Chapter 18 Buried Alive
The two men grew quiet. Wren hadn’t meant to delve beyond the surface of conversation.
She suspected they were conducting some sort of interview of her personhood.
But Finn’s flippant terming of love as a weakness transported her back to the blue velvet couch in Ambassador Westover’s office.
The pain of the memory loosened her tongue, and now she would need to recover from her mistake.
Fortunately for her, Finn seemed as eager to change the subject as she was.
“Do you know what bonds friends more than sharing each other’s secrets?” he asked with a smile that did not quite match the one he gave her upon his arrival.
He was not panicked, but Wren sensed an undercurrent of anxiety in him.
Her gaze shifted briefly to Castien. Nothing.
She felt no emotion in him. How was that possible?
Even the most somber of people she had met gave away something through their feelings.
She could not believe anyone to be devoid of emotion, so he must be in control of it, which was all the more dangerous.
“Sharing other people’s secrets!” Finn answered his question in an overly jovial tone.
Wren looked away from Castien’s dark brown eyes and met Finn’s shining blue ones.
“You mean for us to gossip.” Castien’s voice was low but strong, the intonation of which could command any room. Wren supposed that was useful, given his station.
“Gossip is a nasty word. We are exchanging information. It’s all very academic, you see.”
Wren found herself smiling at his silly nature. Each time she did, she scolded herself. Heron was dead, and Ivanhild had said he spent time with these two. She should not be smiling at a Valengard boy, no matter how charming he was.
Professor Ivanhild appeared at the edge of the field where she sat. His imposing figure was a welcome one.
“I’m afraid I will have to delay our exchange,” Wren said in her sweetest voice. “I am still getting settled in, and wish to make use of the rare sunlight to tour the grounds.”
“Would you like a tour guide? I can assure you that you won’t find a more entertaining one on the entire island,” Finn offered with a winsome smile.
“I have already accepted an invitation from Professor Ivanhild.”
She gestured to the man, who had not made a direct offer, but she knew would pretend as such if asked.
“You two are quite close. Did you know him before your journey here?” Castien asked.
Finn got to his feet and outstretched a hand to Wren. She accepted it and thanked him once she was standing. Castien stood last.
“He taught my brother, as I’m sure you know. We have bonded over our affection for Heron.” Wren waited for any reaction at the mention of her brother. A flicker of pity from Finn came, but Castien was still as blank as a fresh sheet of parchment.
“We know it does not amount to much, but we are sorry for your loss,” Finn said, and Castien nodded his agreement.
“Thank you.” Wren curtsied. “I look forward to nurturing our acquaintance over the course of the semester.”
“We share your sentiment,” Finn replied.
Finn and Castien bowed in unison. Wren wondered if it was out of honor or politics that Castien lowered himself before her.
She retrieved her parasol and rested the handle on her shoulder.
“Allow me to assist you,” Ivanhild said as he approached.
He nodded to the two young men, then picked up the quilt and folded it.
“We are glad to see you back, Professor,” Finn said as Ivanhild draped the blanket over his forearm. The pink floral pattern looked out of place against the black marks on his skin.
“I am happy to have arrived safely. I look forward to seeing you both in class,” Ivanhild responded, then looked at Wren. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Let us know if you need anything at all,” Finn said as Wren and Ivanhild began to walk away. She offered him a smile in response, though it sickened her.
Her reactions to Finn’s charm were yet another example of her many deficiencies. Without her brother to be her compass, she was lost. If she did not learn to be better, she was sure to fail.
“Your first full day on the island and you decide to have a picnic with the Valengards,” Ivanhild groused once they were a ways off from their topic of conversation. “I’d thought you would be more careful.”
Ivanhild’s frustration simmered beneath her skin.
“I can assure you it was not planned.”
“Nevertheless, you should not be spending time with them. If they are linked to your brother’s death, they will not like that you are here.”
Wren swallowed her exasperation. She knew Ivanhild wanted to protect her, but he did not understand what her true goal was. To uncover the truth and put Heron’s killer to death, she would have to ingratiate herself in the society here, as much as it pained her to do so.
“A lord and the Prince of the Lucent Enclave introduced themselves to me. It is not as though I could refuse their company. That would increase any existing animosity,” Wren explained in a careful, respectful tone.
Ivanhild sighed. Worry replaced frustration.
“I trust that you are capable of making the right choices, but I still fear for your safety. Your brother was adamant you stay away, was he not?”
Wren’s grip tightened on her parasol.
