Chapter 19
Wren could almost see Castien’s Gift working in his eyes. He pushed up off the ground and began to pace in front of the fire.
“Kelda was holding a rose. I did not find one on Alysia, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one there before—”
“The fire.” Wren finished his sentence, her heart galloping in her chest. “You said you were partial to roses. Would someone else know that?”
Wren tried not to feel hurt that someone could know a detail that felt like it belonged to her alone. Castien’s brow puckered.
“I don’t know. It is possible—though unlikely—that someone overheard a conversation where I mentioned my mother’s gardens.
Or—” He snapped his fingers. His eyes lit with an idea.
“The Valengard crest. Some versions contain roses surrounding the fox. It’s not widely used, but it is documented in the history of our royal line. ”
“The killers have studied you, then.”
Castien paused in front of the fire. His eyes darted about the room.
“They wanted to send a message,” he murmured, as if he was speaking more to himself than her. “Kelda was placed in public where she could be found and word could be spread. Alysia was placed where I would find her and know that the murderers could access the passageways. They’re proving a point.”
Wren frowned. “What point is that?”
Castien met her gaze, and she felt his anger careen into her.
“They think they’re better than me. That they can best me in a game of wits.” He chuckled darkly. A shiver crept up Wren’s spine. “They are wrong.”
The door burst open. Wren gasped and jumped, her back hitting the chair behind her.
Castien unsheathed a dagger from his belt and turned to face the intruder.
Blossom’s fear gripped Wren around the neck so hard she winced.
Castien lowered his blade, but Blossom stared apprehensively.
Wren could tell the young maid was thinking of how she could bolt to get help.
“It’s all right, Blossom.” Wren worked to get the words out around the intense emotions tightening her throat. “Prince Valengard is here by my invitation. He was startled by your entrance, as was I.”
Castien slowly returned his dagger to his belt in a show of good will. Blossom’s eyes were wide, but she managed to fall into a respectful curtsy.
“M-my apologies, Your Highness. I came because I heard the headmaster was performing room checks, and I wanted to ensure that Lady Kalyxi’s guest was safe within her—I mean, his—chambers.”
It was Wren’s turn to widen her eyes.
“Is she in the house already?” Wren asked as she gathered the papers around her feet.
“No, I found out from one of the guards that she had planned the investigation for this time. I do not know which house she is beginning with.” Blossom’s face flushed, and Wren sensed her embarrassment. The maid must have been in conversation with a guard.
Castien walked to the window he entered through and looked out it.
“Finn is gone. It looks like the guards are more alert, but I should still be able to leave unnoticed.”
“Should you take a different way?” Wren asked, knowing he would understand her meaning.
Castien glanced over his shoulder. “Is the house clear, Blossom?”
The maid’s blush deepened two shades at Castien’s use of her name.
“Y-yes, Your Highness. As far as I know, everyone is in bed except myself and another maid who went back to her chambers when the guards told us the news.”
“Very well. I will leave through the house then.”
Blossom’s shock rolled over Wren, who held back a smile. To those who didn’t know of the passageways, his leaving that way would seem foolish.
Wren stood as Castien neared her. He drew close, and she caught the sweet scent of peppermint on his clothes.
“I will hide our notes in my trunk.” She murmured lowly so that Blossom could not hear her.
“Go over them. See if you can note any other connections before we meet again.” Castien met her eyes. “There are some notes that I think might have been for you. I don’t know if you already knew of them. I thought you might want to go over them alone.”
Wren’s heart squeezed painfully at the idea of more of her brother’s words to her. She dipped her chin.
“Thank you.”
Castien bestowed upon her a flash of a smile, and then he pulled his cloak up and headed for the door. He brushed past Blossom, who dipped into another clumsy curtsy.
“Blossom, take away Castien’s teacup and any evidence of his being here, but leave the rest,” Wren commanded as she dipped down to collect the stack of parchment on the floor.
“Yes, my lady. Is there anything else you would like me to do?”
Wren picked up Heron’s journal, then the poetry book.
“If asked, I sent for tea so late because I could not sleep.” She met Blossom’s anxious eyes. “I never had any guests. Understood?”
Blossom bobbed her head. “Yes, Lady Kalyxi.”
“Good.” Wren finished collecting the items as Blossom began rearranging the tea tray. “Your loyalty will be rewarded when we return to the Wild Holm.”
Blossom’s hands shook as she cleaned.
“Thank you, my lady. It is an honor to serve you.”
The anxiety in her voice matched that which coated Wren’s senses.
Blossom was not like Heathford. She did not call the shadows home.
