Chapter 37
Wren brushed the tip of the stone heron’s wing with her finger.
“I wrote Castien a story,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the bird statue Heron had given her as a gift. The one she’d found amongst his things after his death.
“I have not seen him yet, so I do not know what he thought of it. I am a bit nervous. I thought I was writing a story about you and I, the way I used to—” Wren cut off, tears blurring her vision. “But then the hero started to look like him.” She laughed a little and swiped at her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind that I wrote a story about someone else for your turn of year, but I suppose he requested the story, so it all evens out.”
Wren’s gaze lifted to her window. She could see her peers heading to dinner in the fading sunlight.
It was best she head down soon. She’d had Blossom inform Castien that she would meet him outside of House of Adira to walk together.
Given that it was Heron’s turn of year, she had stayed in her room all day instead of going to her classes.
Wren had longed for a bit of isolation after recent events.
It gave her a chance to sit with her own emotions, confusing as they were.
After penning the tale of the two friends’ adventure, Wren had the startling realization that she had spent the entire time imagining herself and Castien as the two main characters.
The similarities were uncanny. Personalities, manner of speech, looks.
Everything down to their matching ink-stained hands.
She questioned sending the manuscript but decided there was no harm in Castien seeing how she cared for him.
He had shown her often that he felt the same.
They were friends, just as the characters in her story.
Yet, Wren still felt that something was off-kilter within her. She did not feel the same way about Kierana as she did about Castien. Perhaps that was due to all the secrets she and Castien had shared, but would that truly cause her to have such strong emotions in his presence?
“I wish you were here,” she whispered to the statue, her voice breaking. “I miss you. Ambassador Westover was right. I-I placed all my hopes in you, and now that you are gone, I feel rather lost. You would know what to do. I am so tired of having to be the one who knows.”
Wren covered her face with her hands. She had cried so much today. Tides, she was tired of crying. Tired of trying. Just tired. It was easier when Castien was around, but was she making a mistake by leaning on him? He would be gone soon enough, and she would be alone.
If she ran away like she and Castien had planned, she would never see any of her friends again.
Wren had spent the last week having meals with them, talking about coursework, laughing over parlor games.
Being around them had crowded out the darkness in her mind.
It made her warm inside. Today’s isolation had been a splash of ice water on her skin. Clarifying in the most brutal way.
Wren had spent years combatting periods of intense loneliness when her brother was away for school or other ventures. She knew what abandonment tasted like. And now she knew how sweet friendship tasted. There was an uncomfortable panic building in her chest at the thought of losing that.
A knock sounded at the door. She quickly swiped at her tears.
“Lady Kalyxi,” Blossom said quietly from the doorway. “Prince Valengard has come to call on you. He is worried for you. Shall I let him in? Or would you rather I send a message?”
Wren could feel her maid’s gentler grief tinged with anxiety. It was comforting to know she felt something on Wren’s behalf.
“You can let him in,” she said before standing from her desk chair. “Thank you, Blossom.”
Wren smoothed the skirt of her academy uniform and drew in a shaky breath. She would be all right. She had survived far worse than a bit of loneliness. Perhaps she would make new friends wherever she ended up. Her throat grew tight at the thought.
“Dearest?” Castien’s voice brought immediate comfort.
Wren lifted her head and saw him crossing her bedroom with a furrowed brow.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting. I got caught up in reminiscing.”
Castien grasped her hands. She almost sighed at the relief it brought. How did his presence change her so thoroughly?
“No need to apologize. I was merely concerned. Would you like to take dinner in your chambers this evening? I can stay or go, whichever you prefer,” Castien offered.
Wren shook her head.
“No, I’d like to go to the dining hall. I have been alone enough today.”
Castien squeezed her hands.
“Very well, then we will go. I think it will be good for you. But know I will help you escape at any time.”
Wren mustered a smile. “Thank you.”
He tucked one of her hands in the crook of his arm, wearing a faint smile of his own.
“Let’s hurry before I am not the only one calling on you. Our friends are quite overbearing. Finn was waiting with me, and I had to threaten to slice his shirt again to get him to go to dinner without us.”
A giggle bubbled out of Wren. Oh how lovely it felt after a day of tears.
“I wouldn’t cast all our friends in the same lot as Finn,” Wren said as they walked out of her room together. “He errs on the side of dramatic.”
Castien hummed in agreement. They walked the warmly lit hallway to the front entrance.
“Yes, but Kierana stopped on her way out, asking if I wanted her to check on you. And even Letta inquired of your whereabouts.”
Wren’s heart was being tugged in two different directions. Gratitude and fear. Thankfulness that she had such wonderful, kind friends, and anxiety that she was destined to lose them.
“I don’t think that’s overbearing,” Wren commented as they exited House of Adira and descended the stairs.
“Perhaps you’re right that I was mainly speaking of Finn, then,” Castien said wryly. “His obnoxiousness bled into my interactions with the others.”
Wren laughed again. Already she felt lighter. If only she could have this all of the time. Past circumstances told her that wasn’t possible, though she desperately wished otherwise.
“I am glad to hear you laughing,” Castien said as they winded the path to the Obsidian Assembly.
“It is to your credit. I did not spend much time laughing today.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Castien’s voice was sincere. “I hope this evening will lift your spirits.”
“Me too,” she whispered her reply.
Wren leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked.
Neither of them spoke the rest of the way.
Wren did not mind the silence. It was different from the one she spent the day in.
More comfortable and warm. She wanted to ask what he thought of her manuscript, but she was afraid that he would feel pressured by her current state into saying he liked it even if he did not.
So she kept her inquiries to herself and hoped in time he would reveal his thoughts.
When they arrived at the doors to the dining hall, Wren felt a sudden spark of nerves from Castien.
