The Darkest Night (The Orien Trilogy Book 2)

by Catherine Wilson

  Forty-One

  If I thought the last few days were eventful, they’ve been nothing compared to now. It’s as if everyone in the palace has been driven into a panicked frenzy, making all that’s up seem down and all that’s down seem up. Even patient Tolan has succumbed to the madness, almost snapping at Vivi when she refused to show up for her dress fitting. That’s when we all knew the stress was getting to us, a collective gasp from the key players in this wedding charade. Even Aras had looked dismayed.

  “Perfect!”

  The loud shout distracts me from my lessons with Papa, and my head twists toward the open courtyard where Vivi and Sam have been practicing with the dagger. The four of us took to the outdoors hours ago, hoping to avoid any more unfortunate wedding planning meltdowns. We’ve been here ever since.

  “It sure took long enough, but I’m hoping it was worth the wait.”

  Vivi narrows her eyes, probably debating on whether she’d like to make poor Sam her next target, but Papa lets out a sharp cry. Her head pops up, stopping the dangerous thoughts in their tracks. My eyes cut to his, and a muffled chuckle fills my mind. “What? You can’t tell me you didn’t know what she was thinking.”

  I laugh, reaching out to scrub him behind his ears. “Oh, I knew what she was thinking alright. I was waiting to see if Sam would realize it, too.”

  Papa’s blue eyes sparkle in response, and he rises to his feet, stretching out his front paws. Bounding off the covered steps, he meanders out into the yard, probably hoping his presence will remind Vivi to behave like a princess, rather than the wild little spirit she’s grown to be.

  We’ve been like this for most of the afternoon, each of us practicing and preparing for doom in the only way we know how. For Papa and me, that means working on mind control—his to be exact. If I can’t keep his thoughts with me once Knox arrives, then it won’t take much to end our whole mission.

  I can’t allow my papa to be used, and I certainly can’t allow him to be used against me.

  “What? Come to scratch me if you think I’m getting out of hand?” Vivi crosses her arms at Papa’s approach, but her resolve quickly melts as she catches sight of his curling tail. She bends down, rubbing a soft hand down his back, and despite my building nerves, I feel myself smile. The plan for Vivi has always been safety first. The dagger was only meant to be a fallback plan, in case she found herself without a clear way out. She was never meant to face the danger head on, but like Papa, I have a feeling Vivi might be hiding some plans of her own.

  “Up for some friendly practice?” Ian’s voice finds me from behind, and I jump, turning to greet him as he plops down beside me on the steps.

  “I suppose that depends on the sort of practice you’re referring to,” I say, already knowing exactly what he means.

  When I haven’t been working with Papa, I’ve been knee deep in the evil powers of magic unknown. Or as Mother put it, trying to practice breaking through Theron’s barriers without causing too much harm. Although, I think she neglected to consider the amount of struggle sending my fiery magic against my half-burned mother might have placed on my psyche.

  So far, it’s mainly served to traumatize me.

  “Oh, come on. You know you’re jumping at the chance to unleash your powers on me. If anything, it will be good practice for when your father arrives.”

  “Good practice for me, or for you?” I ask, bumping his shoulder with my own. While I may be at odds with my decision to follow through on this wedding, it doesn’t make Ian any less of an ally. If I need him, I know he’ll be there.

  “Both, I suppose. Considering you will probably need to fake your hatred for me in the moments leading up to when you reveal your betrayal, it can never hurt to make sure you’ve got your powers under control.”

  “Ah, I see,” I say with a tease. “So you are worried for you.”

  “Absolutely,” he says, holding out his hand. “But I should probably mention that my most gracious help comes with a fee.”

  “Marriage,” I spout, hoping he can read the humor in my tone.

  “Oh, no, Penelope. I’ve already got you wrangled into that. I was thinking more along the lines of something private.” He hesitates, cheeks turning pink as he debates his next words. “Like dinner tonight in my chambers, perhaps.”

  “Dinner?” I balk, caught off guard by how serious our playful banter has turned. “Just us? In your chambers?”

