Page 51 of Ocean of Ink
Wren stiffened.
“Who?” she whispered. Faces of those she had encountered since arriving on the island filtered through her mind. Was it someone her brother knew? Would Wren be next?
“I have heard her name was Kelda Thornspire. She was from Stonemouth.”
Wren did not recognize the name.
“Was she killed the same way Heron was?” Wren asked. Her body was still tense from the news, but she needed to obtain all the information so she could make note of it in her journal.
Blossom stood. “Perhaps this conversation should be delayed until you’ve regained your strength. I will go get your oats and cream. Would you like it to have cinnamon? I recall you enjoying it that way.” The maid wore a nervous smile. She toyed with the pouch that hung from her belt, making the keys inside jingle.
“I wish to know now. Tell me all that you have heard,” Wren demanded, though her voice was still weak.
Blossom looked toward the hearth that was burning bright, then back at Wren. Her fear swept through the room like a sickness, clinging to Wren’s frail body and weighing it down. Wren wanted to sink back beneath the covers, but she swallowed the dregs of her strength and stayed as she was.
“Miss Thornspire was found inside the Wall, with her chest torn open.”
Shock fell over Wren. “Inside the Wall?”
Blossom nodded. “She–she was also holding a rose, if the kitchen staff is to be believed.” She hurried to add, “Sometimes servants elaborate on stories to make them more salacious. It’s terrible of them.”
That sounded intentional. Heron’s death was made to look like an accident. This did not make any sense. Wren glanced down at the floorboard beneath which her journal was hidden. She needed to document all of this.
“Thank you for telling me, Blossom. I think I would like my oats and cream now.”
Blossom curtsied. “Yes, my Lady. I will return shortly.”
The maid scurried out of the room, and Wren heard the lock click into place behind her. That was not a usual precaution taken. Blossom was evidently quite shaken by this turn of events. Wren could not blame her, as her teacup, inscribed with the academy insignia, rattled against the end table when she set it aside.
Though every one of her muscles protested, Wren forced herself out of bed. She kneeled on the floor, shivering in her slip. Blossom must have removed her uniform but not changed her into nightclothes. Wren’s knees pressed into the cold wood. She took a butter knife off the tray sitting by her tea and pried the board up, then set it aside.
Empty. The blood rushed out of her face. That cannot be. Just yesterday, she had placed it there before she went to the dining hall with Kierana. While her memories in the drawing room were muddled, she was certain of this. She reached into the space and felt around to see if perhaps the book had slid to one side or the other. Her hand came up with nothing more than dust.
“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “It can’t be gone, I must be mistaken.” Her heart drummed in her ears as she set the board back in place.
Wren stumbled to her feet and rushed over to her desk beneath the window. She pulled the curtains open just enough to let in some of the midday light, then reached for her school bag. She jerked it open and riffled through the contents. Nothing but school supplies. Fear strangled her. Wren tipped the bag upside down and shook it. The contents scattered across her desktop. She opened every book as if she’d forgotten what the cover of the journal she had kept for a decade looked like.
It became harder and harder to breathe as she combed her room. She sank to her knees beside the chest of gowns in the corner. Lace and jewels scraped against her skin as she dug to the bottom and retrieved the jewelry box where her brother’s journal was. It took her three tries to get the lock open with the key on her anklet due to the tremors plaguing her body.
Once the box was open, she sighed in relief that his journal, at least, was present. But it did not make hers appear. She returned it to the hiding place. Her body sagged under the weight of therealization that her journal was stolen. She had not misplaced it. Someone had invaded her chambers and taken a piece of her soul.
Horror twisted her stomach. They knew. Whoever had taken it knew everything she kept secret. Her Curse. The investigation. The incident. Her impurity and guilt. The power to destroy her rested in the hands of a stranger. Hot tears trailed down Wren’s face and neck.
The sound of the door being unlocked made Wren scramble to her feet. Blossom entered, her serene smile dropping at the sight of Wren standing in the midst of a torn-apart bedroom.
“Lady Kalyxi!” she exclaimed and quickly set the tray aside before rushing to Wren’s side. “What are you doing up? You should be resting.”
“Has anyone but you and me been in my chambers, Blossom?” Wren demanded through her tears.
Blossom took Wren gently by the elbow and led her back to her bed.
“A guard carried you up the stairs and laid you atop your mattress, but left right after,” she said in a soothing voice.
“No one else came in? Not even before I fainted?” Wren questioned.
Blossom shook her head. “No, my lady. I would never allow anyone else in your chambers. What is all this about?”
Wren climbed back into the bed and allowed Blossom to cover her freezing legs with the blankets.
