Chapter 14 Tick Tock
Wren tried not to show her discomfort as Ambassador Westover smiled at her. His expression was feline, and Wren felt she was too much like her namesake to relax. She was a frightened bird beneath the shadow of a lion.
“How did you know I would be here?” Wren asked, since it didn’t seem the man was going to speak first.
He leaned back and steepled long fingers over his purple waistcoat.
Ambassador Westover’s office and clothing were the most color Wren had seen since arriving on the island.
The garment didn’t match any of the other pieces he was wearing.
His blue pinstripe pants and white jacket clashed with the deep purple waistcoat.
Wren and Blossom sat atop a vibrant blue couch, while the professor’s chair was a ghastly orange.
The walls were covered with various framed art pieces and a rainbow of painted clocks, all set to different times.
Wren was unsure if a single timepiece was correct, as she couldn’t remember looking at one in the headmaster’s office.
“Your brother had two weaknesses,” he stated. Wren’s fingertips dug into the velvet seat. “One, was that his desire for justice blinded him to most everything except for that which he believed was morally pertinent.”
Wren nodded. This she knew. Heron was a righteous man who sought the ultimate good.
Sometimes that made him singular-minded, but that aided his pursuit all the more.
He was rarely distracted, always vigilant.
Such behavior wasn’t usually harmful, except for when it led to going too far.
Wren believed this was what caused her brother’s death.
“The second was you.”
Wren flinched. She hadn’t been prepared for the verbal attack. The professor didn’t look malicious, though, nor did she feel any hatred toward her. Why, then, would he say something so wretched?
“I don’t understand.” Wren’s voice was quiet, barely heard over the incessant ticking of the clocks surrounding her. Blossom’s anxiety pulsed in time with the ticks.
“Love can be both a strength and a weakness, Lady Kalyxi,” the ambassador murmured. “Your brother loved you so much that he would do anything for you. Even if it compromised his sacred moral code.”
Wren met the ambassador’s golden gaze. Did he know? Heron told Wren they would take the incident and her resulting Curse to the grave. But if this man’s Gift was powerful enough, perhaps he wrenched the story out of her brother.
“What does that have to do with me coming to the academy?” Wren asked.
Ambassador Westover shrugged with an air of nonchalance.
“I made the assumption that you loved him just as much. Such a feeling would drive you to his place of death for a myriad of reasons.”
Wren stared and said nothing. She wanted him to list his theories, but she didn’t want to give him reason to think any of them were correct.
One of the clocks began to chime. The ambassador pulled a silver pocketwatch out and opened it before snapping it shut and returning it to whence it came.
“I am certain you will hear and speak of your brother much over the coming weeks, so I shall spare you any more. Let us therefore begin your evaluation.”
Wren wordlessly waited. Blossom uncrossed and crossed her ankles twice. Wren touched the maid’s knee to still her.
“Do you believe yourself to have any weaknesses?”
Wren’s brow furrowed. Was this a trick question?
“I am not so prideful to think I don’t possess faults,” she answered.
“So you do not believe vanity to be amongst those faults, then.”
Wren wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained.
“I try not to think highly of myself.”
“Would you say you have low self-esteem?” he asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one telling me of my greatest weaknesses? Am I to do your job for you?” The remark slipped out before Wren could stop it.
The ambassador chuckled. “You are feistier than your appearance lets on. Others must underestimate you quite often. Do you use that to your advantage?”
Wren searched for an answer, but it was difficult to focus amongst the noise of the timepieces and Blossom’s nervousness badgering her.
“You don’t need to answer. If you were to lie, it would do neither of us much good. Not yourself especially, because I’d be able to tell.”
Wren frowned at his words. She did not enjoy mind games.
After two weeks at sea, plagued by the loss of her brother and a severe lack of sleep, she was in ill temper.
Acting on her emotions would not help her maintain the image she needed to present, though, so she did her best to gather her wits. For the sake of her brother.
“In card games,” Wren finally answered. “Men often underestimate me during parlor games, and I am able to defeat them.”
Her statement was rewarded with another feline grin.
“Interesting.” The ambassador stood and turned to the overflowing bookshelves behind him. “Do you like poetry, Lady Kalyxi?”
Wren’s throat tightened at the memory of the poem her brother left for her.
