“We should meet with the headmaster right away. Are you ready?” Ivanhild asked.
Wren looked down at her dress. It was the color of softened butter and made of fine silk. The bodice was speckled with bleached white seashells, and the neckline was lined with small white pearls. It was elegant, but not overly ostentatious. She had changed into a new dress with Blossom’s assistance when Ivanhild informed her they were to arrive within the hour. Blossom had suggested something with wider skirts and more jewels, but Wren didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. She was well aware that her arrival would be cause enough for eyes to be on her.
“How does my hair look?” she asked Blossom.
The salty mist coming off the Tides had turned Wren’s hair into tumultuous waves. Blossom had fought it into a simple style each day they spent on the ship, but with increased time on the water came more tangles.
“As well as it can considering the circumstances, my Lady,” Blossom said with a concerned look. The maid’s anxiety was sharp and frantic beneath Wren’s skin.
“I suppose there’s not anything that can be done until I can have a proper bath,” Wren sighed. She looked at Ivanhild. “I am ready.”
He gave a brisk nod, then surprised her by offering his arm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him guide her toward the obsidian monolith towering over them. The Tides lapped at the legs of the pier, feigning gentleness. Wren knew better than to think the Tides calm. Eventide made them traversable, but not tame. The closer one came to shore, theless dangerous, but there were stories of children playing on the docks only to not return home.
“We are headed to the Obsidian Assembly. It is where the dining hall is located, though you can take your meals in your room as often as you’d like. There are also offices and a few classrooms. Headmaster Acanthia’s study can be found on the top floor.”
Wren tipped her head back as they stepped onto the academy’s grounds. She would have a great many stairs to climb if the headmaster’s office were located at the pinnacle of such a structure. Wren had never seen a building so tall before. On the Wild Holm, many of the buildings were built wider than they were high. Her estate was one of the largest on the island, and it was entirely one floor. The only stairs were those to reach the front door, since it was built on a slight hill.
The assembly resembled more of a castle than a schoolhouse. Thin spires pierced the misty haze like claws tearing through fabric. Pointed arches accented by ornate carvings and stained glass were held up by flying buttresses. Wren’s satin shoe slipped on the slick cobblestone path. She gripped Ivanhild’s arm tightly so as not to fall. The entrance to the assembly stared down at them. Wren felt as though she were a little girl once more, staring up into the dark, disapproving eyes of her father. He’d judged her and found her wanting; would this place as well?
Ivanhild let go of Wren. His large hand grasped the twisted iron handle. The fixture dwarfed even him. He opened the door and stood like a sentry beside it. A warm amber glow lit the room before her, but she could not yet bring herself to enter. Though on flat ground, she teetered as if she were on some great precipice. To go in would be to propel into the unknown.
Blossom stepped beside Wren and linked their arms. Wren was not sure if it was for her sake or Blossom’s that she did so.Whatever the reason, she accepted the familiarity as comfort in the face of a foreign future. Their skirts brushed together as they stepped inside at the same time.
The mist dissipated in the warmth of the foyer. A series of sconces lined the circular area. There were two grand staircases that came together above an archway, plus two more arches, one to the right and to the left. Each hallway was lit, but barely so. Wren could only see so far as the massive chandelier above her allowed. The dangling piece of gold hung from a thick chain that she could not discern the end of due to how tall the ceilings were. White candles weighed the chandelier down and burned bright atop open-mouthed shells that caught the thick gobs of wax dripping off them.
Neither Wren nor her company spoke. Blossom would not speak out of turn, and it seemed as though Ivanhild was allowing Wren to soak in the sublime grandeur of her future home. A low, groaning sound echoed through the chamber. Wren looked over her shoulder to find Ivanhild pulling the door shut. Once it was closed, the professor passed Wren and Blossom and gestured toward the staircase to the right.
They followed him. Wren let her eyes wander as they climbed the wooden staircase. Portraits of stoic men and women dressed in all black hung from the walls. Wren squinted at a gold plate beneath one particularly grim man.Headmaster Spexton, 722.A hundred years ago. Ivanhild had told Wren on their journey that the academy had been around for over three hundred years. It wasn’t hard to imagine students of old wandering these halls that dripped in ancient elegance.
With each step she took, each painting she passed, the greater came the feeling that Wren was being watched. They reached the landing where the two staircases met. Whispers floated up to her ears, though she could not make out the words. Wren slowly looked over her shoulder. Shadows danced beneath thechandelier as the spies disappeared from view. She felt faint sparks of amusement. Wren straightened her shoulders. Yes, she was being observed.
“This way, Lady Kalyxi,” Ivanhild prompted her to follow him down a hallway straight in front of them.
She patted Blossom’s hand, then unwrapped their arms. If she were under prying eyes, it would not do to be seen clinging to her lady’s maid the way a child does to their governess. She must appear strong, even if she felt so far from it.
Wren clasped her hands at the small of her back and followed Ivanhild down the tenebrous passage. Doors embellished with gold name plaques and spiral carvings bordered the hall. Not a single one was open, and no sounds came from behind them. Wren’s Curse distinguished faint emotions from behind some, but nothing strong enough to tell her anything of import.
A stained glass window depicting an archer with a flaming arrow coated a narrow stairwell in reds and oranges. Ivanhild started up it without glancing over his shoulder. Wren suspected the man was used to both leading and listening for those who followed him. He did not need to look back to know she was there. She did not look back for Blossom, but that was because the maid’s anxiety buzzed at the back of her skull as a bee to a flower.
The stone staircase was damp, and the walls pressed closer the further you climbed. Wren worked to keep her breathing stable. By the time they reached the last stair, she felt as though she had been swallowed by a sea beast and was now in the belly of it, despite how high off the ground they must be.
Ivanhild turned to her, his green eyes glinting in the flame of a nearby torch.
“Please let me speak to the headmaster first. Though you are of a higher rank than both of us, I ask that you refrain from speaking until Headmaster Acanthia speaks to you. She is strict,formal, and grants favor to those who do not see their title as above hers while at the academy.”
Wren dipped her head in acceptance.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
Ivanhild ran a hand over his beard. She felt a burst of nerves from behind the wall of stoicism he had built on the journey here. Each question she had asked was met with either reluctance or reprimands. The only thing that got through to him was the reminder that she could not protect herself from the unknown.
“There is a picture of a child on her desk. Do not ask about him.”
Wren’s brow furrowed, but she nodded again. Ivanhild stalked down the awaiting passage without another word. Wren followed, waves of nerves from her companions buffeting her. The professor knocked on the door at the end of the confined hall.
“Enter,” a husky female voice called.
Wren wrung her hands in front of her navel, then placed them behind her back again. She felt once more at the edge of something too significant to name. But as she had been forced to throughout her life, she stepped over the threshold and into the abysmal unknown. This time without her brother to catch her.
