Disbelief softens his features, and his slow breath fills the air between us. “I know. She’s so hard to handle sometimes. And I—” He falters, looking toward the clouds as if he could really find her waiting for him in the pictures there. “I don’t like the way she looks at me, as if she thinks I’m someone who I’m not.”
A sour taste fills my mouth at his words, and my eyes dart toward the ground where my boots stand ready to take me away and into the awaiting city. I don’t know why his words have hurt me so. It’s not as if I can’t understand their merit, that my handsome prince is nothing but a confused shell, sometimes floating back to us, only to fly away again.
That he’s truly lost to me, even when he stands so near.
“I’m sorry, Aras,” I whisper, not yet trusting my voice. “But perhaps you should sit on my side of the carriage, just in case.”
All is quiet, nothing but a light wind as it brushes past my ear, and even so, I’d swear I’d never heard it. Aras laughs. A real laugh that rushes to my chest and heats my toes. And now I don’t just think it—I know it.
I’m on fire.
“Yes,” he starts, unsettled by his own reaction to my words. “Perhaps I should.”
And, together, we climb the short stairs, determined to leave our life outside of these beckoning gates behind and embrace the new.
Nineteen
The inside of the carriage is just as magnificent as I expected it to be. Possibly even more.
Two ivory-covered benches line each side of its clean, white walls, and wide windows sit at the ready, waiting for the setting sun to reach her fingers into our peaceful cocoon and plant a kiss across our cheeks.
And that’s putting it mildly.
Taking a seat across from Ian, I lean forward on the tips of my toes, worried to ruin this glorious piece of grit and elegance with the ever-present dust that seems to cling to my bones. Catching my hesitation, Ian’s eyes turn into soft pools of pride that I don’t deserve, as if I could make smudged brown and crisp white look good together. I swallow a gulp of sweet-scented air and allow my lashes to cover my sudden uncertainty. The freshness of the carriage both takes my breath and feeds it anew.
Something doesn’t feel right.
Not the kindness in my pretend betrothed’s eyes. Not the nervous twitch of my sister or the clenched hands of my handmaiden, who both flank his sides. None of it. Not a single bit. And I can’t help but think I’m missing something.
Something big. Something that might make me squirm.
A low whistle fills the cramped space. “Aren’t you something, Prince.” Aras plops down beside me, causing me to lose my precarious balance on the bench. My heart clenches at his sudden proximity, the honeyed scent calming my senses and releasing my breath. He’s close, but not close enough. “Tell me, did your father commission to have this waste of wood put together for your grand entrance? Because if this is all some kind of big gesture to make a good first impression on the Orien princess, then you’ve failed miserably. Look at her.” He gestures toward my uncomfortable perch, sending hot coals showering up my spine. “Does she look impressed to you?”
Ian, cool as ever, takes Aras’ harsh words without a hint of irritation. A feat I’ve yet to learn. “Actually, I built it myself. Started it about a month ago when I got word that Penelope may be joining our lands.” He catches my gaze with his words, and I have to hold tight to the soft cushions below to keep from diving headfirst out the glassed window and causing a scene. A crazed, wildcat of a lady scene. “I made this as an engagement gift of sorts. Something to make her comfortable and happy, yes, but never impressed. No.” He shakes his head, breaking the spell. “According to your king, I have a lifetime to do that.”
Oh, my poisoned dagger, give me a prick and take me away.
I look down, hoping I can hide the clear dash of horror etched across my face. Because this Ian. This perfect, deserving, selfless boy. I’ve always known him to be kind, and now I know that he’s not only efficient, but also achingly romantic as well. And those three things together are too much to take.
Dear Ashen, give your city wings and let her fly to the sky. How many becoming traits can one person actually possess?
The carriage, if this beautiful box on wheels can be called such a thing, chooses not to answer my inner wails, instead settling into a heavy, boiling silence—an invisible heat desperate to leak out of these tight windows and pop into the stars. Determined not to let the awkwardness win, a low laugh escapes my little sister’s throat, and my eyes flash to hers, a delirious mirth swimming in their depths.
