The Darkest Night (The Orien Trilogy Book 2)

by Catherine Wilson

  My heart stops at his words—part of me wishing to laugh while another is worried of what my little sister may do in response. But when my eyes look down to find her, all of those fears are washed away. A violent rainstorm, with only the promise of a rainbow above.

  For my sister doesn’t look to me. She stares out into the soft-lit room. Past the warming fireplace with its orange flames licking shadows up the walls. Past the vase of flowers with the blooming Silver Leiths. Past the glass lantern resting ablaze on the bedside table, lighting the room with a hazy, nighttime glow. Past every single bit, and I wonder when it was that her tear-stained cheeks began to mirror my own.

  “Come, Little Bird,” a warm voice calls from the bed, a peaceful lullaby I already know by heart. “Let me see how you’ve grown.”

  Twenty-Three

  Once, when I was twelve, I had a dream.

  It was a nice dream, perfect in every shade. Soft, happy, and thrilling all at once. The kind that made you sad when you awoke, desperate to claw at the hazy edges of its memory and fall fast asleep to find it once more. It was so real this dream, and for weeks after, I swore to myself it was never really a dream at all. That it was true and right and full of hope.

  That my mother really was alive and how she loved me so.

  But no, not tonight. Tonight, that dream means nothing. It’s lingering, feathered threads sent spinning off their wheel—a magical memory sucked up into the clammy air and cast away into the awaiting stars. Because now, I understand the foolishness of that dream. I understand the hazy scene of a young girl with a doting mother for what it’s really meant to be. A fantasy. A hope. Because this… this right here. The pale woman with missing strands of ruined, dark hair. The bright smile tugging against the burned skin on her right side, crinkling the flesh around her delicately patched eye. The look of instant pride—of need—as her hand stretches out across the bed and her bandaged fingers meet my own.

  Yes, take the dream. Take every last forsaken piece.

  For my mother is alive and how she loves me so.

  “Momma?” Vivi whispers, her words choked by a river of tears as her tiny figure molds into Ingrid’s chest. A hatchling curling up under its mother’s protective wing. Her reaction sends a nasty, unsettling remorse to flood my lungs, and I press my lips together to keep the whimpers from leaping into this sacred place where a dead mother finally meets her unworthy child.

  I am here now, standing beside my mother in the flesh and blood, yet I wonder where I’ve been?

  My little sister lost her mother the same day I lost a papa. A brother the same day I lost a best friend. Yet, despite it all—the hurt, the loss, the envy for a life that was not her own, she was always the strong one. The only one willing to see us through to the good, while all I managed to do was stand in her way.

  I let my pain control me, eat away at my core, but wasn’t I supposed to be the strong one?

  How did I not understand she needed me as much as I needed her? My little sister, who could kill a snake with one mean look alone, needed her big sister to hold her. To tell her that hope is a word our hearts should always long to hear. But instead, I was too selfish, too full of self-pity, to see beyond my own hand. I’ve failed her, and as I watch her cling to my resilient mother who dug her way through the ashes and back all for the sake of standing by our side, I realize I’ve failed myself as well.

  And I won’t let it happen again.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, hoping every ear in the room understands the words are for them. That I speak for my sister, my mother, and my papa—all cursed in their own right because of the girl of mixed blood. “I’m so very sorry.”

  And like an answer to a wish I never knew to make, I’m instantly pulled into a warm and crushing embrace. My mother’s heart beats wildly against my own for the first time since she grew me in her womb. She lets go of my hand, trailing her bandaged fingers up the side of my face, before pulling her cheek flush against my own. “Do not be sorry for something out of your control, my daughter. Even if you try, your remorse will forever go unnoticed. Don’t you see, Brave, that you brought us back together? You’ve sewn our jagged hearts as it was written that you would.”

  Pulling back from her face, I reach up to rub a careful hand along her tinged, raven hair and stare into the mirror of myself—of my sister. The mirror I never should have been afraid of. The mirror who I always should have sought first. For who would fear those vibrant green eyes, and that warm, yet devious grin? Even with a bandaged face and a single eye to take me in, she’s captivating. She is my mother.

