“There is no need for you to go to the academy. Your parents will teach you what you need to know.”
Wren scoffed. “You would have me become likethem?”
Ivanhild looked over Wren’s head. There was a war happening behind his green eyes. A war Wren hoped she would win.
“If something happened to you…” Ivanhild gritted out, but didn’t finish the sentence.
Wren sensed he would never forgive himself. This strong man, raised on an island that fed remains to predators, would break if he felt he had a hand in Wren’s death.
“You didn’t know that Heron was in trouble,” Wren spoke gently. “There was no way to protect him without knowing he was in danger. Now we both know the dangers. You will be able to look out for me.”
“I fear that your curiosity will lead you to places I cannot protect you.” Ivanhild ran a hand over his braided beard. “You must promise that you will tell me everything. If someone is so much as mildly cross with you, inform me.”
Wren met his gaze. The wind whipped their yellow clothes. The sunlight beat down on them. The Tides crashed into the shore. Wren prepared to lie.
“If you get me to the academy, I promise not to hide anything from you.”
Ivanhild’s eyes scanned her face. If he were searching for a crack in her facade, he would not find it. She was far too practiced.
“If your parents approve, I will see to your enrollment. We leave for the Whispering Isle in two days, so I must have an answer before then.”
“Thank you.”
Wren’s gaze lowered to her brother’s casket once more. Her father’s voice rose above the hum of the crowd.
“We extend our sincerest gratitude to all of you who have come to honor our son, Heron,” the duke boomed.
Wren focused on a large sapphire atop the casket, glittering in the sun. The color of Heron’s eyes.
“We knew the day we dipped him in the Tides that he was special. When his Gift of swordsmanship developed at the early age of five, we were so proud. We knew that he would be a strong heir.”
Wren’s toes dug into the sand. Heron was so much more than his Gift. He was kind, witty, and intelligent. But just like everyone else, the Gift the Tides bestowed was what made a person who they were. If you were blessed with something that made you stronger or smarter or better, then you were set apart as superior. Merit or honor held no esteem in the Seven Havens. Only what you were given by a reckless pool of magic mattered.That was one reason Wren kept her Gift–or what she had determined was a Curse–secret. Those around her believed she had been Gifted with exceptional writing. Heron was the only one who knew the truth, and he was also the one who taught her how to keep it hidden. He believed those around Wren would see the Gift either as a tool to be used for their gain or a way to manipulate her emotions with their own.
“His loss is devastating to Riverwild, but thankfully, we were blessed with another Gifted child.”
Wren lifted her gaze at this. She saw her mother dabbing at her face with a pale yellow handkerchief. Her father beckoned her to their hill. Wren did her best to gracefully traverse the shifting sands. When she made it up, her father wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She gathered no comfort from the gesture.
“Lady Wren Kalyxi will take her brother’s place as heir to Riverwild. After a period of mourning, she will begin sitting in on council meetings. We are grateful that the Tides blessed both of our children, so that this loss, though great, is not detrimental to the health of the estate or the community of the Wild Holm as a whole. Rest assured, Riverwild is mighty and will bear this tragedy accordingly.”
The crowd began to clap and cheer. Wren’s ears rang. Joy, relief, and satisfaction bombarded her senses. The emotions were so in contrast to her own that it felt as though she were being ripped in two. Her knees trembled beneath her dress.
“Smile,” her father muttered. “We must appear strong.”
Wren wrenched her lips into the expression.
“Now, we will lay my son to rest,” the duke announced in a somber tone. “Ivanhild, it is time.”
Wren turned her head to watch the professor kneel before the casket. He opened it, and the flowers on top took flight in the wind. Wren’s breathing became rapid. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession. Bright yellow fabric was all she could see, butshe knew who was wrapped in it. As was custom, the dead were covered in perfumes and expensive oil before being swaddled in fabric.
Ivanhild reached in and lifted her brother’s remains. He cradled the bundle in his arms. Wren recalled the year of the incident. How Heron had carried her to her room that same way. Every breath she took burned. The stoic professor walked to the lower Salt Hills and laid Heron’s body there. When Eventide was over, the Tides would rise and sweep him away. Until then, guards would watch over his body to prevent any wildlife from disturbing it.
Wren’s parents were handed a bouquet of yellow flowers. Her father let go of her and walked to lay them on her brother’s body. Wren stood motionless on the hill as everyone attending did the same. Ivanhild stood near Heron, arms crossed over his chest in the Stonemouth symbol of honor.
All but Ivanhild vacated the dunes after presenting their flowers. Once they were the only two left, Wren stumbled down the hill and collapsed beside the pile of flowers. The cloying floral scent coated her mouth and nose. Silent tears streamed down her face. Ivanhild’s grief and pain mirrored her own. As did the guilt of not being able to prevent this.
Wren reached a shaking hand into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a single yellow daisy. It was crushed, and petals were missing, but it was all she could bear to pick from the meadow this morning. She set it on top of the others, then wrapped her arms around her middle and sobbed.
Ivanhild set a hand on her shoulder. “He is at rest now, dear child. We must take comfort in that.”