Aras grunts, relaxing back into the cushions as if he hasn’t graced us with his pleasant backside, and proceeds to badger Ian on the security of his stronghold. How long will unmanned gates last? he pushes. How do you expect to keep Orien’s heir safe? And for Theron’s sake, he better be planning on giving Knox a good reason to keep her here.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, definitely no.
I was right. Something is very wrong here, and it’s called—Ian is too nice for his own good, and Aras needs to have his dirty mouth roped shut.
An uncomfortable throb forms in the center of my forehead, pounding with each pump of blood that my frantic heart sends. I can’t take this, it says. You should have jumped out that window when you had the chance, it says. Raising a shaky hand, I let my fingers massage my temples and take his words away. Because this crazy, ungrateful, hothead of a guard is playing hard to get, and as far as I know, Knox only wants to be found.
“The ability to protect ourselves has never been an issue,” Ian allows in careful response, though only a fool couldn’t hear the dangerous warning in his tone. “Penelope will never face a day’s harm; no one from Orien will. Though I’m not so sure I can promise the same for you.”
Oh, skies above. Pretty, blue skies above.
“And just what are you—” Aras starts, leaning forward right as my hand reaches for his chest and lands across his heart. His words die on his lips, and his face whips to mine, anger dissolving from his eyes as his heavy breaths pound into the air in rapid puffs. His blue depths lose their focus, making a trail down my cheeks, my neck, my arm, and to his rising chest. My fingers drum against him, dancing in the heat of his covered skin.
Once. Twice.
And all at once, I release.
Aras watches me, his flawless features frozen into a mask that I want to take and hide and call my own. He frowns, slowly at first, until his whole face is sunken back into those dark, forbidding clouds that are always hovering for the right opportunity to take him away. And this time… for the sake of Vivi, Aras, and us… I let them.
For now, Knox must have his way. At least until I can speak with Ian alone, and we can create a plan.
“I’m not looking for protection,” I say, continuing only when Vivi and Sireen allow an affirming nod in my direction. “I didn’t need it in Orien, and I won’t need it here, for it hums within me and seeps through my pores. My blood protects me, Aras, and through that protection, both Orien and Theron will finally find peace.”
Aras slumps in his seat. His head pops up as if he wants to say more, but he only scowls, crossing his arms and shutting us off from his world. Ian, to his credit, doesn’t look the least bit disturbed by our peculiar interactions, and I can’t help but wonder if Vivi filled him in on Aras’ unfortunate promises before we headed out of the tunnel and up to fresh air. After all, the last time he saw me with Aras, our futures were all but spiraling into one.
And the thought of its absence is enough to make me choke.
“Penelope,” Ian soothes, slowly reaching out to where my fingers latch onto the plush, ivory seat. “All is well. Better yet, all has the chance to be perfect.”
My hands tremble at his words, the coolness of his skin pushing against my heat and tracing a delicate line up my limbs. “Perfect for you or for me?” I ask, hoping he can hear the real question in my voice. The need to know that he understands. That despite how
things might look now, my heart hasn’t changed. That the horrible thing still beats for another. Another who probably wishes me dead.
“Perfect for us both.” He tilts my chin with his hand, forcing me to look into those terribly kind eyes. “I promise.”
“Brave!” Vivi shouts, causing me to jump back, slamming my shoulders into the bench and taking my breath. My eyes flit around wildly, a caged bird who is only now realizing I should escape. That I really should have crashed through the window long ago, if only to keep from breaking this perfect boy’s heart.
“What is it?” I gasp, slowly becoming aware of the way my companions all sit with their eyes glued to the windows. Their gazes taking in the vibrant blues, reds, and colors I’ve never had the imagination to dream. We’ve crossed into the city. We’ve moved beyond Theron’s high gates, and now, now, we glide down the veins into its heart.
