Chapter 25 A Gift
Droplets of ink fell to the floor as Castien haphazardly dipped his quill and turned back to his wall of theories.
There was plenty of intel to be added from his time with Wren two days ago, as well as things he’d observed in the time since.
He’d gotten under her skin that day, but she had done the same to him.
Castien thought of little else but her. When he closed his eyes, he saw the fire in hers as she stormed away.
Each interaction they had thrilled him. Not only because he got to add pieces to the investigation puzzle, but because he wanted to know how she ticked.
He’d written pages and pages about her in his journal.
The way she walked, how the color of her eyes changed depending on the lighting, the melodic rise and fall of her voice.
He was enthralled by the enigma that she was.
His Gift had latched on to her the same as the death of her brother. Castien was certain that the two would intersect at some point, beyond the obvious connections. He simply had to document every detail and he would find it. He always found the thread. Always.
“Your Highness,” Heathford intoned from the doorway. “Lord Valengard is requesting your company.”
“Let him in,” Castien said without looking away from his writing.
It was rare that Castien denied Finn entrance. His cousin would find a way inside if he truly wanted to, and it was easier to let him in rather than deal with the consequences of refusing him.
“I should have placed a bet on your current state,” Finn commented as he strolled into the room. “I would have been rich.”
“Do you have anything to say of import or are you simply here to pester me while I work?” Castien stepped back to review what he had written so far. His Gift drew gold lines between various details. Castien set to work copying those lines with his quill.
“I have more than something to say.” Finn’s tone was a worrying sort of mischievous. “I come bearing a gift.”
Castien’s brow furrowed. He turned around. Finn’s hands were behind his back.
“A gift? We do not exchange gifts.”
Both of them having grown up in royalty disillusioned them to material things. They enjoyed the luxuries their station afforded them, but did not bother with the compulsory gift-giving that society promoted.
“This is one I believe you will be very happy to receive.” He grinned and pulled a book from behind his back.
“What is it?” Castien asked, unsure of what book could be of use to him.
“Wren’s journal,” Finn replied.
“Do you mean Heron’s?”
Finn shook his head. “Afraid I couldn’t find that one. But this was hidden beneath her floorboard, and I thought it could be rather valuable.”
Castien reached out and snatched it from him. His heart raced at the notion of devouring the information, but his mind brought up all of the dangers.
“Did you read it?”
Finn leaned against one of the posts protruding from Castien’s bed frame.
“I flipped to the end, saw your name, then tucked it under my jacket and left.”
Castien ran his fingers over the delicately embossed leather. The gravity of the secrets inside made the book heavy in his hands.
“You shouldn’t have stolen this. She’ll know that it’s gone and be on guard.” And likely scared.
Finn gave him an incredulous look. “You should be thanking me. You’ve been obsessing over this girl and the case for more than a moon’s passing. It was a lot of work to find that, too.”
Castien gave him a flat look.
“Okay, fine, all I did was flirt with the maid long enough to steal her keys, but I got a journal that’s probably filled with insight. That’s worthy of praise.”
“You took a huge risk without consulting me.” Castien looked out the window of his turret. Lanterns floated through the fog. “Dinner is over, and there is no way of returning this without notice. Wren will know it’s gone.”
Finn raked a hand through his hair. “You’re too caught up in this to see what it’s doing to you, Cas. This has consumed you. I did what needed to be done to move things along. We weren’t getting anywhere by you talking to her in class and staring at her in the dining hall.”
Castien gripped the journal in his ink-stained hands. He was making progress, but Finn was correct in that it was slow.
He pointed the journal at Finn. “This was reckless.”
Finn’s dimples appeared. “And helpful.”
“I don’t want to set a precedent that this behavior is acceptable.”
“I promise I won’t make a habit of it,” Finn said, but the expression on his face negated his words.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.” He pushed off the bed frame and shot Castien one more lopsided smile on his way out. “I know you’re dying to read it, so I’ll leave you be. I expect a gift in return in the form of a genuine statement of gratitude.”
Castien shook his head, a laugh escaping him. “Go bother someone else.”
“As you wish, High Inquisitor.”
Finn slipped out of the door, bid Heathford a good evening, and was gone.
Castien sat on the edge of his bed, heart pounding as he stared at the journal in his lap.
Once he opened it, there would be no turning back.
He would read every page multiple times.
It would be as much his as it was Wren’s.
His eyes strayed to the various journals and pieces of parchment on his desk.
If someone stole his writings, he’d be both furious and devastated.
There was something about parchment and ink that made one divulge matters of the heart with abandon.
It was wrong of Finn to take this from her.
Investigation or not, it was an invasion of privacy.
Wren would now walk around with the vulnerable feeling that someone knew parts of herself she had only planned on the covers of this book seeing.
But what’s done was done, and the journal had found itself in Castien’s hands.
All that was left to do was make use of it.
So, conscience painted in shades of grey, he opened to the first page and began.