“What was it like growing up on the Lucent Enclave?” Wren asked.
Castien’s writing paused, then picked up again as he answered, “It was never boring. There was always something new to see and accomplish.”
It seemed he subscribed to Wren’s policy on giving away as few details as possible. This could hurt them both when it came time for the ambassador to grade their papers, but Wren knew that a man with as many secrets as Castien had would not be forthcoming.
“I’ve never been, but I’ve read that the entire island is covered in buildings. Is that true?”
Castien nodded. “More or less. There are areas with wildlife and farms, but many of the city buildings touch each other, and each year they seem to grow higher and higher as new developments are stacked on top.”
“Are the buildings taller than those here on the Whispering Isle?”
“Much taller. Our engineers are the most talented in all of the Seven Havens, and have figured out how to construct each level so that it does not sway or topple.”
Wren’s eyebrows raised. “I could not imagine living in a place like that. Most of the homes and shops on the Wild Holm are one level. Do you not feel very small when you stare up at them?”Wren felt dwarfed by the halls of the academy, she couldn’t fathom anything larger than their looming towers.
“Small?” Castien shook his head. “Perhaps when I was a child, but no, not now.”
“I suppose being a prince removes any sense of inferiority,” Wren commented in a dry tone.
“You appear to have a lot of disdain for my station. Which is odd, given that yours is not much lower than mine.”
Wren wondered if Castien had the ability to form an expression other than a smirk or glare. He seemed to vacillate between those two states.
“I have no hostility toward your rank. It is not a title that makes a man, but a man who makes the title.”
“So you think me pompous?” Castien inquired, his dark eyes glittering in the shared candlelight.
“I have not said as much.”
His smirk deepened. “Not in so many words, no.” He glanced down at his journal. “Your Gift of writing must not aid you in observation.”
Wren clenched her jaw so as to keep from gaping at him.
“It takes little observation skills to determine the conclusion about yourself that you came to without my prompting.”
He let out a dark chuckle. “Come now, Kalyxi, we’re to be partners. How will we fare throughout the semester if we are incapable of completing a simple essay?”
“I can assure you, I have plenty of material to write a thorough dissertation on your character,” Wren gritted out.
“I’m afraid I cannot say the same about you.” Their gazes locked. Wren swallowed at the intensity present in his onyx gaze. “You’re quite the enigma.”
“Then perhaps it isyourobservation skills that are lacking,” Wren said in a low voice. “For I am as open as the journals in front of us.”
Castien’s eyes dropped down to her journal, then met hers again.
“I find that hard to believe, given the circumstances of your arrival.”
Anger burned within Wren. How dare he bring up Heron’s death? As if he weren’t involved!
“Whatever you may believe, my aim in coming to the academy is quite simple. I am here to carry on the legacy of my brother, who was cruelly ripped from this world.” Wren stood and gathered her things. Her skin burned hotter than the flame on the table. “And I will do so by being the best student this academy has ever seen. In spite of my partner being a pompous prince with no amicable qualities.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and turned on her heel. Castien didn’t say a word. The more distance Wren put between them, the greater her regret for her words became. She had become impulsive without her Curse to guide her. But oh, how he infuriated her! His very existence was maddening. She was supposed to embed herself within his circle and uncover the secrets he hid, but instead, she had insulted him and stormed away.
Emotions assailed her as she walked into the main area of the library once more. Students' whispers followed her every step. By the time she exited the building she was exhausted and overcome with frustration at herself. She must be more careful, or else her investigation would go cold at the start.
Droplets of ink fell to the floor as Castien haphazardly dipped his quill and turned back to his wall of theories. There was plenty of intel to be added from his time with Wren two days ago, as well as things he’d observed in the time since. He’d gotten under her skin that day, but she had done the same to him.
Castien thought of little else but her. When he closed his eyes, he saw the fire in hers as she stormed away. Each interaction they had thrilled him. Not only because he got to add pieces to the investigation puzzle, but because he wanted to know how she ticked. He’d written pages and pages about her in his journal. The way she walked, how the color of her eyes changed depending on the lighting, the melodic rise and fall of her voice. He was enthralled by the enigma that she was.
