Page 93 of Ocean of Ink
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.
Year 822, Week 38, Adira
My dearest Castien,
How theatrical you’ve become. You certainly have spent too much time with your cousin.
I must confess that the idea of having you in chains brings a smile to my lips. To ensorcell the future emperor of the Lucent Enclave is no small feat. The power is likely to go to my head.
Truthfully, your words would flatter me more if they were for me and not my Gift. I know some say there is no telling a person apart from their Gift, but I don’t think that is so. Or perhaps I merely hope it isn’t true.
In any case, I long to be more than what the Tides forced upon me. Do you ever wish you knew a life without your Gift?
As for my price, I have only one: more letters from you.
Your storyteller,
Wren
Panic sliced through Wren like a letter opener. She was lost.
“Tides,” she cursed under her breath and paced to the back of the room she was in.
