The Darkest Night (The Orien Trilogy Book 2)

by Catherine Wilson

  People who actually find it to be a privilege.

  “Good evening, Prince Ian!” They all stop as we stumble into the grand foyer, their obvious joy evidence that his mere half-day absence was half a day too long. My eyes threaten to drop at the sudden attention, and my fingers squeeze onto Vivi’s until I’m sure they’ll turn white with my crackling nerves. I expect to see their expressions wane and pinch with disgust as they notice the two filthy sisters their beloved prince has dragged in. But instead, I’m overwhelmed—shaken to the core and sent breathing again.

  Their happiness only grows.

  Ian beams by way of greeting as a lean, balding man comes bounding across the smooth, shiny floor. Pausing for only a moment’s notice to drink me in, he turns to wrap Ian up into the biggest of hugs. “Prince Ian! I trust the past and present will be as jolly as your future.”

  Ian laughs, as if this strange man’s greeting is a part of an intricate tale I’ve yet to read. Catching my narrowed gaze, he sobers, before grinning like a fool once more. “Don’t worry, Penelope. Most of my uncle Tolan’s jokes actually do make sense. He’s always said my past and present were ruled by my future, and not the other way around. That I wasn’t living for the now. I was always living for—”

  “You,” Tolan finishes. “And what a beautiful future that is. Good evening, Princess Penelope. Your mother tells me that you wish to go by Brave, but my nephew here says different.” His emerald eyes crinkle at the corners, lines of merriment evident in their midst. I no longer have to question where Ian got his sunny, kind demeanor. It’s staring right at me.

  “My mother,” I respond, surprising myself with the strength of my words, “happens to be right. I do prefer Brave, but for some strange and often frustrating reason, Penelope sounds too good on Prince Ian’s lips.” My eyes dare a glance in his direction, his normally pale cheeks being swallowed up by a red, unforgiving heat. His reaction is so welcome, so disarming, I can’t help but melt in return. “And it does help that he is such a forgivable prince.”

  “Forgivable, indeed.” Tolan claps Ian’s back when he catches the alarming hue of red. “And you must be Princess Viviana, little sister to our Brave,” he continues, locking eyes with palpable force beside me.

  “That would be me,” Vivi says, slipping out of my grip to greet our newest friend with a bow. “Although, I’m not that little. Fourteen to be exact.”

  “Give or take two hundred days,” Aras grumbles from our backs.

  “So says the fool who can’t even remember his own first love.” Vivi sneers, turning to regard him with the sharpest of looks.

  And as it always does when Vivi’s tongue gets the best of her, time starts to slow. Heat begins to build. Fingers begin to tingle. And for a sliver of a second, I’d swear Aras’ cold heart begins to break.

  “Viviana,” he says, a heady threat building under his breath. “I don’t think now is the time to—”

  “It’s no matter,” Tolan cuts in, squashing the heat in our bones with his happy chirp. “Trust me, Viviana, when I say that age is only but a number to tell how many days your physical self has graced our lands. It tells nothing of your heart nor your spirit, and those, Princess, are what truly count the most. Why, I’d even say you might be a day or two older than me. In spirit age, that is,” he adds with a wink.

  Oh, Ashen. Not another poor soul from Theron who I’ll be forced to love.

  Beside me, Vivi’s rough grimace melts away, replaced with one of acceptance and peace. Something tells me this whole age discussion is going to come back to haunt me. Probably soon and with a whole new mess of problems to come with it.

  “Now,” Tolan claps, turning to face Ian once more. “Why don’t you get our new guests settled, and I’ll stop by your father’s chambers to let him know you’ve all arrived? Your mother has been planning this celebration dinner for weeks, and it looks as if Queen Ingrid might feel well enough to join us.” He stops, noticing the sudden paleness of my cheeks. “Oh, but don’t you worry, Brave. You’ll have plenty of alone time with your mother before dinner. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I don’t tell him this is precisely what I had hoped to avoid, but Vivi’s proud grin and Ian’s comforting gaze have a way of smothering my thoughts, making them seem thin and weak, nothing but a stream of water slipping through my fingers and puddling on the floor. In fact, I’m so engrossed in their contentment, so consumed by their happy hearts, that I almost don’t feel the warm hand slide across the small of my back until it’s too late.

