Look to the Stars
(The Orien Trilogy, Book One)
Catherine Wilson
Copyright @ 2016 by Catherine Wilson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Jane Dixon-Smith
Edited by Cynthia Shepp
To my parents, for encouraging me to imagine and climb the highest trees.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Acknowledgements
About the Author
One
I hover over still waters—my reflection looks back.
The dark hood hides my twisted mop of hair, but a few black strands sneak their way out around my face, teasing my lashes with their presence. I blink and raise a hasty hand to clear my vision. My hair may have a mind of its own, but I have no intention of letting it blind me.
A rustle moves along the trees to my left. Despite my tingling nerves, a sly smile finds its way onto my lips. I close my eyes and allow myself two deep breaths, feeling the invisible weight lift from my chest. When my eyes flutter open, I find myself again. Steady. Strong. It’s what Papa would want me to see. Not those foolish images that send distracting whispers to my ear. Is this what she looked like when she fell in love with my father? Is this what she looked like when she took her last breath? It’s the last thing I can afford to think about in a time like this.
Dropping my shaky hands into the water, I splash the cold across my face. My reflection moves at sharp angles, and, thankfully, the whispers leave with it.
I never have been one for chasing ghosts.
The last time I was in these woods, I was nothing but a wayward twig of a girl, trying to find my own path, yet too small to stand tall on awkward feet. The dark shadows that live between the bending trees have a way of bringing me back to that moment. The one when I first saw him. The only time really. It was as if he were an apparition, appearing out of dusk like a soul searching for its rootless master. His wild, blond hair wound in heavy curls around his splotched bandana, matching the dark swirls of paint that swept across his youthful face. If there were any open skin left on his body to see, I couldn’t find it.
The sight of him changed me. For the first time in my life, I had found myself speechless, without a single word left dangling from my lips. Without meaning to, I took a small step forward and then another. The invisible strings of intrigue pulling me dangerously close, yet not quite close enough. The boy didn’t speak. In fact, he didn’t move; he just waited. He paused until I was inches from his face, and then a cruel, twisted smile crept across his lips. As if that weren’t enough… as if his wild presence alone couldn’t send my heart pounding in a dangerous race, he spoke. Words so feral, it took several seconds for my cloaked ears to understand.
Cursed One, he’d said.
All at once, a metallic tinge spread across my tongue, seeping into my senses until I was all but numb. Before I could answer, before I could even deny the harsh words that bruised my heart, he was gone. Blending into the woods like a raven in the dark.
It was the fastest I had ever run.
When I arrived home, frantic and wide-eyed, it was Papa who I sought out first. Always Papa. He listened to my story with that calm, understanding look of his—not a hint of judgment in his eyes. When I finished, he simply placed his hand upon my shoulder, a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
“Well, if it takes being cursed to stay safe, then I’d say it sounds more like we’re blessed.”
He was always like that, Papa was. Seeing the best in things even when there was nothing to see. Even when it sometimes hurt. I nodded my head then, trying not to ruin the moment of quiet reflection, while studiously hoping to avoid any and all punishment. After all, I’d broken the rules, and we both knew it.
Even though I expected it, my ears still burned with shame, and my eyes prickled with the flood that was to come when the silence was cut with a heavy sigh. In that deep and serious voice that had always melted me straight into a murky puddle, he’d said, “Don’t leave our boundaries again.”
I nodded once more, unable to look him in the eye or keep the tears from dotting his worn, gray jacket when he pulled me into a tight hug. My greatest fear was the same then just as it is today.
I cannot disappoint my papa, for he loves me too much.
“You’re early,” the voice calls from behind, slamming me back to the present and scattering my memories throughout the trees. “I wouldn’t peg you for someone who would like to wander around the woods any longer than you have to. I was wondering if you’d even show.”
I don’t have to turn to know he’s smiling; I hear it laced in his voice. In the very words he chooses to say, and of course, those he doesn’t. Unfortunately for him, I’m smiling, too. That must be what anger does to you. Makes you wild, crazed, and ready to do things you shouldn’t. It’s the first time I’ve been back in the woods since that fateful day, and I have every intention of making it count.
Without a shadow of fear, I rise from the bank, keeping my back to my eager guest. My right hand hovers over the hilt of the dagger concealed neatly under my cloak, while my left circles the clear vial in my pocket. It’s the same one Papa left on my nightstand barely two weeks ago, along with his letter of explicit instruction not to come after him.
I like to think he left the vial because he knows me too well.
“Funny,” I drawl, turning to take him in. “I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t show.”
Thankfully, if you can call it that, he is just what I expected. The boy from the woods, whether he’d like to acknowledge it, prepared me well for this moment. My breath doesn’t even catch as I take in the dark tones of his green and brown attire—a natural blend against the backdrop of the trees. Just as with the boy, where cloth doesn’t cover, he’s littered with blotches of paint that seem to pull the very darkness out of the air. If it weren’t for his beaming eyes and l
ight beard, you’d think he was a mystical creature born from this very wood.
Perhaps he is.
