Chapter 12 RiseFall
Castien tipped his head back to meet Wren’s gaze. Her blonde curls were loose around her face as she peered through the trapdoor that led into the tunnels.
“Good night, Prince Valengard,” she said, her tone mocking.
“Good night, dearest Wren,” he replied.
Tides, he loved the way surprise lit in her eyes each time he said it. So even though he knew he was being foolish by bestowing such endearments on a woman who would never return them, he could not resist. Especially with his body aching and his mind muddy.
“We did not accomplish much tonight,” she informed him.
A smile tugged at the edges of his lips.
“I disagree.”
She shook her head.
“We must meet again is what I am trying to convey.”
“We will,” Castien assured her. He couldn’t stay away from her for long.
She narrowed her eyes at him, then gave a succinct nod and pushed herself away from the door. Wood slammed down in her place. Wren’s disappearance stole the last of Castien’s vigor. He began to droop. Heathford caught him.
“Apologies, Heathford,” Castien mumbled as his butler heaved him up to better support him. They set off toward House of Arythes’s entrance.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Your Highness. This is included in my pay.”
Castien’s chuckle was weak and hoarse.
“Waking up in the middle of the night to carry me through dark tunnels while a killer is on the loose is included?”
“Your father pays me well,” Heathford replied. There was a tinge of amusement in the man’s voice, which would be undetectable had Heathford not been Castien’s butler since he was a boy.
“I suspect in light of recent events, you could bargain for more coin,” Castien mused dryly.
Heathford hummed in response. The two stumbled along the dirt path. Every time Castien blinked, they were much farther along than he thought. That was good. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner Heathford could do the same.
“I will climb up first, then assist your ascent,” Heathford said in his usual monotone.
Castien bobbed his head. The butler climbed the ladder with an ease one would not expect from a man his age.
Then he held his hand out for Castien, who did his best to climb without assistance until the exertion overwhelmed him.
Heathford pulled him up into the hidden room and helped Castien to his feet before peering out into the parlor to see if anyone was there.
Deeming the room clear, Heathford led a wilting Castien through the house and up the tower stairs to his chambers.
“Perhaps,” Castien panted as Heathford led him to bed, “securing a room in the tower was not the best of ideas.”
The butler sighed.
“So long as you do not make this behavior a habit, I feel as though this location is suitable.”
Heathford helped Castien out of his clothes and into his nightshirt. Then he piled blankets on top of Castien’s shivering form and stoked a fire to life in the hearth.
“Your Highness, may I speak candidly?” the butler asked, his back to Castien as he prodded the fledgling fire.
“If there ever was a time, it is now,” Castien drolled.
“I know I am the one who suggested you work with Lady Kalyxi. I do still think such an alliance could be beneficial, but …”
A shiver racked Castien’s frame. He burrowed deeper into the blankets.
“She is dangerous, I know,” Castien managed to get out.
Heathford turned to Castien.
“It is not she who is dangerous, but rather what she turns you into. I could be mistaken, but I do not think you would have put yourself in such a precarious position this evening if not for her.”
Castien gritted his teeth.
“What is it you would like to say, Heathford? Or are you merely stating things I am already aware of?”
His ire was unwarranted, but the butler was prodding a bruise.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. You are in no place for conversation, and I am not of a rank that makes my words of any worth.” The butler bent to pick up Castien’s clothes from the floor. “Please rest. I will be back at sunrise to see to any needs you may have.”
Castien did not reply. Heathford left the room, shutting the door lightly behind him.
Once alone, Castien let his eyes fall shut.
It was not darkness he saw, however, but Wren.
Her pale curls in the firelight. The barest of smiles toying with her rose lips.
Her hand on his forehead. A burning ache worse than any sickness rose up in his chest.
Heathford’s implication was correct. There was little Castien would not do for Wren. He had barely refrained from pouring out the Order’s secrets. The only things stopping him were the weight of his legacy and the enjoyment of toying with her.
Sleep settled over Castien like the blankets weighing him down.
For once, it was not his Gift that followed him into his dreams, but Wren.
While he slept, he danced beneath the flickering lanterns with her.
Her laughter filled the air and his heart.
They chased away the darkness with each step.
And at the end, he tipped his head down to hers, and she lifted her chin …
He awoke with a start. His chest heaved as though he had experienced a night terror, and his skin had an uncomfortable sheen of perspiration atop it.
“Your Highness?” Heathford inquired. “Are you well?”
Castien scrubbed his hands over his face, then surveyed the room. He found Heathford warming a pot of water by the fire.
“Yes,” he croaked. “I am much improved.”
The words were a half-truth at best. Physically, he felt his strength returning after a night’s rest. But emotionally, he was stretched thin. How much longer could he take this?
“I have brought your tea and breakfast. It is at your bedside, along with a letter.”
Castien quickly pushed the covers off of himself in order to reach for the folded parchment. His heart sank with disappointment when he noticed the seal was a black academy crest rather than a lavender tree.
“The staff has been anxious this morning, so I suspect the letter contains news about how the academy is proceeding after the events,” Heathford noted as he dipped a rag in the water.
Castien broke the seal and unfolded the paper. He was curious as to how they would handle things. It was not as though they could keep everyone locked in their rooms forever. The killer could be anyone—staff, student, or guard—so it did not ensure safety to remain quarantined.
Year 822, Week 38, Delmara
To whom it may concern,
We are deeply grieved by the passing of Lady Alysia Fairweather, as well as our esteemed guard Thomas Windspire. Our investigation of the events is ongoing, and we will not yield until justice prevails.
Classes will resume on Avisa. However, we understand this is a trying time and, as such, have made the decision to allow students to refuse attendance if they fear for their safety. Simply reply to this letter with your intent.
Any and all travel along the grounds may only occur at approved times or with the supervision of a guard. We have increased security measures, and some of our professors have agreed to take shifts where there is a lack of protection. We appreciate your patience as we make this transition.
Sincerely,
Headmaster Acanthia
Castien shook his head as he set the letter aside.
“There is no point in increased security when the murderer could be anyone,” he said to Heathford as the butler handed him a warm, damp cloth.
Castien began to clean away the sweat that had dried on his skin. He wiped his face first, then started down his neck.
“I don’t think the academy, nor any of us, was prepared for events such as these,” Heathford said as he went back to the pot of water and began dampening another cloth.
“I do not fault them for that, merely for pretending to be when they are not.”
Heathford returned to Castien’s side and traded his cooled cloth for a warmer one. Castien dipped the cloth beneath the collar of his sleepshirt and began cleaning his chest.
“I have found that when faced with uncertainty, people in positions of power either rise to transparency or fall to deceit.”
Castien’s brow furrowed at the butler’s words. He thought of Wren, of the Order, and of his position as future emperor of the Lucent Enclave.
If he placed his actions on a scale, which way would it tip first? Would he rise or fall?