Chapter 50
Castien raked his hands through his hair as he neared the assembly hall. He felt as though he had drunk too much everleaf tea. There was a humming, buzzing feeling spreading from his chest to his limbs.
The way her waist felt beneath his palm–
He swiped a shaking hand over his lips. It took every ounce of control in his body to bury his every thought so deep the light couldn’t reach it. The very person who threatened to undo him was also the one he couldn’t afford to see him undone.
Wren had looked so broken. Castien had watched it all from his seat.
Jealousy burned hot in his throat until he saw her face, and worry quickly doused the flames.
When she ran out, he didn’t think; he ran after her.
The look in her eyes was haunting. As if she’d come face to face with a cryptura or something worse.
That was what gave him the strength to hold back.
To measure his breaths, count their steps, and use every method he knew to keep his feelings out of her reach.
If she was hurting, she didn’t need his emotions adding to hers.
She deserved to have a safe space to feel her own emotions.
It was the least he could do for her after all she had been through.
Castien walked up the assembly hall steps and nodded to the guards.
They had done little in the way of protection.
If Castien were the murderer, he could have killed Wren with ease.
Perhaps they had Gifted memories like Alysia and were keeping track of everyone who came and went, but somehow he doubted that.
A swell of music and voices greeted Castien as he entered the ballroom for the second time that evening.
Couples danced to a lively tune, while friends chatted over desserts and wine.
Finn spun Adolin on the dance floor, but when he caught sight of Castien, he passed her off to Malaki.
The two fell into a clumsy dance, and Finn met Castien next to their empty table.
“Is she all right? Did I do something wrong?” Finn asked, concern painting his features.
Castien let out a heavy sigh. “She’ll be okay after a night’s rest. It wasn’t your fault.” He speared his cousin with a sharp look. “However, your scheming tonight was not appreciated.”
“I’ll admit I may have crossed the line,” Finn said. Castien narrowed his eyes. “But it was only because you were being a fool.”
“Me?” Castien asked, voice incredulous.
“Yes,” Finn sounded exasperated. “You are infatuated with the woman, and yet you let her believe otherwise. You see too much to be blind to your own feelings.”
Castien drew near and hissed, “You do not know anything about my feelings. You speak too freely, cousin.”
“I speak the truth,” Finn countered. “If you wish to deny it, so be it, but know that it is obvious to those who pay attention what Wren means to you.”
“It does not matter what you think, anyway,” Castien said and stepped back again. “Nothing will come of it.”
“Judging by the way you ran after her, something already has.” Finn looked over his shoulder. “I must go rescue poor Adolin from a clumsy Malakai, but we can discuss this more later.”
“We won’t speak of this ever again,” Castien groused.
Finn grinned in reply and headed back into the midst of the dancers.
The room was warm and bright, but it felt dull and cold without Wren present.
Castien stuck his hand into his coat and felt her letter.
What was the point of staying here when he could read her words?
It is not as though anything but asinine conversation was in store for him.
He had made his appearance for the evening; there was nothing left worth sticking around for.
Decision made, he headed for the door again, this time carving a path along the wall so as not to draw attention.
“Valengard,” a voice hissed behind him.
He paused and looked over his shoulder. Kierana and Eindar stood before him, faces flushed from dancing. Castien turned to face them.
“Where is Wren?” Kierana demanded.
Eindar was a silent sentry at her side.
“I escorted her to her chambers. She wasn’t feeling well and wanted to rest,” Castien explained in a measured tone.
If it were any other circumstance, he would tell Kierana she didn’t deserve to know. But given the woman’s connection to Wren and her aptitude for violence, Castien figured it wise to inform her, else he might cause a scene.
“You should have come to get me so I could walk with her,” Kierana said. “It’s improper for you to have been alone.”
Castien raised a brow. “You mean to chastise me about propriety? Need I remind you about your propensity to address those of higher rank as though they are below you? Or even threaten them at the dinner table?”
Eindar bristled at Castien’s implication. Kierana tightened her grip on his arm.
“I understand that you are worried about her,” Castien supplied when she didn’t respond. “But I can assure you that I delivered her to her house without harm. You may go find her if you wish, though she seemed rather exhausted when I departed from her.”
Kierana clenched her jaw and stared Castien down. He remained as unyielding as the statue whose arm she held.
“I will choose to believe you, but–” she pointed a finger, “if anything happened to her, I will make you beg for death.”
Castien chuckled at her tenacity. “Enjoy the ball, Kierana. You will see your friend alive and well-rested in the morning.”
“I better.”
Eindar guided her away before she could say more.
Castien shook his head in amusement and continued his path toward the exit.
Thankfully, he had no other encounters to delay him.
He slipped into the hall, but did not leave the building.
Though the guards were lackluster in their efforts, he did not want to raise more suspicion of his character by passing them again.
An interrogation was the last thing he desired this evening.
Instead, he turned down one of the dark hallways and headed for one of the entrances into the secret passageway.
The entry was located in the gallery that showcased many of the former headmasters and high-ranking students. Castien wound through the halls, careful to listen for any footsteps or voices. It would be difficult to explain why he was wandering instead of attending the ball.
He made it to the gallery and carefully opened the door, then closed it behind him.
The room was scantily lit, giving Castien just enough light to see the outline of portraits and busts scattered about the space.
He knew his father and grandfather graced the walls, but he did not desire to gaze upon their visages tonight.
The weight of his legacy weighed heavily enough on his shoulders without the reminder.
His steps were fast and sure. He had used this entryway several times before and knew how to find the painting he was looking for, even in the low light. The portrait of King Colterra–the first ever High Inquisitor–was difficult to miss, given how oversized it was.
Castien felt along the edge of the gilded frame for the notch that would unlock the door.
He found it, pressed in, then stepped back as the painting swung forward.
Before him was a stone and earthen passageway lit by a torch ten paces inside.
He climbed inside and pulled the painting shut with the provided handle.
The silence and damp air that greeted him were a welcome one. It reminded him of Enlight’s alleyways at night. There was security in the shadows.
Wanting to get to Wren’s letter quicker, he headed to his study instead of his chambers.
Once he’d read it, he could also write more in his Inquisitor log, which would make for a much more productive night than he’d have experienced at the ball.
His study was not a far walk, as many of the rooms in the passageways were centered below the assembly.
Upon entering the room, he found his matchbox and lit a few of the candles on his desk, then got a fire going in the hearth. The cold was already seeping into his bones, making him shiver as he sat down at his desk. He pulled out Wren’s letter, broke the lavender seal, and began to read.