All around me, painted stone buildings flash. Blue flags hang from each door. Merchants laugh and relish in the happiness that always abounds near closing time. The same cobbled streets rock our carriage with comfy jolts, waking us up and making us new. In the distance, music fills the air, and already my soul longs to sway to its welcoming beat.
My bewildered gaze turns to Ian, contentment rising on his lips, when Vivi’s wild eyes leap back from the window and catch me in their snare. “The women…” she breathes, as if she, too, has awoken from a glorious dream. “They’re wearing pants!”
Twenty
I’ve never felt so overwhelmed—so overwhelmed, yet content.
The city of Theron unfolds before us, street after street. Smile after smile. The citizens here, alerted to their beloved prince’s arrival by either our beautiful carriage or Vivi’s loud hoots alone, stop what they’re doing and line the city’s main center, all for a glimpse of their charismatic prince.
Unlike Ian, the men here wear their hair trimmed short or smoothed back out of their face, making the loose slacks and colorful tunics look much more formal than a good day’s work. Some have faces as scruffy as Aras’ during our trek through the woods, while others flash dimples and dips in their clean-shaven chins. But none of them, and I mean none of them, can compare to the two men cramped alongside me.
The women, just as Vivi described, are fitted with flattering pants of their own, and tunics so finely woven, they all look as if they could sit on any throne. The newly lit street lamps shine down on their golden and light brown hairs, making them look as if they belong floating in the sky rather than walking the lowly lands among us. The sight alone makes me wonder where my mother inherited her black, curly locks, and how in the stars did she ever pass them down to me.
Then, unfortunately, those thoughts lead to my mother… and me. And the possibility of us being in the same room for the first time since my birth. The beautiful, dark-headed ghost, who once haunted my every step, will stand alive, beckoning me with her hand. But now her flawless skin is burned, nearly ruined. And once again, it all points back to me.
Suddenly, I feel sick.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Vivi croons, her eyes stuck to the glass and the approaching palace that awaits. Our approaching palace, if I really have to see this all through. If I have to marry Ian in order to avoid my father’s wrath. If the only way to save his city is if I do. Even if I can’t fully love him. Even if I foolishly love another.
Yes, I think, swallowing the bile that begins to overtake my throat, very sick indeed.
“Brave?” someone calls, and I try to look attentive, try to open my eyes that only want to shut, but now this cobbled road seems all too rocky. Too unsteady. So out of control it sends me listing to the side.
“Catch her!” the same voice calls out, and just before my face becomes one with the white, wooden floor, two hands reach out and grab my shoulders, wrapping me up in the their cool, swift arms.
“Penelope,” the arms seem to whisper, pulling tight against my chest. My heavy lids slowly open, nothing but a huddled layer of fear and confusion meeting the four sets of eyes that stare down at me from above. “You’re burning up.”
A soft chuckle greets my silence, and though it may be the racing of my heart and the paleness of my cheeks, Ian’s face looks as if it’s turned into a steaming block of ice. “You think this is funny?” he snaps, anger laced in his glare. “Your princess is ill, and the only useful thing you can manage is a laugh? A laugh?”
“She’s not ill, Prince,” Aras counters, the reprimand strong in his voice. “She’s holding onto her power and causing a slight meltdown from within. Trust me when I say it’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Am I right, Penelope Brave?”
My head tilts in his direction, the delicately bound hair of my braid catching across Ian’s laced fingers. For a moment, he stops me, unsure if I actually have the strength to speak. “I’m fine,” I whisper, hoping the sound of my scratchy voice is assurance enough. “Aras is right. I held it in. I could feel it building, and I should have tried to relax. It’s never a good idea to let magic brew.”
Ian’s face pinches in the falling darkness, unsure of not only why my fire took control, but also of why Aras knew this to be true. “But I thought you had to call on it to—”
“Make it appear?” Aras cuts him off, returning to his seat across from us with an exuberant plop. “Not at all, Prince. At least, that’s not how our flames work.”
“Our flames?” Ian starts.
