Chapter 22
Wren was not sure she’d ever get used to the winding maze of the tunnels.
She would have no desire to become acquainted with them at all if it weren’t necessary.
The damp air clung to her exposed skin. She was grateful for Castien’s coat still wrapped around her shoulders, but it didn’t protect her hands and face from the icy bite.
They had come in through the gallery again.
It was disconcerting how freely they could move about the academy unbeknownst to those above them.
Harrowing, too, if she let herself dwell on the fact that the murderer could do the same.
She glanced at Castien. His jaw was set, those dark eyes of his trained ahead, scanning for any sign of danger.
Wren believed him when he said he wouldn’t let any harm befall her.
She had no doubt of his capability, either.
He was a weapon with or without a blade.
But doubt taunted her when she considered their theory of more than one murderer.
Heron had been a weapon of a man too. That didn’t prevent his death.
Wren’s fingers found the hilt at her hip. She gripped the black diamonds in her cold fingers.
“Perhaps after we look through the tomes, we could pick up where we left off on the training grounds?” Wren suggested.
No longer did she have the luxury of being useless with a weapon.
She couldn’t be entirely dependent on Castien.
If they got into a fight, she needed to be able to defend herself.
Wren still did not favor the practice. She detested sore muscles and did not like failing over and over.
But if it preserved her life or, more likely, bought Castien time to aid her, then it was worth it.
“If you wish to spend the afternoon being bested by me, I am more than happy to oblige,” Castien replied with a smirk.
Wren opened her mouth to reply but stopped short when she felt a giddiness sweep over her. Not hers. Not Castien’s. It was on the fray of her senses, like hearing the wind in the trees. She grasped Castien’s arm, halting him.
“Someone is down here,” she whispered.
Castien’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t tell him how she knew, so she lied.
“I heard footsteps.”
Castien tipped his head to the side, listening. Wren heard nothing but their breathing. But she felt they were not alone. Castien met her gaze. She thought he might call her paranoid. If he did, she would have to work to convince him otherwise before the person got closer.
“There is a room up ahead. You will hide and stay there until I come to get you,” he instructed in a low voice as he led her toward a door.
Wren’s abdomen was clenched with fear that at any moment they would come across someone. She couldn’t tell where the person was, only that wherever they were, they were happy. Which did not bode well considering their location. Who could be happy in a place like this?
Castien opened the door to a room similar to the one they had stayed in the night he was Tidesick.
The furniture in this one was covered by white sheets, though.
And the hearth looked as if it had not been used in some time.
The air was stagnant and frigid. Wren shivered, making her shadow tremble on the wall.
“Do not move from here,” Castien said as he pulled a book and a door swung open. There was a small room hidden behind it, only big enough for someone to stand inside.
“And if something happens to you?” Wren questioned.
Castien gently pushed her inside, making her frown. She turned to face him as he began shutting the bookcase. His expression was unreadable in the darkness. The only light that spilled into the room was from the torch across the hall.
“Wait as long as you can. Pull on the blue book. Take a right out of this room. Then a left. Find the door to my study. Open it with this.” He pulled a chain with a key out from beneath his shirt and handed it to her.
“Then ring the bell for Heathford. If you come across someone, attack first, ask questions later.”
Wren’s eyes widened. She looked down at the key in her hand, then back up in time to see the last bit of light wink out as Castien shut her inside.
Wren strained to hear his footsteps, but she couldn’t.
Either the bookcase muffled them or Castien was being careful so as to not alert a potential attacker.
She confirmed it must have been the latter when his voice rang out clear as a bell.
“Calypsia and Soren, I did not expect to see you,” Castien said in a cool tone. “State your business here.”
Calypsia was in the Order. Wren slid Castien’s key around her neck, then unsheathed her dagger. Calypsia was from Grimhaven, a princess. If anyone had sway over the Games, it would be her. And if Wren’s memory served her, Soren was Calypsia’s suitor. Two killers.
“We were merely seeking some solitude,” Calypsia answered with a light laugh. “The academy has been rather suffocating, as I’m sure you know.”
Wren felt the woman’s giddiness be replaced by frustration and a tinge of fear. Would the killer challenging Castien be afraid of him?
“I see,” Castien intoned. “You mean that you have come to defile my tunnels instead of your chambers.”
Embarrassment hit Wren hard enough that she blushed on the couple’s behalf.
“How dare you insult the princess’s reputation!” Soren’s voice wavered as he spoke, but Wren had to admire his boldness.
“For someone who defends her so staunchly, you know very little of her reputation yourself,” Castien replied. His voice was the edge of a razor blade, possessing none of the silken warmth he often bestowed upon her.
“You know nothing of Calypsia. You judge her because of her kingdom, not her merit. She is brilliant—”
Calypsia cut in. “Silence, Soren.”
Wren held her breath as she waited for more words to come. She gripped the hilt tighter. It did not seem as though they were going to attack, and Wren knew not what she would do if they did, but the dagger’s weight in her palm made her feel more in control.
“These rooms are to conduct business of the Obsidian Order, not for frivolous escapades,” Castien seethed. “If I find you in my tunnels again, you will be exiled from the Order, the reputations you value so highly blackened across the Seven Havens.” A weighted pause. “Am I understood?”
“Yes, High Inquisitor,” Calypsia and Soren said in unison, their fear pounding in Wren’s skull.
High Inquisitor. Wren filed that information away for later.
“Now leave my sight,” Castien snapped.
The scuff of footsteps was the only sound Wren heard after that. Then, nothing. He was waiting to ensure they were gone before coming for her. She toyed with the key around her neck and ruminated on all that she had learned from that conversation.
Calypsia was in the Order, though Wren knew that both Castien and Finn despised her.
And Castien was clearly the leader. That meant that admittance wasn’t based on favor, but something else.
Connections, perhaps? Gifts? Wren did not know what Calypsia’s Gift was, so she could not determine if it would be useful enough to outweigh her personality.
Wren recalled Castien saying that politics were the only thing that made him associate with Grimhaven Order members.
So Calypsia being a princess could have held enough merit to earn her spot.
But why not Kierana, then? She was a princess in her own right and associated with Eindar, who Wren knew was in the Order.
Not to mention Kierana’s Gift of agility was incredibly useful.
The bookshelf swung open. Castien’s gaze roved over her, assessing if she was all right. She did not bother reassuring him, instead focused on satiating her curiosity.
“Why would Calypsia be in the Order but not Kierana? How is someone chosen to be a part of it? Do you have a system, or is it entirely subjective? Do you choose, or is there a council?”
Castien stared at her for a moment, then heaved a sigh.
“I am glad you’re safe, too, dearest,” he muttered as he raked a hand through his hair. “Shall we start a fire, or would you prefer to interrogate me in the cold?”
Wren shivered again.
“I can wait on a fire.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
“Let us go to my study to call for Heathford, then. You look like you could use a cup of tea.”
Castien stepped forward, crowding her in the secret room. His smoky peppermint scent enveloped her, the cold she felt from before a distant memory as heat cascaded over her.
“What—”
His fingertips brushed her neck as he grasped his necklace and pulled it off, gently tugging it over her windswept curls.
“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” Wren teased in a whisper.
“You would be the only one who could get me to,” he replied in a tone that made that unbearable fluttering feeling return.
She watched him pull the chain over his head. The key fell over his heart. Something about her having worn it seconds before made the gesture carry a weight she didn’t quite understand. The spot where his fingertips brushed her skin burned.
“I doubt that I possess such a power,” she breathed.
He chuckled. “Good. The longer you doubt, the safer I am.”