  Until a heat of my own longs to reach out in return.

  “A word?” Aras whispers, his voice not mere blinks from my face.

  I spin on my heels, startling him when my forehead nearly knocks his chin. He stumbles back, a dying man fighting for air. “What is it?” I demand. My sudden attention pushes at his chest, and I’m left to chase him down as he makes a hasty retreat toward the large, glass doors.

  Behind me, Vivi’s jovial words steal what I hope is everyone’s attention, commenting on the breathtaking adornments of the palace and the people who seem to not only work, but also enjoy what they do. “I’m sorry, Sireen,” she allows, and my shoulders flinch at what is surely to be her next words. “Perhaps I should have thought to blindfold you before we arrived in this wonderful palace. It can’t be easy for you, coming from such a place of imprisonment to such a place of free will. If Brave could make Orien like this, you know she would.”

  “It’s quite fine, Princess,” Sireen says, as if she’s embarrassed to have evoked some sort of unintentional attention. “The past is in the past, and I have no worries that Princess Brave will succeed at once again making things right.”

  Beside them, Ian begins to add his own thoughts on the matter, something about how he knows Sireen’s words to be true, but I don’t hear them. Not really. Not when Aras is in front of me, and the lamps from the outside cast a blanket of warmth down through the glass, caressing his perfect skin. Not now. Not ever.

  “Before we go any further into this sickeningly happy place,” he says, stopping to see if I’m listening, rather than drooling over his unearthly halo like I so long to do, “you must remember why you are here. More importantly, why I am here. The quicker you make this arrangement official, the sooner we will all be able to move forward with your father’s plans.” He pauses again, eyes narrowing as if he’s seeing me for the first time. Me, the crazed girl who carries a hint of deathly pale skin, currently mixed with the intoxicating heat of his presence. “Are you going to faint again?”

  “I never fainted!” I shout, causing the voices behind me to freeze. “And I know exactly what my role is here. How could I forget, Aras? And you? Your role is the easiest to remember of all, considering it involves the harming of my little sister. You better watch your promised back if you think I’ll ever forget!”

  Aras’ brilliant face lights up at my words, causing me to rock back on my heels and press a frantic hand to my stomach should the need to spill my bubbling nerves arise. “Would you look at that? Penelope Brave has finally come out to play, and she’s not nearly as sour as I thought.”

  And a second hand.

  “Is everything alright here, friends?” Ian approaches with the manners of a prince, though his eyes cut through the simmering air around us like a thief. A thief come to steal my heart with these chivalrous antics of his. “Penelope?” he inquires when I don’t say a word. I finally turn to greet him with a quick nod, letting the knots twist aching scars in my stomach at the ease of my lie.

  Aras, smug as ever, and, apparently, not the least bit averse to lying, flashes a charming smile. “Oh, I believe we are quite alright, friend. I was checking with the princess to make sure she’s fully prepared to make contact with her mother.”

  Contact. As if I really am going to fly to the stars and hail her down as her comet zips by.

  For his part, Ian looks even more concerned than I thought was humanly possible. This only serves to make me wonder if Vivi
is right, and he really is some streak of light sent down from above to guide my way. “And are you ready, Penelope?” he asks, both sweetness and understanding dripping from his tone. “It’s fine if you’re not. Normal, even. There aren’t many people who have had to endure the loss of their mother, only to gain her back again. I can imagine this must be hard for you. Would you rather we wait?”

  “No,” I scramble, worried he’ll sense my real thoughts. “I’m ready.” My voice lacks its usual confidence, but thankfully, Vivi seems to be the only one to notice.

  “Brave is always ready,” she puffs, coming to my rescue a thousand times again. Marching to our hovered stop near the doors, Vivi latches onto my elbow and starts pulling me toward the large, winding staircase set dead center in the grand room. Servants in soft shades of blue scatter out of our path, though not without a polite bow despite my wild little sister’s desire to run them through. Our boots pound and echo against the shiny, stoned steps, and though I hear the others behind us, I don’t look back. I’m afraid I’ll get lost if I do.

