“Then it would seem something positive came through Heron’s death after all. I’ve always thought you could stand to care more about the family name.”
Wren’s nails bit into her skin. She cared nothing about the Kalyxi name, Riverwild, or a seat on the council. The fact that her father thought Heron’s death would change that showed just how little he knew of his daughter.
He sighed. “I suppose you can go under the conditions we have set. I will speak with Ivanhild and make arrangements.” He picked up his quill again.
“I spoke with him at the Salt Hills yesterday. He agreed on the condition that you approved.”
A smile spread across her father’s face. It chilled Wren to sense his satisfaction.
“Perhaps you won’t fail at the academy after all. It is clear you have done some maneuvering to get what you wish. Very well, notify him of my approval and inquire about what you will need. I will inform your mother; no doubt she will want to ensure you are sent in high fashion.”
“Thank you, Father,” Wren forced the words out.
“Off with you now, there is much to do.”
Wren curtsied and left the study, nerves abuzz. She shut the door behind her and sagged against it. She had done it. Convinced Ivanhild. Then her father. Two victories that would be cause for celebration if not for the other tasks looming in the distance. She would not only need to uncover the truth behind Heron’s death, but also be the best in her class at the most competitive and prestigious academy in all the Seven Havens. There was no room for error. Wren would not–could not–marry.
She caught sight of Ivanhild through the windows that faced the front of the estate. He exited a carriage and started for the door. Now was as good a time as any to speak with him. She would need all the knowledge he had in order to succeed at the academy. Wren pushed off the door and made her way down the marble hall to the entrance, where she had met Ivanhild when he first arrived with Heron’s body.
The housekeeper opened the door as Wren entered the foyer. Ivanhild came inside, then stopped and bowed when he saw Wren. She curtsied in response. He was wearing a brown vest and matching trousers with a yellow shirt. She wondered if heowned many yellow clothing items or if he had purchased them during his stay on the Wild Holm. Either way, it was comforting to see Heron was being mourned properly by someone other than her.
“My father approved,” she announced without preamble. Perhaps the only thing her father and Ivanhild had in common was a preference for concise conversation.
Ivanhild stood straighter at the news. “You will need to choose a lady’s maid to bring with you. The academy seamstress will fit you for a uniform on arrival, and your class schedule will be determined then as well. You may bring whatever belongings you’d like to keep in your chambers.”
He took a step toward the guest wing, as if he had said all he needed to.
“Perhaps while sailing, we can discuss more about the academy, so as to prepare me,” she said.
His worry fluttered within her.
“Yes, there will be ample time for discussion.”
Wren got the impression that he would spend much of their trip warning her of all the dangers. That was okay. She would need to be aware of those, too. Anything to ensure her success.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Ivanhild turned on his heel and marched away, akin to a soldier to battle. Wren stood alone in the foyer. The housekeeper had slipped away during the conversation. The emptiness of the marble halls threatened to consume her. Before it could, she headed toward her chambers. One foot in front of the other. That was what she must do. No lingering. Only action. No matter how much she longed to just lie down beside her brother and let the Tides take her. He wouldn’t have done that if it were she wrapped in yellow. So she pushed on. For Heron.
Castien’s blade crashed into Finn’s with a force that reverberated down Castien’s arm.
“I thought we weresparring,” Finn grunted and pushed Castien’s sword back with his own.
“I have yet to slit your throat. I’d consider that sparring,” Castien replied as he backed away from Finn, light on his feet.
“This level of force is unnecessary. Can’t you find some naive first-year to take your frustrations out on?” Finn lunged. Castien danced away.
“We’re practicing. I’m not taking anything out on you.”
Castien swiped at his cousin, who deflected the move with the side of his blade.
“Don’t play the fool, Castien, it doesn’t suit you,” Finn said through labored breaths. They’d been sparring for the better part of an hour. It was something they had done often since they were children growing up on the Lucent Enclave together.
The two young men circled each other, swords raised and glinting in the midday sun. Rivulets of sweat ran down their bare chests. This was the only time that the fog lifted off the isle.Many of the students and staff seized the opportunity to bask in the rare rays, but Castien took advantage of the heightened visibility in other ways by heading to the training grounds. The grassy area was used during the semester for weapons training, but was also a popular picnic spot. Since the majority of the students and staff were either traversing the Tides or unpacking from their travels, there was no one around to overhear them aside from Heathford, who stood nearby ready to serve.
“You’re upset that you didn’t solve this before people began arriving,” Finn said.
Castien did nothing but glare. He wished his cousin could just let him be. What was so bad about working off some steam with a little swordfighting? Castien’s father had taught him to channel emotion into physical challenge in order to keep his mind clear. His Gift worked best when he didn’t allow any emotions to slip to the surface.
