Chapter 39 Bleeding Hearts
Wren placed the unopened letter on top of the others in the stack. The red wax glinted in the light briefly before she slammed her desk drawer shut.
Why did he continue to send them? She had not given him any reply, nor had she so much as met his gaze in person. He should have given up by now. Accepted their new state and moved on. Instead, she was receiving letters daily. She couldn’t bear to open them but also couldn’t deny or destroy them.
Her gaze drifted to her window. She could see her peers milling about the grounds.
It was Marina, and as such, she wasn’t required to attend any of her classes.
A fact she was immensely grateful for because she didn’t have to see Castien.
He had stopped taking his meals in the dining hall and did not go out of his way to attempt to speak to her, but classes were unavoidable encounters.
His lack of interaction when they saw each other in person confused Wren. Why would he send such persistent letters, yet not seek her out at every opportunity? Her fingers itched to open the missives. To see his familiar script. She stepped away from her desk and shook her head.
No. She mustn’t give in. He betrayed her. Tore her heart in two. The man who wrote to her, made her laugh, held her … he was a lie. Formulated to accomplish a mission. Wren wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled again. She’d cried over him enough in the past week.
She bent down and retrieved her school bag from its place on the floor beside her bed, then hung it over her shoulder. Perhaps getting out of her room would do her good. She had spent the entire day in there, the drawer of letters taunting her. Anyone was liable to go mad in such a situation.
Wren would go to the library. She could read or study.
That would get her mind off of Castien, surely.
With a determined nod, Wren left her room and house.
The air was more temperate than it had been in recent days, still crisp but not biting.
She breathed in the damp, salty breeze as it lifted the locks of hair framing her face.
As much as she told herself not to, Wren couldn’t help but search for Castien as she traipsed the leaf-laden path to the Obsidian Library.
Some foolish part of her hoped to see him.
To gain some understanding as to why he would send her letters but not speak to her.
It was infuriating. Wren hated the unknown.
She always sought to quench her curiosity, but here was a situation that didn’t allow for it.
She came upon the serpentine statues that framed the library steps.
A memory flashed in her mind of Castien standing on these steps in the fog, a smirk on his lips as he led her to their alcove.
Wren froze in place. That was where she had been headed.
Their alcove. It was instinctual to go there at this point.
Tears stung her eyes as she realized she could no longer call it theirs.
Another thing ruined. Tainted just like she was.
Wren swallowed her tears and clenched her jaw. No more. She would not give Castien space in her mind and heart. He had shown her who he truly was; she needed to believe him. People always show you the truth in the end. Wren had been wrong about him, and that hurt, but it wasn’t all that surprising.
Everyone hurts you. That’s why you’re better off alone.
The monster’s voice had been running rampant since the day Wren found out about the journal.
She had hardly slept on account of the constant night terrors.
It was difficult to maintain her course schedule on so little sleep, but she forced herself to.
She no longer had the luxury of the safety net Castien had offered her.
Wren climbed the steps and tried to push the subject of the betrothal out of her mind.
It was no use, though. That had been one of her main concerns.
She did not know how to amicably end the betrothal with Castien.
Such an action would require speaking to him, which she did not have the strength for.
The library was warm inside. Amber light filled the space.
The sound of pages turning harmonized with the fires crackling in the hearths.
It should have been soothing, but Wren was still bereft over the loss of the alcove.
She found an unoccupied table near a fireplace and sat down.
This would do just fine, even if it made her feel too exposed to her watchful peers.
Wren pulled out one of the books she had been studying in her history class. It was focused on Stonemouth and had a great many interesting facts about the island. None of which captured Wren’s attention as hard as she tried to focus.
Not long into her seventh attempt at reading the same paragraph, someone slid into the chair across from her.
She lifted her head, startled until she realized it was just Finn.
His academy jacket was unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt.
He wore a disarming grin that did not match the underlying anxiety she felt from him.
Wren hoped his presence would not draw the eyes of the other library occupants.
She never wanted to be the center of attention, but today she especially despised it.
“Afternoon, darling Wren.”
“Good afternoon, Finnick,” she replied, then turned her gaze back to her book.
Though Finn had been as amiable and charming as ever toward her, Wren knew where his loyalties lied. Finn would choose Castien over everyone. She anticipated that at some point he would sever their so-called friendship in favor of his cousin.
“Have you opened Castien’s letters?” Finn asked without any further preamble.
Wren stilled, her fingertips on the edge of her book.
“Are you inquiring on his behalf?” Wren replied.
“No. You know that he would despise my interfering. I’ll admit my meddling has caused some problems in the past. I don’t suspect he told you about that?”
Wren’s brow furrowed.
“Mm. I did not think so. Castien does tend to pile on the weight of responsibility, both his and others.” Wren lifted her gaze. Finn steepled his fingers on the table. “I’m the one who broke into your room and stole your journal.”
Shock rolled over Wren like a storm across the Tides. Had Castien lied to protect Finn all this time?
“Do not worry, I don’t know any of your secrets. I flipped to the end and saw Castien’s name, then brought it to him. He read it in entirety, as far as I know, but shared nothing.”