“He was, but now he is dead, and I must do what is necessary.” Her tone was sharp. She hoped it would discourage this subject. Hearing of Heron’s death again and again felt like ripping open a wound after it had barely scabbed over.
Ivanhild gave her an apologetic look when he replied, “Forgive me, I spoke too freely.”
“You are forgiven if you give me a tour of the Isle. I have not explored much. This morning, Blossom directed me to the training grounds because a cook in the kitchens told her it was the best place to bask in the sun. I passed many buildings, but did not know what they were.”
Wren had taken breakfast and lunch in her chambers.
Partly because she was awaiting the seamstress, and partly because she did not yet feel prepared to face her peers after the previous evening’s occurrences.
After two meals and an extensive fitting with a Gifted seamstress, she ventured out of her room to soak up the sun.
If it was as rare as Ivanhild said, then she would take every opportunity to enjoy it.
“I am happy to oblige,” Ivanhild said. His spirits seemed improved, though Wren still detected underlying concern within. “We are coming to the library, which I think you will find enjoyable given your previous apprenticeship.”
Wren took in the massive stone structure erected before her.
Arched windows glinted in the light. Two obsidian serpents with intricately carved wings protruding out of their backs and large rubies for eyes guarded the staircase that led to the entrance.
The inanimate creatures stared down at Wren with unhinged jaws and fangs as long as her forearm.
“You can see much of the grounds from the highest point of the library. Would you like to enter?” Ivanhild asked and stepped toward the staircase.
Wren nodded her consent and let the professor deposit her parasol and quilt in the shadow of one of the winged serpents.
She then followed him up the cold stone steps to the thick wood doors with iron bars as handles.
Ivanhild wrenched open the one to the right and gestured for her to enter.
She blinked as the light changed from bright white to dim yellow upon entrance.
The scent of weathered parchment, polished leather, and melting beeswax candles greeted her.
Dark walnut bookcases lined every wall. The shelves seemed to stretch on forever, many of the books only accessible by the rolling ladders propped up in various locations throughout the expansive room.
A woman in a dress the color of rich red wine ascended a spiral staircase in the center of the room with a lantern in hand.
Wren watched until the lady disappeared onto the next floor.
“I see now why it is the most revered library in all of the Seven Havens,” Wren commented as she ventured further into the space.
The library was sparsely lit by wall sconces and hanging lanterns that seemed to have no particular reason for their placement.
She passed a man with a stack of thick tomes next to a candelabra that was illuminating his reading.
He looked up as she neared. She sensed his surprise at her presence, but felt no disdain, which comforted her.
She worried that her sudden appearance would be a detriment to her relationship with students and professors since she did not earn her spot, but was rather gifted it because of her brother’s passing.
“It is impressive,” Ivanhild agreed. “I am not well-read, but I find it a peaceful place to pass the time.” He gestured to the staircase. “Shall we?”
Wren dipped her chin, then followed him up the winding stairs.
They did not stop on the first floor, but rather continued climbing higher.
The view upon their arrival was sublime.
They were surrounded by windows. There were no shelves, just tables, leather couches, and cushioned chairs.
A handful of people had claimed spots, books in hand and candles nearby, but none had taken notice of Wren or Ivanhild.
She breathed easier at the lack of eyes on her.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she walked closer to the windows.
The vastness of the Whispering Isle rose to greet her. She saw her new home, the House of Adira, off to the far right. Next to it was a maze of gardens at the center of which was a glass greenhouse with ivy crawling over it.
Fog crept in as their time in the sun ended. The mist seemed its own entity. It scaled the stone wall surrounding the academy, blanketed the grounds, and swallowed up those walking below.
“The stone wall–” Wren began.
“It is for protection against cryptura,” Ivanhild said in an authoritative tone. “No one is to go beyond it. I would advise you not to go near the structure.”
Wren scanned the barrier. How did Heron end up on the other side? She wrapped her arms around her middle. The circumstances of his death were something she sought to avoid, but she would have to face them to achieve the justice she so desired. She could not shy away from the pain.
As she gazed upon the Whispering Isle, she gathered up what little fortitude she could.
There was no time for frivolous expressions of grief.
She closed her eyes and buried it all. Her fears, grief, guilt, and even the dreams of the future she had placed her hope in as a young, broken child.
She dug deep within herself and tucked all of the pain in beside the memories of the incident.
When her eyes opened again, her feelings were as indistinguishable as the island beneath the hazy fog.
And that is where they would stay, until she joined her brother beneath the waves.