  “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t strong enough to handle meeting your mother,” Ian says, surprising me with his sudden presence by my side. My wide gaze flashes to his, and he shies away like a child caught rifling through a hidden jar of sweets. “You are very much like her. Strong and cunning. Willing to do anything to save those you love.”

  And willing to marry a near stranger for the sake of saving a kingdom, he should probably add. Although, there may still be a way to help Theron and avoid marriage, all while keeping Ian’s heart whole…

  “Sometimes, I feel as if this is all a dream,” he continues, his voice dipping low. “When we met in the woods, I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever get to see you again. But now that you’re here, it feels right. Final. As if we are on the path we needed to take all along.”

  Oh, sweet Ashen. Maybe not…

  As if his words have lit my very center, leaving me burnt and yearning for air, I tug hold of Vivi’s arm and begin pulling her faster and faster up the glorious set of stairs. One rapid foot after another, until I hear the clanging of our friends’ boots behind us and the scurrying of servants as they jump wide-eyed out of our way.

  “You mustn’t fall, Princess Brave,” a worried Sireen calls, her voice so unlike that of Darcy’s when she used to yell out those same words on a very different set of stairs. For one, she’s not puffing, and for another, she’s used my boyish namesake.

  “She’s fine,” Vivi says, the irritation visible on her pressed lips. “Why is it no one can seem to remember that she has a madman for a father, a ghost for a mother, and a—” She stops, her words vanishing into the long, soft yellow hall as we hit our last step. My chin drops, chest heaving as I take her in, but she only shakes her head, a nervous tick of each lash. “A… a fabulous sister,” she stumbles, squaring her shoulders as the others catch up and eye her with the same rabid curiosity they usually reserve for me. “Yes, a fabulous sister, that’s what I was going to say.”

  Silence flows through the decorated hall. Not a single one of them are sure how to process her jumbled words. “What?” she demands, raising her palms. “You don’t think I’m fabulous?”

  Struck to their senses, the others begin their polite assurances. Yes, Viviana. Of course, Viviana. I could think of a few other choice words, Viviana.

  But not me. I don’t say a word. Not one single thing. Because I know her too well, my little sister. And while she’s upset about something, her fabulousness isn’t it.

  “Vivi—”

  Then they hit me. Soft at first. Tentative to the touch. A subtle scrape against my ears. And then, they burst. They flood. They drown. They consume.

  The whispers are back, and so is my papa.

  Twenty-Two

  The smooth, ivory carpet that runs the length of this massive hall does nothing to stop the pounding of my boots from echoing off the stone floors underneath. For I am a beast now. Set loose to claw her way to the very one whom her heart longs to see most.

  “Penelope Brave!” Aras shouts in the distance, followed by the adamant shushing of Vivi as she forces him to hang back. Though I can’t hear a thing she says, her words must be good enough. Because it’s just me. Pumping my fists, alone in this elegant hallway full of paintings that seem to follow my every move, looking down at me from their perch on the walls.

  Until he rounds the corner and my world stands still.

  Head held high. Ears bent back. Black coat shining in the low light of the sconce-lined walls. And suddenly, it’s as if I’ve found my air. I’ve remembered my reason to breathe.

  “Papa!” I heave, dropping to my knees as his warm coat envelopes me, rubbing across my chin and burrowing into my shoulder. My arms start to wrap around him before losing their grip, and I sling them around his massive shoulders once more. Fur catches against the wetness of my cheeks, and I close my eyes in pure relief as more tears threaten to burst their way through.

  “My Brave,” he soothes, the words reaching my ears as if he’s said them aloud. “I never doubted I would see you again, but I’ve missed you, my heart. Even when I knew I could find you in the stars, I missed you right here. I’ve come to understand that you belong in many places, but too far from my side isn’t one of them.”

  “Oh, Papa,” I whisper, ducking further into his coat and soaking up the scent of an endless wood. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I had listened to your letter? If I hadn’t followed and let you be?”

