire. Do not move.”
“As you wish, dearest,” he mumbled. Words were tumbling out without his consent.
He was in a dangerous position in more ways than one.
The need to be alert to protect Wren made him force his eyes open.
He watched her walk to the hearth and bend down beside it.
It took most of his remaining strength to sit up fully on the couch instead of slouching against it.
His gaze drifted again to the open door.
At the very least, he had to close that.
Castien stood and swayed on his feet. Wren looked over her shoulder, her blonde ringlets hanging over her side profile. She was so beautiful, even with that angry furrow in her brow.
“Castien! I told you not to move,” she scolded.
“The door,” he murmured. “We would be safer if it were closed.”
She slowly stood to her full height again. Her eyes fell to the dagger on the table before dragging back to him. Then, she nodded.
“I will close it. Lie down and rest,” she instructed.
Castien let himself fall back against the couch.
Wren padded to the doorway, looking into the darkness for a moment before easing the door shut.
The lock clicked. His gaze followed her as she returned to the hearth.
He had little energy left to do much other than hope that he didn’t give away more than he should by the time he regained his strength.