It shouldn’t be a comfort to Wren that Castien alone held her words, but it was.
“Why are you telling me this? It doesn’t change anything.”
Finn sighed. Wren felt again a tinge of anxiety that marred his relaxed demeanor.
“I wanted you to know the full story, so you could take a little bit of the blame off his shoulders. But I see that is probably a fruitless endeavor.”
“He read my innermost thoughts. Then kept it a secret and lied to me. That cannot be undone.” Wren tried to keep her voice steady. She could not break down in front of Finn.
He watched her in silence for a moment. His gaze was unnerving in its intensity. Wren couldn’t hold it, opting to look at her book once more. She was not accustomed to a somber Finn.
“A year before Castien and I left for the academy, my mother died,” Finn said, breaking the silence with the sudden change of subject. “She had been sick for some time, all of which I spent in denial. I was convinced that she would get better. When she didn’t, I went mad with grief.”
Wren did not say a word, though she wondered why he was sharing such things with her.
“I drank too much berry wine, slept all day, and roamed the palace at night. Tore apart my chambers. Yelled at servants.”
Wren’s brows rose at his words. None of that sounded like the Finn she had come to know.
“One day, Castien came into my room while I was in a fit of rage and shoved a sword into my hands. Told me to take out all my hurt on him. Even in that state, I refused, but Castien baited me. Over and over until I snapped. We didn’t spar.
We fought in earnest. I remember being so consumed with pain and anger that I thought I might kill him. ”
Wren could imagine the portrait he was painting with stark clarity. It was a frightening picture. Two lethal fighters, one with nothing to lose, set against each other.
“I’ve never fought so hard in my life. Every blow was made with all my strength.
Castien held me off as he was more than capable of doing, but then something happened.
He won’t admit to faltering on purpose, but I think he might have.
Whatever the reason, I got through his defenses.
My blade slashed a line across his chest.”
Wren barely refrained from gasping. Finn continued, his expression dark.
“Seeing his blood on my blade woke me up. I screamed for a healer, though Castien assured me in his infuriatingly calm way that he was fine. I sobbed like a child while they stitched him up. He comforted me as if I were the one bleeding.” Finn shook his head.
Wren could feel his pain rising up between them.
“When it was all over, I realized how I was hurting everyone around me by avoiding grief through wine and anger. Without Castien’s help, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to come to. ”
When Finn had been quiet for some time, Wren spoke up.
“Why did you tell me that story, Finn?” she whispered.
Finn raked a hand through his blond curls. Embers popped in the hearth next to where they sat.
“Because you need to know that Castien would never seek to hurt you. He made a mistake before he knew you, but now he cares about you, and when Castien cares about you, he bleeds for you. He’s got the scar to prove it.”
Wren’s throat tightened. She couldn’t respond for fear of falling apart.
“I don’t know what was in your journal, but I’d be willing to bet that Castien hasn’t once used the contents to do anything but care for you,” Finn added.
Wren bit the inside of her cheek. Finn was right.
There was no evidence that pointed to Castien directly harming Wren.
But what if that was his game all along?
Make her trust him so he gets his way, then he could toss her aside?
Then again, that didn’t line up with his betrothal.
She brought him no political advantage, and the proposal had come after Soren and Ambrose were executed.
There was no reason for him to have done that except for friendship.
“Think about it,” Finn entreated. “And if you haven’t read his letters … maybe open one of them.”
Wren stayed silent. Finn stood and rapped the table with his knuckle twice before letting out a sigh and walking away.
The words on the pages of Wren’s book blurred as fresh tears arose.
She closed the tome. Slid it into her bag and stood.
Her feet carried her out of the library and to her chambers.
If she saw someone she knew on the way, she couldn’t remember.
All she could think about was Finn’s story and Castien.
Her pompous prince. The one who had comforted her after her nightmares. Who had offered his blade and his hand. The secret caretaker. Yes, he’d stolen her journal, but he’d done so much more, too. She couldn’t reconcile how it all fit together.
And if she was honest with herself, she was scared. Castien knew how truly broken she was. There was no hiding her impurities from him. That terrified her. What little control she had over his perception was ripped away, and she was left drowning in a pool of vulnerability.
Wren’s hands shook as she opened her desk drawer. She’d done so too many times to count over recent days. But each time, she’d closed it without opening the letters.
This time, she pulled one out and held it. The parchment was smooth against her fingers. She could see the faint outline of his script through the back of the paper. Her heart sped up as she wondered what he might have written inside.
Tides, she missed him. Longed for the familiar comfort his words—he—brought.
In all the pain he’d wrought, she still found herself wishing for his presence.
It was foolish and pathetic, but she couldn’t help it.
She cared for Castien Valengard. That’s what broke her heart and made it beat faster all at once.
Wren carried the letter to her bed and sat down. She stared at the red wax seal. What was the harm in reading it? It did not mean she was accepting his apology. No one would know but her.
She tucked her thumb under the seal, pausing only for a moment longer before ripping it open.