Chapter 21
Anxiety twisted Wren’s stomach into tight knots.
With Castien, feeling her emotions was usually euphoric.
Now, she wished she had his to distract her.
She ran her fingers over the black diamonds on the hilt at her hip.
She’d opted to wear her dagger on top of her dress today, using the leather belt Kierana had gifted her.
Castien’s boot scuffed against one of the stairs they were climbing, and Wren winced.
Echoes of her nightmare still plagued her.
She’d scrubbed her skin raw early this morning.
It accomplished nothing except getting her scolded by a worried Blossom for scratching her skin.
She glanced at Castien. There was a faint pink line across his cheekbone from where she’d swiped at him in fear.
He cut his eyes to her, and she whipped her head forward.
A tendril of amusement broke through her anxiety like a sapling through bedrock.
She took comfort in the warmth of it as they winded the staircase to the second floor of the Obsidian Assembly.
Wren had no desire to sit in the ambassador’s room of ticking again, but for Heron, she would.
This was the closest she had been to something of worth since she found the tunnels.
Even then she hadn’t really discovered anything beyond their existence.
Castien spoke as they neared Ambassador Westover’s door. “I will let you take the lead.”
Wren swore she could already hear the clocks on the other side of the door. She wrapped her arms around herself, Castien’s coat warming her. The fabric smelled of peppermint and smoke. Like sitting beside the fire while drinking her favorite tea.
“If you wish for me to take over or say something, just tell me,” he continued.
Wren nodded in reply. It was an odd mixture of nerve-wracking and invigorating that Castien was letting her lead this portion of the investigation. He could have easily grabbed the reins. She might have even welcomed it, now that she was to confront the ambassador.
Castien lifted a hand and knocked on the office door. Wren wasn’t sure if he did so right away or if she had taken too long staring at it. She was not conscious of time in that moment.
The door swung open and the sound of ticking increased. Ambassador Westover grinned widely at them. He wore a red pin-striped suit with a yellow shirt and green waistcoat. Wren narrowed her eyes at the pin on the pocket of his suit coat. A bird.
“I was hoping I would see the both of you soon,” the ambassador said in a jovial tone.
Movement caught Wren’s eye. She looked past the flurry of color that was the ambassador and caught sight of Percilean on a small wooden ladder, squinting at the gears of a clock.
“Percilean, what are you doing in here?” Castien asked, startling the young man.
Percilean turned his head toward them, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Each week I ensure Ambassador Westover’s clocks are set to their proper times,” Percilean explained.
Wren’s brow furrowed. Each of the clocks was set to a different time. How could any of them be proper?
“Dueling class is to begin shortly. You should be on the training grounds,” Castien scolded in a parental tone.
“Am I mistaken, or did I place you and Lady Kalyxi in that same class, Your Highness?” Westover asked, mischief sparkling in his bright eyes.
Castien ignored the ambassador and addressed Percilean.
“Perci, you know you cannot afford to miss too many of your classes. Working on a project is one thing, but do not allow the ambassador to abuse your Gift.”
“I resent the notion that I would abuse a student,” the ambassador drolled.
Percilean did not seem frustrated by the conversation being had. He simply turned the gear of the clock three more times, then shut it and climbed down the ladder.
“All of them are correct now,” he told the ambassador. “Is there anything else before I go to class?”
“No, Percilean, thank you. I suspect it is best that you leave quickly, for your prince looks rather cross, and I would not want to subject you to his ire.”
The way the ambassador spoke was too familiar, as if he were Finn instead of a professor. Wren could not make sense of him. Even his emotions were hard to pin today, though that could be due to the intensity of her own.
Percilean dipped his chin, then walked to the door. Wren stepped to the side so he could pass. Castien grabbed his friend’s arm.
“Do not run off to your lab after class. I want to see you at dinner tonight. Bring your friend, if you wish.”
Percilean’s cheeks turned red, his embarrassment palpable. Wren recalled the woman who had sat next to him at the ball. Letta. That must be who Castien was referring to. She was sweet, similar in demeanor to Percilean. They made a good match.
“Oh—okay,” Percilean stuttered.
The corner of Castien’s mouth turned up. He let go of Percilean’s arm and ruffled his hair as if he were a boy.
“Go to class. I want to hear of how you bested Finn at dinner.”
Percilean murmured a response Wren didn’t catch before heading down the hall.
“Though you pretend to be heartless as the Tides, you are far from it, Prince Valengard,” the ambassador commented.
Castien’s face drained of all joy. He speared Ambassador Westover with a chilling glare.
“We have a matter of great import to speak to you about.”
“Naturally.” The ambassador waved an arm in welcome. “I wouldn’t expect you to call on me for anything trivial.”
Wren and Castien entered the room. Castien shut the door behind them, amplifying the incessant ticking.
They took a seat on the purple love seat.
Castien’s knee brushed hers, making her stomach swoop.
He did not move away. Wren focused on the point of contact, almost forgetting that she was supposed to be the one to speak first.
“The book you gave me,” she began, lifting her gaze to look at the ambassador. He had taken the seat behind his desk, lounging in it as if he had not a care in the world.