“Tell me, Brave…” Aras moves on, ignoring Ian questioning stares with the ease of a fox. “What was it? Anger or fear that ruled your heart? Or perhaps a little bit of both?”
Aras’ dark form swims in and out of my vision. A heavy force of messy, raven curls and a rotten, olive smirk. And now, more than ever, I realize I still need him. I can want him for the rest of my days, but now, in this new land with this new magic, I need him. For better than anyone else in this carriage, he knows me. He knows my heat, and in that one, small way, we are the same.
Blast him, this fool, for now, I may be forced to cling to his forsaken side for all eternity.
“It was fear,” I allow, causing his lips to turn down at the edges. “Fear for my mother. Fear that she’ll finally realize what a mistake this all was. That I was. Fear that when I finally see her, I won’t be able to give her the love she so truly deserves in return.”
Aras’ shining face finally falls, and Ian’s breath catches from above. Beside me, little shoulders drop to my side, while soft hands soothe the tears that dot my cheeks. “Do not fear, Little Bird. Do not doubt. For our mother’s purpose has always been and will always be to protect you. And now, it is your turn to protect us.” She stops, pressing her lips together in an effort to keep her own tears in check. “It is enough. You are enough.”
“It’s true, Princess,” Sireen says, crowding my vision as she hovers over Vivi’s back. “You are more than enough. You’ve always been.”
My mind tumbles, and I start to thank them, to tell them that their kind, irrational words are what I needed to hear, but Ian’s arms have already pulled me up and up and up until we’re flush, cheek to cheek. “Just when I think I couldn’t adore you any more than I already do, you go and act like you can’t even see yourself straight. You can’t see the brave, beautiful woman who you’ve come to be, and more than anything, Penelope, I aim to make you open those stubborn eyes. I aim to help you feel something other than fear.”
A delicious cool splashes across my skin, soaking into my pores and rolling across my nerves, sparking me alive in its trail. Ian releases a slow breath into the nape of my neck, causing soft tingles to race along my back, and for a second, I’m falling. I’m falling into the floor, into the cobbled stones, and into the dirt-covered earth that’s waiting for just the right second to take me away.
And I’ve never been more afraid.
The carriage around us comes to a slow shudder, the low light of the world outside only visible by the carried torches that march their way through the windows of our awaiting
cocoon. By the looks of it, we’ve arrived at the palace. Our new home. But who really cares to notice anyway?
“I think we’re here,” Vivi announces, causing us all to start with unease.
Ian pulls back, sending me one last look of reverence that I’ll never deserve. Then he rises, pulling us both to our feet. Vivi takes my free hand, and Ian releases me from his steady grip. “Right as always, Viviana,” he says. “Now, come, because I can think of at least one sweet mother who is going to be thrilled beyond the stars that her loves are back home.”
Home, I think, pausing to glance back at Aras. He looks on with a forced detachment as we descend the small carriage steps and into the open court of Theron. A place so foreign, so unknown, that I almost forget how to move my right foot in front of my left. And as his eyes finally catch mine, burning bright with the unnatural fire it seems neither one of us can control, I can’t help but wonder about that single night spent under our forever sky. The long front porch. The lone, white swing. The swaying grass dancing around the tranquil pond. The little cabin built with independence. With love.
And now I understand why Ian’s last words seemed so funny, so harsh to my ears. It’s because I’ve already tasted a bit of home, and no matter how much I might want it—need it—Theron isn’t it.
Twenty-One
Beauty, upon beauty, upon understated beauty. That’s what Ian’s home is. As if the whole world is a heaven—a place of serenity and hope, and the palace of Theron is humbled to be a part of it.
I haven’t moved a step, not so much as a sway since Ian guided us through those massive glass doors and opened us up to a perfect world we never knew existed. Never dreamed. All around us, happy servants move about. But not really servants. People. People who don’t have a destined place in this world. People who aren’t forced to serve their royalty.
The Darkest Night (The Orien Trilogy Book 2) Page 13