  She is brave.

  Smiling, I allow my eyes to move about the room, taking in my bruised sister, my ruined papa—those who should despise me, but have never loved me more. Finally, I imagine what awaits us outside of our closed door—the shell of Aras who undoubtedly stands with the decorum of a tied hog, right alongside the kind prince who knows that even though I’ll marry him to save our people, I will never be able to give him my whole heart, and a blessedly sweet handmaiden who refuses to be disappointed in me, despite her many opportunities to do just that.

  Yes, I’ve brought us back together, but at what cost?

  “You’re right,” I allow, my eyes darting back to her gaze when she reaches out to cup my chin. “We are back together, but a little broken, perhaps.”

  Mother smiles, and for the first time, I feel the power humming in the tips of her fingers as they graze across my skin. The coolness that doesn’t hurt, but protects. Heals. Binds. The kind of power that could protect a baby girl from the ugly hands of a selfish king.

  The kind of power that saved my life.

  For even in this state, her happiness proves her true nature. She’s wild, untamed, and unbroken. She’s everything I’ve ever needed to be and more. So much more.

  “And only the best kind of things are worth fixing,” she says, leaning in close so I feel her cold breath against my cheeks. “Open your eyes, brave one, because you have the power to change everything.”

  At her words, a cool mist settles over my skin, seeking out my building tears and pulling them into the space between us. My eyes blink at the loss of their protection. The liquid drops that serve to soothe as much as they serve to shed the hurt, are now but visions of white that light up like the sparkling stars above. And here, in the early days of a warm summer to come, my half-burned mother has turned my tears into beautiful snowflakes that twirl above our heads, challenging any sun.

  Words are simply not enough.

  “They’re… they’re magnificent,” I breathe.

  “Yet nothing compared to the power that rules within your veins. Together, we will harness it, hone its worth. And when the time is right, a mighty change will blow with the wind.”

  “A wind so strong it could change panthers into papas?” I ask, still transfixed on the flakes that rise and fall with the puffs of our breath. Beside us, Vivi’s eyes twinkle in the fire’s light, her tears now joining my own in the whirlwind of peace that floats above our heads. She reaches out, and the flakes respond to her, a delicate touch across her fingers before sliding into the air once more.

  “And a promised man into a prince,” Mother says, tipping my chin with the sweetest of touches.

  Immediately, the flakes around me dissolve and sputter into mist, an uncontrollable heat building under my cheeks. The room, once a cool balm against my skin, now bubbles with the one power that has always battled for my will. My eyes dart to Papa, where he sits on the floor beside the bed, his black tail flipping and curling like a guilty serpent trying to hide in the dark. “He told you, then?” I say, eyes full of sorrow for the one who must have delivered the ill-fated news. The news I never saw coming until it was too late. The news that will haunt me forever.

  Our Aras is lost, and he’s not coming back.

  “Not in the way he could tell you,” she admits, turning to take in her cursed love with the clearest of affections shining in her good eye. “But, somet
imes, a simple look can speak of a thousand things without having to say a single word, especially when it comes from someone you love.”

  Papa’s tail stills, and his ears tilt back like the predator he is. Then he lowers his shoulders to the ground and rests his head upon his giant paws. He doesn’t whisper a word to me throughout the whole exchange, but he doesn’t have to. My mother, it seems, is right again.

  “But you needn’t worry too much about Aras,” she continues, calling my attention once more. Beside her, Vivi nods with a serious affirmation, crossing her arms as if she’s always known this all along. “He’ll be devastated enough when he finally makes his way back, and when he does, he must find you strong. In turn, it is your strength that will heal his heart.”