  Suddenly, the awkward dining table shared with his parents doesn’t seem so bad.

  “So you can toss flames about as well as you can freeze a heart, but when it comes to a meal alone with me, you threaten to dissolve right into a puddle.”

  Something like that, I think, wishing I were already a puddle, waiting to be sucked away into the hot, sticky air. Anything to steer me clear of where this conversation is going.

  “Maybe I have high morals.” I laugh, determined to hide my irrational fear. “Besides, I’d prefer to maim my husband after the wedding, not before. Think of what our guests would say.”

  “There goes Prince Ian, marrying himself to the most beautiful beast in all the lands.”

  I snort, believing him not too far off mark. “And what are the terms to this gracious practice of sorts? What happens if I defeat you, or dare I say, you block me?”

  “We’ll settle the details when we’re through. I have a feeling I’ll get what I want either way.”

  Skies above. What is it with this perfect boy who doesn’t know when to quit, and what is it with this terrible little girl who can’t love him enough to let him go? Not even when I know our marriage will break our hearts. For how can we grow together when a part of me will always belong to another?

  So instead of pushing his hand away as I should, I give into him. I give into this kind boy who has always given into me. “Is that right, Prince Ian? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but this is all starting to sound an awful lot like a trick.”

  He dips his chin, looking up at me through those honeyed strands. “Oh, it is, Penelope. You can count on that.”

  ↄ

  “You see, I’m stronger than you think.” Ian beams at me, hair mussed into a sweaty mess. Or at least, I hope it’s sweat and not sparkling tendrils of heat.

  I cover a smile, reaching down to trace circles in the dirt where we rest in the yard. His tunic still steams from where I burned through the fabric not mere minutes ago, the only time the power of his magic broke enough to let me win.

  But to be fair, I also wasn’t trying very hard.

  “Does this mean you’ve won?” I ask, clapping the dust off my hands.

  “No.” He chuckles, resting his chin on his chest. “Considering you weren’t trying, I think this means that you should feel achingly sorry for me. You did ruin my shirt, after all. It’s only natural for you to owe me a meal.”

  Chills coat my arms, and a slow burn of worry begins to build within my chest. I may not care for Ian like he cares for me, but I do care for him. The last thing I want is to hurt him even more than I already have. So this going to dinner? Being alone in his rooms? It all feels like the final step in acknowledging our life together. A life I’m still not convinced I want to live, whether I’m able to save Aras or not.

  But a life I’m bound to all the same.

  “What time?” I whisper, forcing the words from my lips.

  “What?” he asks, leaning in close to my cheek, the coolness of his skin so different from the heat Aras’ always brings.

  “What time should I expect you to stop by my chambers?”

  He combs a soft hand through my hair, the once-braided strands now falling out in a tangled mess. Slowly, he tilts my head toward his, looking me in the eyes before placing a warm kiss on my forehead. “Within the hour, Penelope. And for what it’s worth, I can’t wait.”

  He pulls back, and, without a thought, I grab his retreating hand. “I know I don’t always show it, and I don’t know how much I ever will, but it’s worth a lot, Ian. You are worth a lo
t.”

  He smiles, slowly at first, as if he wants to hold onto my words before they fly away, disappearing into the darkening sky. Then he stands, turning to leave me in the courtyard with only the company of my racing heart. Just as he walks through the open doors, and my chest sinks at what cannot be undone, movement catches my eye from the tall, twisting bushes to my right. Dark and brooding, the pain his ever-constant companion, Aras steps into the yard.

  “Walk with me, Penelope Brave; I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

  Forty-Two

  “Enjoying your practice sessions with the prince, I see.”

  For someone who claims to want to talk, Aras sure does keep a hardened pace through the empty palace halls—a move I’m sure he does on purpose. If the panting of my breaths isn’t enough assurance, what he saw in the courtyard was.

  I’ve been working hard, and it shows.

  “Perhaps if you’d slow down, I might be able to explain myself,” I huff, grabbing him by the crook of his arm.