She frowned. That was unusual from him. Before she could think of a way to ask him about it without seeming suspicious, he swept her inside and Wren was struck with a scent so shockingly familiar it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
It couldn’t be. She breathed in deep, the sweet scent bathing her senses. A servant passed by, carrying a silver tray topped with an artfully arranged dinner plate and—
“Honeycakes,” she whispered beneath her breath.
Wren shook her head, bewildered. What were the chances that they served her and her brother’s favorite dish on the day of his birth?
Castien led her to their table. All of their usual friends were there; this time Cyprus had joined them.
The past few days he’d been absent aside from classes.
Wren did not pester him about it, for she knew the past few weeks had been difficult on everyone.
She was glad to see him tonight, though, especially if honeycakes were being served.
Everyone on the Wild Holm knew of the dessert, and most people loved it, so it was likely he did too.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Finn said as Wren took her seat. She was still reeling from the presence of the honeycakes. “My life is being threatened, and I think you’re the only one who would raise a hand in opposition.”
Wren laughed. “Do elaborate.”
“I told him that if he did not stop talking, I would cut out his tongue,” Kierana responded with a satisfied smile. “Eindar gave his approval. The others did not speak out, so I took that to mean they assented.”
Wren looked to Castien. “I think you were right about them.”
He smirked, his dark eyes sparkling. “As I’ve said, I’m never wrong.”
Blossom approached with Wren’s tray, and Wren felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement. Realization dawned on her.
“Was this your doing, dear Blossom?” Wren asked, gesturing to the honeycake on her tray. It looked almost exactly like the ones her family’s chef made, complete with the little citrus peel on top.
Blossom smiled but shook her head.
“I cannot take the credit, my lady. Earlier today, the academy chef approached me saying someone requested honeycakes and told him that I knew the best recipe. I did my best to recall it.”
Wren’s brow furrowed. How odd that someone would ask her specifically, when there were plenty of other students, staff, and servants from the Wild Holm.
Given what day it was, it seemed too timely for it to be a coincidence.
Wren glanced at each of her friends around the table in playful suspicion, but she couldn’t recall telling any of them—not even Castien—about the special dessert.
“Is there something special about honeycakes?” Kierana asked while Wren was combing through past conversations in her mind.
“They were Heron’s favorite dessert,” she murmured, then nodded to Blossom. “Thank you, Blossom. You are dismissed.”
Blossom skittered away, but the sense of anxiety remained. Wren couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from since she was surrounded by people.
“That’s so sweet that someone would request it for you to have today,” Letta said.
“You don’t look pleased,” Cyprus pointed out. “Was it Heron’s favorite but not yours?” He tried to insert a bit of jest into his tone, but it fell flat with how quiet the table had grown. Everyone was watching her. The anxiety she felt heightened.
Who had she told? It must have come up with someone. She needed to remember so she could thank them, though it was strange that they wouldn’t simply come forward. All of her closest friends were sitting next to her.
“No, no, it’s my favorite too. I simply don’t know who—” She cut off.
Her journal.
Wren may not have spoken about honeycakes, but her journal was filled with entries that detailed times where she and Heron had eaten them together.
A collection of memories that were stolen from her.
Wren had forgotten about the loss of her journal in the chaos of all that had occurred recently.
Now, all her emotions around the matter came rushing back.
Someone had her journal. And they weren’t the murderer, because Soren and Ambrose were at the bottom of the Tides.
But just because they didn’t kill her brother, that didn’t mean they didn’t have the desire to harm her.
Wren knew all too well how cutthroat her peers were.
Whoever had taken her journal was using it to torture her on a day she had been consumed by grief.
Wren pushed back from the table.
“I-I’m sorry, I must be excused.”
She got up and bolted as fast as she could from the room. Wren didn’t care if the thief garnered satisfaction from her reaction. She couldn’t sit there, couldn’t eat that dessert and pretend everything was fine.
“Wren!” Castien called after her as she sped down the stairs outside of the Obsidian Assembly. Night had fallen, but the torches cast enough light to aid her escape.
“I’m all right.” She called out the lie. “I just overestimated myself. I think I’d like to be alone instead.”
Castien’s hand wrapped around her wrist. He gently tugged her to a stop.
It didn’t take much, given how weak she was.
Wren slowly turned to face him, tears welling up in her eyes.
Her heart pounded in her chest, fear claiming her for its own.
Just when she thought she was safe and happy, it was all yanked away again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, reluctantly letting go of her wrist.
There was something in his expression that felt too knowing. But that was always the case with Castien. It made Wren feel utterly vulnerable and yet completely safe all at once.
She realized where they were standing. It was the same place they had danced the night of Adira’s ball.
“We could make a new memory, if you’d like.”
Castien had gone out of his way over and over to be there for Wren when she needed him.
Tides, he’d helped her find her brother’s killers and had offered to kill them on her behalf.
There was no reason to keep this from him.
Perhaps he could even help her find out who took it.
He would be furious at the person, that was for certain.
“Someone stole my journal,” she blurted out.
Castien stiffened.
“It was a while ago, and I thought maybe it was the murderer, but now I know that can’t be true because whoever it is had the chef make honeycakes today. To send a message, or—or hurt me. I don’t know.”
Castien raked a hand through his hair. His expression was pained.
“I don’t think they meant to hurt you, dearest,” he said in a quiet voice.
Disbelief and hurt collided in Wren’s chest. She’d anticipated him being on her side, not for him to defend the monster who invaded her privacy, then taunted her with intimate details of her childhood on her dead brother’s turn of year.
“How could you say that?” she asked.
He tipped his head up to the star-speckled sky, swallowed, then met Wren’s gaze again.
“Because I’m the one who stole your journal.”