  “But it’s my fault,” I stumble, still unsure any power of mine is as strong as she believes. “If I had never allowed myself to get so close—”

  “No, my child, you were already joined before you ever met,” she interrupts, squashing my protests at their root. Turning her eyes toward the ominous door, as if she can feel his presence and heal him through its very wood, she recalls the Aras of his youth. “Aras has always been a determined young man. When he finds something he wants, he walks to the ends of our lands to get it. So many nights he looked at those stars, listening to me babble as I told you stories from my day. But somewhere along the way, he began to tell you a story of his own. One of love, hope, and protection. One of a handsome prince and his feisty princess from across the sea of Orien trees.”

  A wave of sadness passes across her face. She looks away from the door and reaches out to cup my chin once more. “Aras’ story does not end here, my love. He did those things because he thought it’s what you needed to find your way back to me.” She drops her hand, motioning around the room. “To us.”

  “And it doesn’t help that he’s always been dead set on being your prince,” Vivi adds with a quick-witted grin.

  Papa flicks his tail, a muffled whisper of laughter finding my ear. Mother’s arms fling up high into the air, a hovering arch stretched around her two unruly chicks. “You’ve already spread your wings, my Brave,” she declares, leaning forward to plant a cool kiss upon my brow. “Now it’s time for you to take flight.”

  Twenty-Four

  “This is disappointing at best,” Vivi drones, her eyes spitting daggers at her reflection as Sireen fusses with the last unruly curls of her hair.

  We’ve been at this for most of the evening, ever since we left Mother’s chambers and discovered the hallway empty, except for our ever-steady Sireen. At the time, she had simply shrugged her shoulders at the absence of our brooding guard and beaming prince, explaining the two had meandered off for a little chat… of sorts.

  It’s the, of sorts, that still has me worried.

  Without another word, she had escorted us down the brightly lit, never-ending halls as if she’d walked their brilliance a thousand times over. Or as if Ian had simply taken his time to give her very helpful and precise directions before he departed with our ailing Aras to who knows where.

  It seems like the kind of chivalrous thing he would do.

  Calling my thoughts back to our newest chambers, Sireen tsks as she pins the last of Vivi’s strands into a twisted crown around her head. A crown of thorns, if Vivi’s anger has anything to say about it. “Don’t worry, Princess,” Sireen says, squeezing her bare shoulders. “This dress is only for tonight, as it’s your first formal meal with the king and queen of Theron. By tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll be free to move about in any wear you choose.”

  Or any abomination you choose, is what I’m sure Sireen longs to say. It’s no secret our lovely pantsuits have always put her on edge. But thankfully she has nerves of steel, our handmaiden, and she somehow manages to put up with us, unladylike or not. I can’t help but wonder how lost we might be without her by our side. And I’m not just referring to the countless hallways.

  Determined to act civil, Vivi responds with a firm press of her lips, the parting advice of our mother probably still clinging close to her heart.

  Be vibrant, my loves. Be strong. But most of all, be wise, she’d said as we left her chambers, nearly floating on the high of our lost mother’s love. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t particularly understand the meaning of her words. I’m only hoping my little sister did.

  “Sireen’s right.” I walk up to Vivi’s chair, watching our twined reflections with a renewed respect for anyone who has to hassle with the wild nests of our hair. “It’s only one dinner, and then we’ll be back to running around in dirtied pants and soiled tunics again.”

  Vivi’s eyes shine with mischief, and her mouth opens to speak when a loud knock resounds through the open room. Sireen’s hand jumps to her chest, a knee-jerk reaction to keep her heart from leaping into the air. I squeeze tight to the back of Vivi’s chair, glad I’m not the only one caught off guard by the sudden interruption in our heavenly space.

  Who in Ashen would knock on our door as if the whole castle is going up in flames and we’re the last three souls left to get out? On second thought, I think I know…

  “It seems we’re needed,” Sireen chimes through her teeth, trying hard not to look as putout by the blatant rudeness as she really is. “I’ll get the door while you two finish up.”

  We both respond with a careful nod, glancing down at our blue, flowing gowns with equal parts begrudging patience and well-hidden disgust. At least if we have to look the part, we can suffer through it together.