  Aras spins on his heel as if I’ve burned him, eyes flashing with both annoyance and fear. My insides cave with hurt, and I shrink away despite my need to draw him near. “Come on,” he says, shoulders falling from their rigid line. “We can talk in here.”

  He motions to a closed door not too far down the hall, and I pull ahead, determined not to let my emotions cloud my thoughts. Aras is angry; I could feel it the very second he stepped free of those trees. Now, more than ever, I have to play my part. Because if I fail… if I let him discover our true plans… then all will be lost. And I’m not only speaking of him.

  The door opens with a soft click, and my body nearly revolts at what I see. It’s a supply closet, filled to the brim with mops and dry cloths. I catch a breath, only filing in when I feel the heat of Aras’ chest against my back.

  And in a blink of an eye, I’m no longer here.

  The world is an endless ocean—a rolling sea with crashing waves, and I am but a blip. A speck of dirt caught in its trap, tossing and turning about however the water sees fit. I close my eyes, the vision of his face filling my mind. The soft tears falling down his olive cheeks. The glossy blue eyes and matted lashes. The beat of his heart against my ear as he told me he’d messed up. That he only wanted to be a part of my story, except, in the end, he already was.

  He was everything; he was my story.

  “What is it?” he asks, layers of unease clouding his voice.

  My eyes snap open, ashamed of how I must look, like a grief-stricken woman who has seen a ghost. But not a real ghost, I think. A memory. A memory in a closet that looks an awful lot like the place of my undoing. And in that way, it’s just as bad.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, looking him in the eye so he knows I’m sure. That I’m not crazy, except I may be crazy about him. “You said you wanted to talk?”

  He watches me for a moment more, careful eyes tracing my bitten lip, before he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head as he turns to survey the room. I count my blessing at the loss of his stare, and I thank the good stars above that I didn’t lose myself in this room.

  But I came close.

  “What are you doing, Penelope Brave?”

  I straighten my shoulders, preparing for a fight. “I’m meeting with you. I thought you said you wanted to—”

  “Don’t start that with me,” he growls, cutting me off. “You know what I mean. Why are you practicing your magic with Ian? Why are you trying to push the limits of his power without hurting him with yours?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh, knowing now isn’t the time to be at a loss for words. “It was his suggestion. He wanted to see the force of my magic, and I wanted to show him that I wasn’t a girl to be taken lightly. It was for fun, Aras. Perhaps if you took your mind off Knox for once, you might actually enjoy something for yourself.”

  Aras laughs, a cold, empty sound that all but flays my skin. “Take my mind off him, huh? Enjoy something for myself?” He stops, glancing over his shoulder to hold my gaze. “I am him, Penelope Brave. There is no me. Not anymore.”

  “Aras—”

  “But we’re not here to talk about me.” He rounds to my side, looking down at me in that authoritative manner of his. I might be pleased if I weren’t so scared I’m about to lose it all. To lose him. “We’re here to talk about what you’re planning behind our back.”

  I flinch at his words, the chill of his voice not lost on my conscious. I can’t tell him the truth, but I also can’t flat-out lie to him either. It would never work, and as he’s told me time and time again, he knows it, too. “I’m not planning anything, but you have to realize that Theron grows suspicious. I’m not privy to all of Ian’s games, but I do know he was playing one tonight. One where he assesses my skill, should the need arise to defeat me. Thankfully for us, I wasn’t giving him my best.”

  There. I’ve said it. The truth, mixed in with a special twist of my own. If he buys it, then the plan will hold. If he doesn’t…

  “I noticed you weren’t giving it your all,” he says, carefully processing my words. I’d sag with relief if his eyes weren’t still pegged on my face. “But that doesn’t explain the panther. Vivi, I get. She’s knows her father, and she knows he’s turned on your family in the past. She’d be a fool not to try and prepare herself, though her current means of protection are laughable at best.” He watches me, waiting for the nasty comeback that always follows an attack on my little sister’s well-being. When I don’t bite, he plows ahead. “But the panther…”

  “My papa,” I correct.