She was a simple, hardworking girl. If Wren could have kept her from this, she would have.
But now Wren could only promise to compensate her.
A chill stole over Wren’s skin. If they both made it home alive.
Blossom left the room in a rush. Wren placed the papers and books inside her trunk. Then she rushed to change into a nightgown. It was difficult with Blossom gone, but she did not have time to waste. The headmaster would be suspicious if she was in full dress into the early hours of the morning.
Wren shoved her dress into the trunk on top of the other items, then locked it.
Blossom could retrieve it later. Once she was in her nightdress, she forcefully mussed her blankets so that it looked as though she’d had a fitful sleep.
Then she dragged a quilt over to the chair by the fire.
It wasn’t long after she had begun to warm herself that a knock sounded at the door.
Wren drew the blanket up around her shoulders and padded to the doorway.
“Hello?” she called out, making herself sound meek and frightened.
“Lady Kalyxi, it is Headmaster Acanthia,” the headmaster’s voice sounded through the door. She spoke far too loudly for it to be the hour that it was.
Wren slowly opened the door and made a show of rubbing at one of her eyes with a corner of the blanket.
When she lowered the fabric, she saw the headmaster was not alone.
Ivanhild was behind her and a guard whom Wren vaguely recognized.
The two men were silent and averted their eyes respectfully from Wren’s lack of dress.
“Is everything all right, Headmaster?”
Headmaster Acanthia scanned Wren’s person with a cool expression before lifting her gaze to look beyond into Wren’s chambers.
“You were awake,” the headmaster noted.
“Yes, I have not slept well.” Wren wrapped the blanket further around herself. “I called for tea to try and soothe me, but I don’t know that it’s working.”
The headmaster’s mouth pinched. She gave off little emotion, but it could have been drowned out by Ivanhild’s worry. Wren was sure that after the nightmare she probably looked as sleep deprived as she professed to be. The professor glanced at her occasionally, his worry increasing with each look.
“Has something happened? Is there any way I can help?” Wren asked in a soft voice.
The headmaster shook her head. “I was merely ensuring the safety of each of my students. I am sorry you have not slept well. I hope you will find rest soon.”
Wren studied the hollow cheeks and dark undereyes of the academy leader.
“You as well, Headmaster,” Wren replied.
A brief moment of vulnerability flashed in the stern woman’s gaze, but it was gone as soon as it came.
“Have a good evening. Please report any relevant details to the assembly offices,” Headmaster Acanthia rattled off in a rehearsed manner.
Wren dipped into a respectful curtsy. The headmaster turned away and the unknown guard turned on his heel, but Ivanhild lingered a moment.
“I am all right, Ivanhild,” Wren murmured. “Do not fret over me. You have much bigger things to worry about.”
The Stonemouth warrior’s jaw clenched.
“I disagree. You are the highest of priorities. I owe that much to your brother.”
Wren winced at the mention of Heron. After going over the details of his death, then seeing him—or a falsified version of him—in her dreams, she did not have the wherewithal to hear about him.
“My brother would want you to find the killer.” Wren met Ivanhild’s pure green eyes. “I suspect neither of us will rest until that happens.”
Ivanhild opened his mouth to reply but was cut off.
“Ivanhild,” the headmaster snapped. She stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed over the bodice of her black frock. “What are you doing?”
“Apologies, Headmaster. I was inquiring if Wren needed a healer to aid her sleep,” Ivanhild said.
“I am certain Lady Kalyxi can call for a healer herself if she needs one. Come along and quit wasting precious time.”
Frustration rolled off Ivanhild, but he nodded.
“Forgive me, Headmaster.”
Wren said nothing as Ivanhild walked down the hall.
He glanced over his shoulder before rounding the corner and disappearing from sight along with the headmaster.
Wren shut her bedroom door and locked it, then drug her quilt back to the fire.
She stared into the flames, feeling cold in spite of her proximity to the blaze.
The events of the night, and of nights prior, bombarded Wren’s mind until her head ached.
She glanced over at the trunk. If she couldn’t sleep, the least she could do was be productive.
Her words to Ivanhild were spoken in earnest. She wasn’t sleeping until the killers were found.
And the notes in that trunk were the academy’s best hope of finding them.
She retrieved the materials from the trunk then climbed atop her bed.
Wren began to sort through the papers. Her heart was heavy as she saw her brother’s madness laid before her.
This mystery surrounding Grimhaven must have pushed him over the edge of the abyss he had been staring into since the night of the incident.
A particular piece of parchment caught Wren’s attention. Unlike the others, it was folded. She opened it, and tears sprung to her eyes when she saw the greeting.