  “Now, that’s strange.” Sireen’s soft voice finds its way to our side, and our heads snap up, turning to find an open door to an empty hall, oddly free of what I assumed would be Aras’ smug grin. “Surely someone wouldn’t knock and then leave. What would be in the point in that?”

  “Oh, there are plenty of reasons to do a knock-and-run, Sireen,” Vivi says, a tinge of certainty rising in her tone. “Trust me, I’ve performed many of them in my day.”

  My eyes dart to Vivi, wonder written in their depths.

  “What?” She throws her hands up at what she senses to be my displeasure. “You’ve spent enough time in Orien to understand how boring it gets. Imagine doing it alone. I had to do something to keep my mind sharp and my legs quick. Especially when the door belonged to Father.”

  I choke on a peal of laughter and slap my palm to my mouth. Vivi’s gaze turns dangerous as she takes me in. I allow a deep breath through my nose, willing my sanity to find me again before she can turn me to stone with her glare. Besides, I wasn’t laughing because I thought she was silly. I was laughing because I grew up doing the same thing. Darcy always threatened to skin my hide for it, too—if she could catch me, that is.

  “Vivi—” I start, reaching out to douse the hurt I can sense building from within. My fingers have barely grazed her cheek, heated against my cool touch, when another knock floods the space once more.

  A knock that is clearly not coming from the open door.

  “There!” Vivi whispers, tugging my hand from her cheek and rising to pull me across the room. Her eyes zero in on the area between our large canopy bed and the lone, cream chaise sitting empty and forgotten to the side. Without a word, her fingers splay against the rose-colored wall, running along its smooth surface like a thief looking for its secrets. Behind us, Sireen starts to speak, probably hoping to deter Vivi from any further criminal-like behavior, but Vivi simply holds up a finger, silencing her with one motion.

  “I know it came from here,” she mumbles, her cheek now pressed wholly against the deceitful wall, while her right hand continues to skim across its surface. “Wait.” She stills as her fingers slide into a little groove. “Is this—”

  But whatever she was going to say never has a chance to form, as a slice of the wall literally falls open, and my little sister’s hands fly out in an effort to keep her face from becoming one with the floor. Diving to my knees by her side, I start to check if she’s unharmed when a set of dark boots flash against
the blues of my dress.

  “Now, girls…” His rich voices floats into the air, causing traitorous tingles to rise across my limbs. “How many times do I have to tell you? When you want my attention, all you have to do is ask. As flattering as it may seem, I never said you have to grovel at my feet.”

  My gaze finally looks up from his boots, following a trail of smooth, dark pants and a fresh, white tunic—the Orien O stitched like blood across his heart. His perfect smirk peeks down at us, the unruly curls of black shielding his eyes. Remorse floods my chest, seeping into my lungs and clogging my breaths. My eyes flutter closed, and I grit my teeth, trying not to drown in the loss of the one who hovers above me. The loss my mother thinks I’m strong enough to save. For what if Vivi was right all along? What if Ian is my light?

  Does that make him my darkest night?

  “Is there something particular we could help you with, Aras, or do you intend to humiliate and poke fun at your Orien princesses all night?”

  My eyes pop open, and Vivi stills beneath my touch. For once, the barbed retort doesn’t fall from our lips, but from someone else’s. Someone whom we’d least expect.

  Sireen, our quiet, humble handmaiden who apparently only remains as such until she’s been pushed too far. Skies above. She’s more like us than I thought.

  “No need to be upset, Sireen. I’m merely checking on my new neighbors.” Aras tilts his head up, taking her in. “Besides, I thought you’d be happy to see another Orien so close to your side.”

  The last of his words tumble out with a thin layer of threat, forcing poor Sireen to remember her place in our psychotic court and Vivi to rise in her imminent retreat.

  “New neighbor, is it?” Vivi seethes, grabbing onto my hand as I pull her to her feet. “Listen, mister, this is most certainly not going to work.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, little sister,” I fume. “Right. Out. Of. My. Mouth!”