Chapter 30 Cold Regards
Castien read a missive by light of the candelabra atop his desk with a scowl.
To whom it may concern,
The academy is grieved over the loss of beloved student Miss Kelda Thornspire. A thorough investigation of the circumstances surrounding her death is being conducted. Classes are to continue as scheduled while the investigation takes place.
Thank you,
Headmaster Acanthia
He scoffed. That communicated the academy’s priorities well.
The murderer was certain to kill again before the insipid investigation party found them.
Castien pushed the piece of parchment aside and snagged a fresh one from the stack on his desk.
He dipped his quill in the pot of black ink at the top right of his desk.
Next to the ink was a stack of half-used journals.
Castien rarely wrote on every page in a journal before obtaining a new one.
He found that his mind enjoyed the idea of something new for each topic he addressed.
Such habits didn’t make for a clean desk, though, which Finn and Heathford both abhorred.
Year 822, Week 36, Mira
Dear Lady Kalyxi,
Given that classes are to resume as normal, I believe it is prudent that we meet to discuss our essays. Meet me in the same spot I brought you to in the library at ten in the morning. I look forward to our conversation, as it is sure to be invigorating.
Best,
Castien
He folded the parchment, then heated a ball of wax inside a shell-shaped spoon over a burning candle.
The red wax melted until it resembled blood.
Castien tipped the spoon and let the liquid pool on the letter.
Once it had partially set, he made a fist and pressed his signet ring into the wax.
The Valengard coat of arms gleamed up at him in the light.
With the letter now sealed, he stood and walked to the door where he knew Heathford would be posted.
“Heathford, deliver this to Lady Kalyxi in the House of Adira. On your way, call upon Finn and instruct him to come to my chambers.”
Heathford took the letter and bowed. “Right away, Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” Castien said with a tip of his head.
He returned to his room and shut the door behind him.
It was nearing dinnertime, and all of the staff had been informed to keep students within their chambers until breakfast the next morning, but little else had been done to ensure that happened.
All the ordinance accomplished was keeping students from taking their last meal of the day in the dining hall.
Castien surveyed his chambers. The wall to the right of the hearth was once again covered in pencil and ink.
He had been writing what he knew of Heron and Kelda’s murders for much of the day.
It was only when he received the letter from the headmaster that he thought of his classes at all.
His mind had been occupied once more by the case, with Wren floating in the periphery of all his thoughts.
She was as constant as the fog that blanketed the island.
He wondered how she fared and hoped he’d be able to tell by her letter. It would not be easy to return to class after experiencing what she had. Yet he knew intrinsically that she would. Though soft and delicate in many ways, her spirit was not easily broken.
Inspired by the anticipation of her writing, he walked to his desk and slid her journal out of the hidden compartment.
He thumbed through the writings and paused on one of the rare joyful entries Wren made in the book.
It told of a day spent with her brother out in the forest. They had honeycakes and freshly squeezed orange juice while sitting beneath the shade of an overgrown oak tree.
If he did not know any better, he would easily believe that Wren’s Gift was storytelling.
She had honed her craft in these pages, and he felt as though he was there with her.
The way she painted with words made him long for a memory that wasn’t his.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to sit beneath the sun with little worry but getting home before dark. Wren had plenty of troubles to plague her, but one couldn’t tell from this entry alone. She was simply a girl eating desserts in the sunshine.
It was in the midst of this daydream that Castien heard footfalls. Someone was coming up the stairs to his room. He closed the journal and placed it back in the compartment.
The door to his chambers opened without a knock of warning.
Finn appeared, looking much refreshed after a time of rest. The darkness beneath his eyes was less prominent, and he was wearing a clean, pressed uniform.
Castien glanced at the clock atop his desk.
Had he really spent half an hour lost in Wren’s words?
“I had just awoken when I got word that you sent for me. Have you uncovered anything new?” Finn asked after he shut the door behind him.
Castien gestured to his bedroom wall. The two of them crossed over layers of patterned rugs to get closer to the wall of theories.
“I had Heathford inquire amongst the staff about the events. He was able to speak with the gardener who found Kelda and discovered that there were also bruises on her neck. She was likely strangled before her heart was removed,” Castien detailed with a somber grimace.