  His head moves back, and though I’m fully aware that giant cats can’t smile, I see it in his brilliant blue eyes all the same. “Not at all. There was never a future where you would have stayed behind, and you wouldn’t have been my daughter if you did.”

  “Look out, Prince,” an amused voice drawls from above. “It seems your future princess has a soft spot for animals—of the wild variety, to be exact.”

  My chin pops up, daggers blazing in my gaze, only to soften when I’m greeted with Ian’s easy expression. “I think you’re right, Aras, and giant cats at that.”

  “Panther,” I argue as my voice chimes in with another.

  “And not nearly as scary of a panther as I had originally imagined. Why, you’re just an overgrown softy, aren’t you?” Vivi bends down by our side, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Hello, Emory. I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m quite sure you’re in love with my mother.”

  Papa’s head jerks back, and my arms loosen from around his neck. The whispers have gone silent, not even a hint of a shiver left running up my skin, and I’m afraid that my little sister has already gone and done it—frightened my papa before they’ve even had the chance to be properly introduced. If he thought he had it hard raising me, I suppose he’s counting his stars and checking them twice right about now.

  But then his shoulders relax, and his steady eyes bore into Vivi’s as she reaches up to cup his giant face in her hands. “Thank you for keeping her safe. Both of them.” And in that moment, I know she doesn’t mean the watchful eye he kept on me over those long eighteen years. She means her, too. She means our mother.

  “Tell her it was nothing,” Papa says, his eyes briefly moving to catch my own, “but I have a feeling she already understands.”

  “I think you’re right,” I agree, not able to hide the amusement in my voice, as the other four non-animal speakers in the room shift on uneasy feet. “Quite right, indeed.”

  Papa’s gaze finds Aras, smug and cool as he regards us with his arms latched across his chest. When his attention finds me once more, it’s with a heavy sorrow dug deep and pinching at my soul. “And what of your heart?” he asks.

  I start, realizing that even then, in those fateful woods so very long ago, he knew. He knew what Aras would do, and before we left him and Ian behind at camp, I’m almost positive that Aras told him.

  “It hurts,” I whisper, not trusting my voice so close to the source of its pain.

  “And so
we shall heal it,” Vivi chimes, already knowing in her own way that we secretly speak of the fool who crushed my heart.

  My sister. My love. Even without words, she reads me better than anyone else.

  “Now,” she says, reaching out to give Papa an affectionate scrub of the head that I can’t tell if he appreciates or not, “if you’d be so kind, Emory, we’d like to see our mother.”

  All eyes flash to my own, sizing me up and taking stock of my sanity. My propensity to bolt. But I’ve already decided I can’t give into my fears. So today, I surprise them. I surprise myself.

  “Lead the way, Papa.” I gesture, rising to my feet. “I’ve never met my mother, but I’d say eighteen years is a long time to wait.”

  Papa doesn’t say a word, turning toward the hall he pranced down moments ago, and I wonder when it was that my papa became so comfortable in his skin. A skin he’s been forced into. A skin that is not his own.

  And now, I realize, he is not so much different from me.

  “This is it, biggest sister,” Vivi sings as she bounces across the floors by my side. “This is the moment of which I’ve dreamed.” She stops to sneak a peek over her shoulder at Aras, and then leans in close to my ear. “The moment of which we’ve dreamed, and though he doesn’t remember it, maybe something in his heart will.”

  Before us, Papa’s slow steps come to a halt, his tail swishing nervously about and revving my pulse. A soothing hand rubs across the arch of my shoulders, and I turn my cheek to find the concerned face of Ian staring back into my own. “Good luck,” he says, knowing that any words he could choose at this moment could never prepare me for who I’m about to see.

  My ghost of a mother, real in the flesh.

  “Thank you,” I say, tipping my gaze down, but not before I see the sly grin of Aras as he watches over Ian’s back.

  When Aras catches my stare, he winks, teasing my nerves with a new kind of spark. His lips part as the door opens, and Vivi’s tiny fingers pull me into the room. “Softy,” he murmurs as the door closes in his face.