“I find it tolerable,” she replied. “I have not had much time for poetry, as I have been training under a master historian. The story of the Wild Holm takes up most of my reading hours.”
“What about novels? Your brother told me you were a writer. Do you have a favorite novel?” he asked with his back turned.
“I am afraid I don’t read much fiction, Ambassador.”
“How fascinating, since I rarely read a history book that doesn’t possess an element of fiction in it. Do you believe all history to be fact?”
Wren drew in a breath and tried to soothe her frayed nerves. The ambassador wanted to trap her, but she didn’t know why. Could such questions truly pertain to her class schedule?
“History is written by man, therefore it cannot be inerrant. However, I do endeavor to believe the best of my predecessors.”
“Optimism is a fine quality, so long as it doesn’t lead to delusion.”
Wren wanted to comment that he worked in a room full of clocks and dressed as though he could not see color. He was closer to delusion than she, to be sure.
“I don’t fancy myself an optimist.”
The ambassador laughed. “Of course not. You are much too cynical to be an optimist, dear.” He pulled down a sage green tome with a dusty spine. “I’d like to give you this. It’s a wonderful little story about a man lost at sea.”
Wren accepted the book. It was far from little, as it sat heavy in her palms. The cover was faded, but she made out the title. Seawanderer.
“By Kylerian Downs,” she murmured as she traced the author’s name. The same as that of the poem Heron had directed her to.
“Have you read any of his work? He is a profound poet. He only ever wrote one novel, and it’s the one you’re holding. Magnificent storytelling. I think you will find it rather rapturing.”
“Why do you want me to have this?” Wren asked, her confusion evident.
The ambassador sat in his seat again.
“I think you will enjoy it, that’s all.” He tipped his head to the right. “Do you think every action has an agenda behind it?”
Wren’s composure ran out like sand in an hourglass.
“I do when it is by a man such as yourself. You seem to thrive on the emotional turmoil you inspire.” She felt his satisfaction with every poke and prod he made.
“How similar you and your brother are at times,” he commented, stealing her breath once more. “Yet how different, too.”
She squeezed the book in her lap. Blossom laid a soft hand on her wrist. Wren looked at her lady’s maid, who mustered a meek smile. She returned it, suddenly grateful for the companionship.
“Would you like to know your weakness, Lady Kalyxi? I give all students the ability to live in ignorance if they so choose.”
No one in their right mind would choose to be kept in the dark while another knew their imperfection in detail.
“I would like to know.”
He dipped his chin as though he were a king granting a pardon.
“You are scared.”
Wren sat as still as possible. She waited for him to elaborate. For she knew a man like him was not short of words.
“You live in fear. Of your past, present, and future. It eats you up inside. That, and your guilt, of course.”
The room started to spin. Her stomach felt full of the jagged rocks that surrounded the island. A cold bead of sweat trailed down her back. She felt as though her dress had suddenly become transparent.
“You love your brother as much as he loved you, if not more. I could see you even idolizing him, which is a tricky thing, as I’m sure you’ve come to understand. It leaves you rather lost when that person is absent.”
Wren shot to her feet. “I believe the length of my trip has taken a toll on me. I am feeling unwell. Please excuse me.”
The ambassador looked upon her with sympathy. It did not matter if she felt his pity covering her like a wet blanket. She could not take any more of his torture.
“You are very strong, dear. But to survive here, you will need to become much more than you are now. I hope you can, as I do like you.”
Wren curtsied and almost lost her footing on shaking legs. Blossom followed suit, then opened the door for Wren, who left with a quickness.
Ivanhild sat on the staircase nearby. He stood when they came out the door. His worry crashed into Wren with a force that made her stomach roll. Blossom wrapped an arm around Wren to steady her.
“I wish to be alone. I do not care where. I must be alone,” she said as Blossom led her to Ivanhild.
He nodded. “You may rest in my office. It is a short walk to the Hall of Malis.”
She heard the uncertainty of whether or not she could make it there in his voice.
“Lead the way, please.”
And so he did. In silence, they wound the staircase and walked out the door to be greeted by a dreary gray sky.
Wren heard no more whispers, but she felt eyes on her, the same as the mist on her skin.
She called upon the dregs of her energy to keep her posture straight and expression serene.
If she gave up now, the ambassador would be right.
She had to be stronger. The walls of her throat stuck together when she swallowed. She would survive. She had to.