Page 21 of Ocean of Ink
“What sort of evaluation does he do?” Wren asked, uncertainty springing up like a bean sprout in a windowsill pot.
“It is different for everyone. In my experience, it was an interview of sorts in which he inquired about my Gift, posed questions, and pushed whatever buttons he could find. His Gift is spotting weakness.”
Wren’s stomach rolled. Would she be able to keep her Curse hidden from him?
“What does that mean?”
Ivanhild ran a hand over his braided beard. The plaits were frayed; one had come undone entirely during the journey to the Whispering Isle.
“He cannot simply look at you and see your weakest point. However, after he spends time with you, he is able to voice the issue with remarkable specificity. Every student and professor must meet with him.”
“Why would exposing our weaknesses be required?” Wren asked.
“No one will know but him and the headmaster. It is so you can work on them, presumably through the class schedule he makes for you based on your evaluation. As a professor, knowing my flaw was helpful so I could do my best to avoid it impacting my students.”
Wren wanted to ask what his weakness was, but held her tongue. She wasn’t the only one who looked as though they needed rest. It would be best if she saved her curiosities for another time.
“If it’s required, then so be it. Let us not waste any more time.”
Ivanhild stared at her for a moment. His tan skin was bathed in orange light from the stained glass window.
“Very well. His office is two doors down.” Ivanhild gestured to the oak door with a plaque that readAmbassador T. Westover.“I am not allowed to accompany you. But you are entitled to your maid, for protection of your reputation.”
A reputation that could be ruined if somehow this ambassador saw she was tainted on top of being Cursed. Was impurity a weakness? Many seemed to deem it so in society. However, there was nothing Wren could do to change it. Ivanhild had seemed to express that the purpose of the evaluation was to expose deficiencies so one could improve.
Wren hoped that the ambassador would only reveal that which could be changed. Then the secret of her Gift and of her purity would stay intact.
“Come along, Blossom,” Wren quietly commanded.
She did not wish to bring her lady’s maid to hear her defects exposed, but she could not have her image marred, nor did she want to be alone with any man. Her being alone in the drawing room with Ivanhild had been the exception, and she did not plan on recreating that situation in the future.
Blossom murmured her agreement and followed Wren to the door. Wren did not give herself time to dread or pontificate about what was to come. She rapped on the door three times and grasped the handle in wait.
The gold doorknob was wrenched from her grip as the door opened. A tall, handsome man with eyes the color of warm honey and hair of dried hay greeted them.
“You are new,” he purred. His amber eyes scanned Wren from head to foot, but Wren discerned no desire from him that should make her revolt.
“I am Lady Wren Kalyxi of Riverwild,” she said her title with a vigor she did not have. “I will be attending the academy, and I was told to seek your assistance with my class schedule.”
A slow, peculiar smile stretched his lips. She felt his excitement swirl like wine in a goblet.
“I have been expecting you. Come in, Lady Kalyxi. We have much to discuss.”
Wren kept her expression smooth. She would not give him anything of her own will. As she sat on a tufted blue couch, all she could think was:
How could he have known she was coming?
Black ink trailed down Castien’s wrist from his quill as he scrawled theories on his bedroom wall. A sharp rap of knuckles at the door indicated Heathford’s arrival.
“Your Highness, the Lord Valengard wishes an audience with you,” the butler intoned.
Castien waved his non-writing hand in admittance.
“If anyone else saw you like this, they would think you’ve gone mad,” Finn commented as he entered.
Castien did not bother turning from his work as he said, “Why are you here, Finn? If you have not conducted any reconnaissance on the girl, then I don’t care to see you at this moment.”
“She is in the assembly hall, if you must know, dear cousin. Likely being tortured by Westover as we speak. Also, she is not agirl. She’s a first-year, which would make her nineteen or twenty–a woman.”
