Page 59 of Ocean of Ink
“Yes, it is. The only break I get is when I’m asleep.”
Castien’s lips tipped up into a wry smile. “I am not afforded even that luxury.”
Wren’s eyes widened. “You strategize in your sleep?”
He hadn’t planned on telling her as much, but it was too late now. There was a prick of guilt every time he thought of how the scales between them were unbalanced. Usually, he relished in knowing more than someone else. But when it came to Wren, he had this unexplainable desire to even the score somehow, even though he knew that it was too dangerous to do so.
“In a sense.”
Wren lifted her gaze. Her sapphire eyes pierced him. “Do you ever rest?”
The question sounded so sincere. As though she were asking him as a friend, and not because of an assignment. He thought of her journal again. The woman who wrote those words knew darkness as well as she knew her reflection. She would be able to withstand the shadows that he so often dwelt in.
He could tell her. He could tell her how, since the day he was born, he was set on a path of legacy. When his Gift appeared, his father was the happiest Castien had ever seen him. He could spill his soul and confess that from that point onward, he set to carve out everything that wasn’t useful in him. How he sometimes felt he was barely human, yet worried that if his Gift were to disappear, he would be nothing.
Castien’s soul reached toward Wren like a flower to the light. Maybe… just maybe…
His Gift flashed words over his vision in quick succession, reminding him of the dangers, of how she couldn’t know his weakness because she might use it against him. He buried everything he considered saying, and by the time he answered her, he felt as if he were buried too.
“Oh yes,” he lied. “It doesn’t keep me from resting. Does yours?”
Wren watched him for a moment. Castien felt as though she saw right through him. He didn’t feel out of control ofhis emotions, but there was no way of knowing for sure. He reassured himself that even if she felt something from him, she would not know what to do with it.
“No,” Wren answered after some time. “I sleep well.”
It appeared they would each have to parse through the other’s lies for this assignment.
Wren trudged through the fog to the House of Adira. Exhaustion followed her as close as her shadow. She had almost fallen asleep during her history class, which would not do, considering she told Professor Ultarian of her prior apprenticeship in order to endear herself to him. If he saw her less than alert, he would be offended. It had taken every ounce of her energy to keep her eyes open during his monotone lecture.
Every emotion her peers and professors emulated felt like a weight on her shoulders. It was a wonder she was not crawling to her chambers. The only measure of peace in her day was when she sat across from Castien. What a conundrum that was. She shouldn’t want to be in his presence for anything other than the purpose of uncovering his secrets. And yet, she found herself lingering in that shadowed alcove with him. She put away her belongings slowly and asked him what class he had next as if they were the types to engage in casual conversation.
It had nothing to do with him as a person, Wren reassured herself. Her longing to be near him was simply because he was the only one around whom her Curse was quiet. That was all. Butthen she thought of his dark eyes in the glowing lamplight. How for a brief moment, she had stared into him and felt this stirring within her chest. As if he knew her, somehow. And she, him. They were strangers, classmates at best, but his eyes…they made her feel utterly transparent.
The tip of her slipper caught on a tree root, and she stumbled. The misstep shook her awake. Castien was not her friend. He was a suspect. Wren pressed onward with renewed determination. She would call for a cup of everleaf tea as soon as she got in, and then she would set to work decoding more of Heron’s journal. Surely now that she had gotten a feel for the grounds, she would be able to discern some of his maps that had confused her before.
She nodded to the guard posted outside the house as she passed. He gave her a smile that was much too bright, given the sober reasons for his presence. Kierana told Wren in her exposition of what she had missed that it was disturbingly easy to get past the guard. Though they were trained and capable, should someone attack them, there was only one per building, and each building had a multitude of exits. One man could not watch all of them.
Even if they had more guards, though, there was little way to protect everyone with how close quarters were. No one knew who the killer was or why they were doing this. It could be anyone, from the servant staff to professors to a student to the headmaster herself. That lack of knowledge, combined with the fact that they were all trapped on the island until the next Eventide, made security impossible.
Wren pulled her cloak off her head as she entered the house. The door to the drawing room was open straight ahead, and Wren heard tinkling laughter. She had yet to return to the room after the episode she had experienced, but she knew she could not stay away forever. That was one of the few communal spaces.She would need to enter to gather information and find possible allies. But today was not the day to try her hand at that. Her energy was waning fast.
A woman with all the grace of a dancer and the snarling bite of a dyrekin floated out of the drawing room before Wren could turn off down the hall to her chambers.
“Lady Wren,” Princess Calypsia said in a silken voice.
Wren had made her acquaintance briefly in the days since coming to the academy. She knew little about her, though Kierana was sure to warn Wren of the princess’s conniving nature.
“Princess Calypsia,” Wren greeted with a curtsy. The use or lack of formality was something Wren was still learning. Some students seemed to cling to their titles, while others scoffed at them and insisted upon first names. Wren suspected that her current companion was likely one who relished in her title.
“How lovely it is to see you recovered from your illness. You had many worried for you.” Calypsia toyed with a large ruby hanging from her neck. The jewel was the same shade as the sash around her waist and the rouge on her lips.
“I am sorry to have troubled you, but I do appreciate the concern.”
Calypsia laughed. It was a short, bitter sound.
“I did not say that I was worried.” She drew closer. Wren resisted the urge to back away. “I know your aim in being here. You are as transparent as glass. Your little stunt proved that.”
Wren’s heart pounded against her rib cage. Surely Calypsia did not know the truth. Had she stolen Wren’s journal? It would not be surprising, considering she hailed from Grimhaven and was raised to do whatever it took to get ahead.