“Seawanderer.” The ambassador tilted his head to the side. “Did you like it?”
Though Wren could not feel Castien’s emotions, she felt his leg twitch at the ambassador’s lackadaisical tone.
“My brother gave you the book, didn’t he?” Wren asked instead of answering the question.
“I gave it to him first,” Westover said. “Then he returned it a week before his death. He told me that my prediction of him enjoying it was correct. We often exchanged books.”
Wren’s brow furrowed.
“Heron did not read fiction. He didn’t read much at all. It meant he had to sit still for long periods, which he detested.” The explanation came out like an accusation.
“He read your stories.”
Wren stiffened. Castien’s hand found hers and squeezed it. She anchored herself in his steadiness.
“How do you know about those?” She wanted to be strong, but her brokenness bled through.
“Not all of my evaluations are as short as yours was, Lady Kalyxi. Your brother and I got along quite well.” An edge of sadness crept into the ambassador’s mania. “I was sorry to hear of his death.”
Wren shook her head. She didn’t want pity. She wanted answers. This was supposed to be a lead. Yet again, she had failed. Castien’s thumb traced her knuckles. She drew in a shaky breath and squeezed his hand.
“Why did you give Wren the novel? Did Heron instruct you to?” Castien took over at Wren’s signal.
Westover sighed. “I was hoping you’d have something of more worth than thinking I am involved. I gave Wren the book because I thought she would enjoy it for the same reasons her brother did.”
Wren did not want to tell him about the annotations if he did not know of them. Thankfully, Castien must have felt the same and did not mention them.
“Do you have any of the other books he read?”
The ambassador’s chair creaked as he got up and began surveying his bookshelves. He hummed an off-key tune while he plucked a few tomes from the shelf. A stack of three was set on the edge of his desk.
“You may take them. I would like if you returned them once you were finished.”
“Is there anything else we should know about your relationship to Heron?” Castien asked. His boldness was something Wren envied. She was able to summon her courage at times, but it felt low in the face of her grief.
“You are wasting your time here, Your Highness. If Wren would like to reminisce, I am happy to do so over tea. But if you are trying to catch a killer, I suggest you find a more useful occupation than asking me foolish questions.”
Wren squeezed Castien’s hand again. The ambassador had answered their inquiries and given them a few books. If that was all they were going to get out of him, she’d rather leave than sit in his dreadful office bickering.
“Very well. We shall be on our way.”
Castien let go of her hand and stood to grab the tomes off of the desk.
He tucked the books under one arm. Then he extended his palm toward her once more to help her up.
His skin was warm against hers. She didn’t usually enjoy physical touch, so the soft fluttering in her chest came to her as a surprise.
“Have a productive rest of your day,” the ambassador said with a smile.
“Thank you,” Wren murmured, her mind elsewhere. Castien said nothing as he led her out of the room.
“I do love when I’m right,” Wren thought she heard the ambassador say from behind them, but it was difficult to tell with the sound of all the clocks.
“Ridiculous, Tides-cursed man,” Castien all but growled as they headed down the hall.
He still hadn’t let go of her hand. The fluttering inside of her grew with each step they took. What was happening to her?
“Who is he to speak to you in such a candid manner? I should have brandished my dagger. His wit would have dissipated at the sight, I am certain.” Castien continued his rant as he headed down the stairs.
Wren tugged on his hand, stopping them. She was two stairs above where he stood, able to look down at him instead of up.
“Thank you for your help,” she said.
His gaze softened.
“I did very little.”
“You spoke for me when I did not have the words. That is no small thing.” She looked down at their joined hands. “You brought me comfort as well.”
Castien’s thumb skated across her knuckles again.
“I should have asked if it was okay to touch you. Forgive me,” he said in a low voice. “It sounds as if it is all right, though?”
Wren thought of all they had gone through.
How, even in the darkest moments, Castien did all that he could to earn her trust in both action and word.
He had not revealed everything about the Order, but he told her that he wouldn’t be able to.
It was not as though she were without her secrets, either.
They were not entirely transparent with one another, but she knew things about him no one else did, and he, her.
This, along with his careful treatment of her, made Wren feel safer than she had in a long time.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Castien caught her gaze. The feeling from the night before returned.
An indulgent warmth that pooled deep in her abdomen.
Like taking a bite of warm chocolate cake.
Or having a sip of strong berry wine. It made her skin heat as she stared into the endless night of his dark eyes.
His grip tightened, and then the feeling disappeared, snuffed out like a candle before bed.
Wren bit the inside of her cheek to keep from frowning.
“We should take these tomes somewhere safe to analyze them. There might be something of worth inside. Perhaps the passageways? I can have Heathford start a fire and bring tea so we will be warm.”
“You don’t think we will be caught? Or that anyone will come searching for us?” Wren asked, her words stilted. She still felt breathless from the glimpse into his emotions.
“You live to wound my ego.”
A giggle escaped her at his exasperated tone.
“If I was not caught last night while an investigation party was out, then we will not be caught today.”
His logic was sound, but it also begged the question … if it was easy for them to sneak around, would it be easy for someone else?