Chapter 15 Together
“He’s mad,” Wren exclaimed.
She—along with Castien, Finn, and Adalin—had just stepped out of the Hall of Malis into the crisp air.
Fog swirled around her feet, and a brisk wind bit at her cheeks.
She was glad to have worn her coat and gloves today.
The sun peeked through the clouds but only enough to provide them light to see, not warmth.
“I think he’s a genius,” Finn replied.
“Of course you do.” Castien’s tone was as dry as an overbaked biscuit. He regarded his cousin with disdain that matched the temperature of the air.
“He’s taken a class of highly competitive students and essentially pitted them against each other. It’s like he’s thrown us into the Grimhaven Games with nothing but our Gifts and the clothes on our back.”
“That sounds awful,” Wren said, running her hands up and down her arms as the chill started to set in.
The Games were public torture. Criminals were shoved into an arena and forced to fight each other and sometimes captured cryptura. Finn’s comparison was gruesome at best.
“It’s thrilling,” Finn argued, a gleam in his eye. Wren felt his excitement, though it was difficult with Adalin’s anxiety sitting in her stomach like an anchor.
“Finn could be right.” Adalin spoke up, surprising Wren. The girl seemed rather shy.
“You feel that way because my cousin has used his Gift on you. It’s muddied your senses. At least, I hope that is the case,” Castien groused.
Adalin shrunk. Finn glared at Castien, and Wren felt his frustration hit her like hot air out of an oven.
“Do not insult her simply because you are in a bad mood. Cruelty does not suit you, cousin.” Finn’s voice lacked its usual exuberance.
The two men locked gazes. Wren tilted her head to the side, watching their silent exchange. After a moment, Castien cut his eyes to Adalin, who flinched.
“I apologize. Westover is daft, but that doesn’t mean you are. Proceed with what you were saying.”
Wren pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The poor girl looked terrified, and Castien spoke to her with all the authority of his position rather than that of a peer.
“I-I was going to say that having the students help might not be so bad. We know more about each other than the headmaster does. Some of us live together, eat together, and I know gossip permeates the walls of House of Adira. It stands to reason that with the combination of our Gifts and knowledge, we might discover the killer before the headmaster does.”
Castien’s eyes narrowed, and Wren wondered if the girl might drop into a curtsy or faint.
With how familiar Wren had become with Castien, the notion of feeling the way Adalin did was laughable.
Yet … she could sympathize. Castien and Finn both exuded the kind of confidence only a lifetime of power could give someone.
Not only did they have high ranks, they believed they belonged in those positions.
It was a part of who they were as much as their eye color or their Gift.
Wren could not imagine feeling so secure.
“I knew I liked you,” Finn said with a grin, throwing his arm around the girl. Her pale skin turned bright red.
“Don’t be improper,” Wren admonished him, which in turn drew Castien’s gaze.
“We’re friends, like you and I, darling Wren. You let me escort you to the ball. This is no different.” Finn’s grin spread across his face.
Wren shook her head. “It is much different, you incorrigible, ridiculous man. Let her recover from speaking her mind before you addle it.”
Castien’s lips twitched as he watched their exchange. He did not smile, though. Wren thought of how often she had seen him smile at her compared to how little he bestowed the expression on others. Curious.
“You have made a fair point, Adalin.” Castien’s voice was a low rumble. There was a touch of rasp that made Wren wonder if he hadn’t fully recovered from his Tidesickness. “I do not know how fruitful the endeavor will be, but it certainly is better than sitting around waiting for the headmaster.”
Adalin nodded but couldn’t seem to find any reply. Finn squeezed her to his side.
“Let us be off then, hmm? The killer isn’t going to find himself.” He shot the group a wicked smile. “Unless, of course, it’s one of us.”
“Interesting that you said him,” Wren pointed out, her tone in jest.
Finn’s eyes sparkled in the shadowy mist.
“Interesting that you would correct me.”
Adalin’s eyes were wide as saucers. Poor girl. She was not prepared to be partnered with a Valengard. Wren turned to Castien, who was watching her with intense dark eyes. Neither was she.
Finn and Adalin disappeared into the mist, leaving Wren and Castien alone—aside from the two stoic guards perched outside the hall. Their other peers had chosen to stay in the classroom, likely afraid of going anywhere else.
“I am shocked you conceded to Adalin,” Wren said as she wrapped her arms around herself to brace against a salty gust of wind. She blinked as icy mist pelted her face. The Tides were particularly angry today, slamming against the cliffside and spraying water.
“I am amenable to reasonable discussion,” Castien said. “I hope you are as well, or else our assignment will be a failure.”
Wren shot him an unamused look.
“I am not the one who talks in circles.”
Castien raised a brow in question. Wren turned her cheek to him.
A curl of his amusement tugged in her abdomen.
The emotion was muffled, as if someone were speaking to her on the other side of the Wall.
Far more pleasant than the violent scream of emotions that plagued her around her paranoid peers.
“Your mission the night of the ball is now our assignment,” Castien stated in plain language. “We can work together and accomplish more, if you’ll allow it.”
Wren pretended to study the spindly limbs of a nearby tree. It was devoid of its prior fullness, amber leaves piled around the roots. She felt akin to the poor plant. Her heart was bare, exposed to the elements and vulnerable to destruction.
Heron’s journal was in the trunk in her chambers. She had pulled it out that morning, wondering if her escapades through the tunnels would give her insight she had not possessed before. Still, she came up short. Turning her chin, her gaze collided with Castien’s.
“What you’re suggesting requires transparency from both of us,” she said with emphasis.
Castien’s jaw ticked. Wren could not discern his emotions. His eyes darted to the left and right in a rapid manner.
“I cannot promise to tell you everything I know,” he said carefully. “But I will tell you what you need to know to aid in our search.”
It wasn’t the perfect answer Wren had hoped for, but it was suitable for their purposes.
There was a part of her, buried fathoms down, that longed for the kind of vulnerability that hid nothing.
She had never wished for such a thing until Castien.
Until they exchanged letters that shed light on her soul and made her feel like a little girl dancing in the meadows of the Wild Holm, basking in the warm sun.
“I will do the same,” she said after a moment of silence.
Castien drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Very well. Shall we convene somewhere more private? I suspect our alcove is no longer safe from prying eyes and eager ears.”
Our alcove. That girlish feeling rose up again.
One that she could scarcely recall ever knowing.
Memories before the duke were difficult to remember.
Whenever she tried, it was as though she were looking through a smudged window.
More often than not, she experienced intense feelings rather than clear pictures.
The issue was that Wren was unaccustomed to such senses and rarely knew what to do with them.
The occurrences had increased in regularity since meeting Castien, which did not help as she was unsure of how she ought to feel about the enigmatic prince.
“I do not think it wise to return to the tunnels with you having just recovered from your illness,” Wren replied.
“I agree, but as we’ve determined, our fellow island inhabitants enjoy eavesdropping. A few of which have been given direct orders to do as much. The only other safe place I can think of is one of our chambers.”
Wren thought of Heron’s journal. If they were to meet in her room, she could show it to Castien without risking anyone else seeing it. Though she was still unsure if she’d show him at all, his suggestion was the best option they had.
“Very well, we can meet in my chambers. Though …” She fiddled with a button on her coat. “Others will see it improper at best, suspicious at worst, if you are caught entering my rooms.”
Castien smirked.
“Then I will not be caught.”