Finn read what Castien had written so far, then asked, “So you think it was someone she knew?”
Castien nodded. “Either that, or she was attacked while walking alone. I believe it’s most likely that she knew the killer enough to be alone with them.”
“I know Kelda spent time with Eindar, as they’re both from the same clan,” Finn noted. “It’s hard for me to believe he would kill her, but I know we cannot rule anyone out.”
“We’ll observe him, and perhaps you can strike up a conversation of cards in the next couple of days.”
“Consider it done.” Finn crossed his arms and continued to scan the wall. “I see you didn’t find much of a connection between the two murders.”
Castien sighed. “No. The fact that they were both cut open, presumably post-death, is something of import, but it is still too different. We can’t know if Heron was cut open or torn by the mimicta.”
“Considering the likelihood of Eindar being the killer is slim, I’m afraid we have next to no leads.” Finn turned toward Castien. “I notice you haven’t included many details about Wren up here. Was there nothing of use in the journal?”
Finn’s gaze was too keen. He knew Castien was obsessed; that’s why he brought the journal in the first place. But Castien feared that his concern for Wren had been assigned a misconstrued meaning by his precocious cousin. He did not want to deal with Finn’s ridiculous theories as to why he cared.
The truth was very simple, though Finn would not believe it if Castien told him.
Wren Kalyxi had been an enigma, and still was in a great many ways.
Her arrival on the island caused Castien’s Gift to latch on to her, and he had no expectation of it letting go.
Along with his Gift’s inclination toward her was the responsibility to protect her, which he now felt.
Finn had given Castien a piece of Wren’s soul, and that was not to be treated lightly.
He would guard what he had as though it were his, because now it was.
“Nothing that gives us any leads or knowledge about the killer,” Castien replied in a stoic tone.
Finn’s answering grin annoyed Castien before he even opened his mouth.
“You are not normally so cryptic with me, dear cousin. Are you hiding something? Perhaps I shall ransack your room next.”
Castien shook his head. “Do you have anything of value to contribute to this conversation?”
“My presence is of immense value, just ask every woman who has ever enjoyed it,” Finn quipped.
Castien opened his mouth to hurl an insult at his cousin when a knock sounded at the door. It opened, and Heathford stepped into view.
“A letter, Your Highness,” he pronounced.
Castien crossed the room in quick strides. He took the piece of parchment from Heathford and studied the seal. Lavender wax was stamped with the symbol of a tree. He did not open it right away, though his desire to was great.
“Thank you, Heathford.” Castien turned to his cousin. “You are dismissed.”
Finn gaped. “I have not yet been here for even an hour and you are forcing me out? You are worse off than I thought.”
Castien glared at the implication. “Go find someone to interrogate, or throw rocks at Alessia’s window. I do not care so long as you are not here.”
Finn wrinkled his nose. “Alessia has fallen out of favor in my eyes. I have not yet decided who to gift my company.”
“Go make your decision elsewhere. I will see you tomorrow.”
“You are quite rude, you know. I do hope the one whose letter you possess teaches you to be more hospitable,” Finn said, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.
“Out.” Castien pointed at the door with the letter.
“Yes, yes, as you wish, Your Highness.” He gave a mocking bow as he passed Castien and headed out the door.
Castien rushed to his desk as soon as his cousin was out of the room. He opened the missive, careful not to rip the letter or disturb the seal, and drank in the words.
Year 822, Week 36, Mira
Prince Valengard,
Given that I am not a subject of the Lucent Enclave, I do not appreciate the way you ordered me to meet you as you did in your letter. I am inclined to deny your ill-worded request and write the essay with the vast knowledge I have of your character.
However, if you were to kindly ask, I may consider joining you at the proposed time and location.
Regards,
Lady Wren Kalyxi of the Wild Holm
A surprised chuckle escaped Castien. Her signing off the letter with her island was a clever touch. It relieved him to see that she was well enough to respond in a way that matched their previous interactions. Hopefully, it meant her recovery would be swift and the emotional damage not lasting.
He slid another piece of parchment off the stack, dipped his quill, and began to pen another letter.