Chapter 9 Legacy
Wren smoothed her hands over her yellow skirts as she walked down the hall of Riverwild Manor.
Her satin slippers whispered against the floor.
Sunbeams streamed through the windows to her right, creating pools of sunlight for her to step into every so often.
She didn’t stop to bask in any of them. There was no time.
She had to convince her father to let her attend the academy today, or else she’d be stuck on the Wild Holm until the next Eventide.
She had considered speaking to him yesterday evening, but he had busied himself entertaining council members long after the sun had set.
So instead, she combed through her notes about Heron’s journal again.
It didn’t prove helpful, but she had hopes that it would when she was on the Whispering Isle.
Wren arrived at the door to her father’s study. A large tree with extensive spindly roots was carved into the door. A symbol of his commitment to the council of the Wild Holm. She lifted her hand and knocked. According to his steward, he was scheduled to work from the study most of the morning.
“Come in,” the duke called out.
Wren grasped the bronze handle and opened the door. Her father glanced up from his paperwork as she walked in. She curtsied. He scowled. His irritation pricked Wren.
“Good morning, Father,” she greeted.
“Why do you disturb me?” he asked instead of returning her sentiment.
Wren closed the door behind her and walked further into the room.
To her left was a hearth burning to stave off the chill of the morning.
To the right was a bookshelf that held nothing but information that affected the management of the estate.
The Duke of Riverwild did not read for pleasure, thus, he had no need for books.
There was no art on the walls, much to Wren’s mother’s dismay.
The duke had instructed the room to be kept sparse and painted a dark forest green, so dark it appeared black when not well lit.
He did not desire anything frivolous in the place where he conducted business.
The only luxury allowed was the glossy black pipe and sweet tobacco he kept in a mahogany case on top of his large wood desk that he sat behind now.
“I would like to attend the Obsidian Academy in Heron’s stead,” Wren got straight to the crux of the matter. Her father was not one to lend his ear for lengthy periods of time.
The duke set his quill down and looked at his daughter.
“And why would you want that?”
“The academy is said to be the best formal education in all the Seven Havens. If I am to be the heir, I wish to be the best possible.”
Her father chuckled bitterly. “It is comical that you believe you’re remotely capable of being the best. I will not send you, weak as you are, to ruin our family name at that school.”
Wren stood firm. She could not so much as shift her feet, or she would lose this opportunity.
“Give me one semester. That’s all I need. I’ll become the best in my class. If I don’t, I’ll come home.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “That is not enough. I will not have you waste months you could be learning from me when I don’t believe you’re capable of even the smallest modicum of success. What’s more, your brother died on those grounds. I cannot lose my remaining heir.”
Wren knew her father had other options after her for the heir.
Her cousin was a better choice, but could only be instated if Wren were to die, or be married off to a higher station somewhere else.
She bit the inside of her cheek. She had hoped not to have to resort to this, but she had to get to the academy.
“Perhaps I may not be capable of being the best student, but I am certain I would be able to find a husband of high rank.”
Her father raised a brow.
She went on, “If you allow me to go to the academy, I will return next Eventide betrothed or the best in my class.”
It was a foolish deal, but it was the only one her father was likely to take.
“Why do you want to go to the academy so badly? You have not shown interest in running the estate nor getting married. I can see no reason for this desire.”
Wren laced her hands behind her back at the base of her pearl-embroidered corset. She met her father’s cold brown eyes.
“I wish to honor my brother’s legacy.”
The duke sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his white shirt. He watched Wren. She squeezed her hands behind her back, but did not squirm.
“Then it would seem something positive came through Heron’s death after all. I’ve always thought you could stand to care more about the family name.”
Wren’s nails bit into her skin. She cared nothing about the Kalyxi name, Riverwild, or a seat on the council. The fact that her father thought Heron’s death would change that showed just how little he knew of his daughter.
He sighed. “I suppose you can go under the conditions we have set. I will speak with Ivanhild and make arrangements.” He picked up his quill again.
“I spoke with him at the Salt Hills yesterday. He agreed on the condition that you approved.”
A smile spread across her father’s face. It chilled Wren to sense his satisfaction.
“Perhaps you won’t fail at the academy after all. It is clear you have done some maneuvering to get what you wish. Very well, notify him of my approval and inquire about what you will need. I will inform your mother; no doubt she will want to ensure you are sent in high fashion.”
“Thank you, Father,” Wren forced the words out.
“Off with you now, there is much to do.”
Wren curtsied and left the study, nerves abuzz.
She shut the door behind her and sagged against it.
She had done it. Convinced Ivanhild. Then her father.
Two victories that would be cause for celebration if not for the other tasks looming in the distance.
She would not only need to uncover the truth behind Heron’s death, but also be the best in her class at the most competitive and prestigious academy in all the Seven Havens.
There was no room for error. Wren would not–could not–marry.
She caught sight of Ivanhild through the windows that faced the front of the estate.
He exited a carriage and started for the door.
Now was as good a time as any to speak with him.
She would need all the knowledge he had in order to succeed at the academy.
Wren pushed off the door and made her way down the marble hall to the entrance, where she had met Ivanhild when he first arrived with Heron’s body.
The housekeeper opened the door as Wren entered the foyer.
Ivanhild came inside, then stopped and bowed when he saw Wren.
She curtsied in response. He was wearing a brown vest and matching trousers with a yellow shirt.
She wondered if he owned many yellow clothing items or if he had purchased them during his stay on the Wild Holm.
Either way, it was comforting to see Heron was being mourned properly by someone other than her.
“My father approved,” she announced without preamble. Perhaps the only thing her father and Ivanhild had in common was a preference for concise conversation.
Ivanhild stood straighter at the news. “You will need to choose a lady’s maid to bring with you. The academy seamstress will fit you for a uniform on arrival, and your class schedule will be determined then as well. You may bring whatever belongings you’d like to keep in your chambers.”
He took a step toward the guest wing, as if he had said all he needed to.
“Perhaps while sailing, we can discuss more about the academy, so as to prepare me,” she said.
His worry fluttered within her.
“Yes, there will be ample time for discussion.”
Wren got the impression that he would spend much of their trip warning her of all the dangers. That was okay. She would need to be aware of those, too. Anything to ensure her success.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Ivanhild turned on his heel and marched away, akin to a soldier to battle.
Wren stood alone in the foyer. The housekeeper had slipped away during the conversation.
The emptiness of the marble halls threatened to consume her.
Before it could, she headed toward her chambers.
One foot in front of the other. That was what she must do.
No lingering. Only action. No matter how much she longed to just lie down beside her brother and let the Tides take her.
He wouldn’t have done that if it were she wrapped in yellow. So she pushed on. For Heron.