  “Your papa,” he allows, edging closer to my side. “Your papa seemed like he was helping you with something today. Something that looked an awful lot like mind control. So tell me, Penelope Brave. Why would your papa want you to practice controlling his mind? Doesn’t he feel safe here in Theron? Doesn’t he know this wedding is for the good of us all?”

  “He knows my father turned him into a cat, Aras. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think he needs any more proof of Knox’s hunger for power and control. If it makes you feel any better, I’m the one who approached him. I may be working with Knox to keep my family safe, but it doesn’t mean I trust him. I’d be a fool not to try and protect my papa if I can.”

  Aras chews his lip, the motion so achingly familiar that I’m forced to squeeze my hands behind my back, willing them not to reach out and touch his face. He must notice something in my posture, because his expression clears, moving away to give us space. “So you’re not backing out on me?”

  “On you?” I stammer, confusion and hope coating my voice.

  “On us! I meant us. You’re not backing out on us. You’re not making plans to ruin everything once your father arrives, because if you are, I swear to you—”

  “Aras!” I shout, grabbing tight to his arm. “Calm down! I’m not a fool! My very sister is at stake, so if you think for one second I’m going to risk her life for some prince I haven’t met until now…”

  “I know!” he yells, pulling away from my touch. He spins on his heel, rubbing a rough hand through his curling hair. “You worried me, is all. You have no idea what I was thinking, watching you all afternoon through those trees. It was awful, because I thought… I thought…”

  “You thought you were going to have to kill her,” I whisper, understanding finally dawning at his words, the very shake of his voice. “You thought I was planning to overthrow Knox, and you knew he’d make you kill her. He’d make you kill Vivi.”

  His shoulders deflate, and he eyes the ceiling, if only to avoid looking at me. “We all have tasks. You must understand that. I agreed to join his loyal guard. I agreed to let him rule my life. You can’t go around testing his promises, as if he won’t follow through on his word.” His eyes tip down, long lashes covering where he doesn’t want to let me in. “If you go against him, I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her, and I won’t even care.”

  A wave of nausea pounds at my throat, and I open my mouth, lungs
begging for air. His words alone are no surprise—I know he follows Knox’s will. But it’s the assurance, the dead, rotting piece of his soul that promises me he wouldn’t think twice.

  And I believe him.

  “I’ve got to get back to my chambers,” I rush, desperate to run from this boy who haunts my heart. “Vivi will be missing me by—”

  “Penelope.” He stops me. My breath hitches with a lurch as his warm hands come up to cup my cheeks. His eyes bore into my own, blue skies opening my heart and pouring into my crumbling soul.

  “What is it?” I ask, not daring to blink. Not to chase this moment away, the only moment in the last few months when this boy has really looked at me.

  No, not this boy. The love of my life.

  And he’s here. I can feel it. I can see the spark of clarity in his gaze—the fuzzy haze that torments him around the edges. The work of my magic that almost set him free, but not quite free enough. And he says my name. My horrible, dreadfully feminine first name, but somehow, it seems like victory enough.

  “Penelope,” he repeats, lost in the land between his will and my father’s. The dead, awful space that leaves him feeling hollow and alone. “You let him call you Penelope, and every single time, I watch your face. You let him call you by your first name as if you enjoy it.”

  My head jerks back, slipping from his grasp, only for his hands to fall softly against my neck. “Aras?”

  “Ian. You let him call you Penelope. He’s the only person you never correct. I want to know why.”

  My face heats with his words, from both embarrassment and the feel of his smooth hands against my skin. Splotches of red fill my vision, and I sway forward, overwhelmed when he pulls me into his chest. “You used to mispronounce my name all the time, you know. You did it on purpose, too,” I whisper as the tears soak his tunic with my pain. My loss. “It used to drive me crazy, until one day, I found I couldn’t live without it. Bravest Penelope. That’s what you always called me.”

  His chest rises beneath my cheek, shaking as he pulls in a deep breath. He’s quiet for so long I’m afraid he’ll never speak, but when he finally does, I almost wish he hadn’t. “And what about now? What if I want to call you Bravest again?”