His dark eyes widen at my curt response before settling into a knowing glare. It seems that out of the many types of women he may have pegged me for, mouthy isn’t one of them. Too bad for him. I always hate to disappoint.
“Be careful, miss. You’re on my grounds now, in case you’ve forgotten,” he says, crossing his arms and straightening his back. “What others put up with where you’re from doesn’t always go over the same way here.”
“I never imagined it would,” I reply.
And I didn’t. Though Papa never wanted me back in this position, he did his very best to explain why. For his sake, I listened. Dealing with The Lost is like dealing with an entirely different breed of human. As sole inhabitants of the woods, they hold the answers to many questions, but always at a cost. Their lack of decency for all things moral leaves them in a most interesting category. It’s just one of the many reasons why Papa made sure I never had any more dealings with The Lost. That, and the fact they pledge allegiance not to any one territory, but to themselves. It makes my meeting here difficult, to say the least.
Surprisingly, this particular member doesn’t seem much older than I am, although the brown beard and spattered paints have an interesting way of hiding time. I wonder for an instant if he is the one who initially answered my message, or if he is some sort of lackey for the one who did. Does he know the horrible boy who met me here so very long ago? Will he, too, suddenly look me in the eye and shout that I’m cursed? Doubt always has a funny way of rearing its head right when I don’t need it. If there was a time for doubt, it was before I left my letter asking for an audience. It’s not now, not when I’m already here. Not when there’s no going back.
The man before me stares in silence, and I glace around at the surrounding trees that seem to be the only ones standing in quiet attention. I imagine pressing my ear against one of their trunks.
They tell me to run.
When I clear my throat, I bring his roaming eyes back to my face. “I assume you’re the one who got my request.”
“Something like that.” He smiles with a wink.
My blood heats. “And by something like that do you mean, yes, I got your message, and I’m here to help you? Or do I need to remind you of my position?”
At my words, his head pops back, barking a laugh that cuts through the otherwise silent woods. He bends at the knee, wheezing as he fights off more laughter. I shift uneasily on my feet, frantically running over my fallback plan in my mind, which I’m now realizing should have been my first plan after all. While I’ve always found my position to be quite laughable at best, there’s something unnerving about seeing a complete lunatic find humor at my expense.
Maybe the trees did tell me to run.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, rising back to his full height and taking me in, “I’m not sure what kind of position you think you hold, but some high-ranking daughter of a forgotten territory isn’t it. I’m all about lending a helping hand, but I don’t think you understand the kind of help I can provide.”
His words send a funny twist through my stomach, sweet and rehearsed. For a moment, I see a flash of the poor souls who were foolish enough to leave safety and wander out on their own. Nothing to give, yet all for the taking. The ones who didn’t have a papa like mine—one to warn them and keep them safe. I shake my head at the hopeless thought and pray he doesn’t mistake my inattentiveness for fear. If I’m going to get what I want, I have to keep the upper hand.
“It’s funny how help can mean two very different things,” I say, more than proud when my voice doesn’t quiver. “You see, where I’m from, it doesn’t. Where I’m from, we keep our word. Aren’t you a man of your word?”
I step closer to him, filling the heavy void between us until we’re toe to toe. His head cocks to the side, as if he’s peering at a brilliant creature who has just landed at his feet. One who called him here and will make him wish he never looked twice in her direction.
A fire lights his eyes, and just like that, his rough hand reaches out to touch my chin. Panic tries to trace its cold fingers down my spine, but I don’t give in. A smart girl prepares for this, and I certainly did. Since he doesn’t seem too keen on cooperating, I’ll just have to do what I planned. What I practiced while I waited for him to find me at this forsaken water. And all it will take is just one clean swipe.
Slowly, I reach for the dagger.
“Miss, I stopped being a man of my word the second you walked into these woods.”
My fingertips dig into the hilt.
Whomp!
A gurgle escapes into the air, freezing my hand to my side. It takes a moment to realize it’s coming from the man before me. My eyes dart to his face, finding it ashen even underneath the thick layers of paint. A low choke sneaks from his lips. My eyes follow the red trail now dripping down his throat, a pathway to his pain, and I wish I had never looked.
A long, dark arrow protrudes from his neck, and it’s the last thing I take in before the full weight of him is on me, and we’re falling backward to the ground. In panic, I turn my face to the side, only to be met with the warm slick of his throat against my cheek.
Blood, I realize. So much of it.
My hands slip as I try in vain to lift his shoulders and keep his heavy frame from crushing my chest. Soft whimpers leave my lips before I clamp my teeth together and push down on my heels, digging out from underneath his limp body. I thrash like a wild animal, pulling at leaves, dirt, and rock—anything that will get me to water faster. My lungs burn and every breath is filled with the rusty tinge of his blood, but I won’t stop. I can’t, because if I lay here much longer, I’m afraid he might take me with him.
Twisting to my side, I shove my hands against his shoulder with all of my strength, and his body finally gives way. Freeing my legs, I roll to my chest, inhaling the welcome scent of dirt as it scratches against my cheek. The weight of a dead man is something I never thought I’d feel, and even though he has fallen haphazardly to the side, I can still feel him—smell him. And I can’t get away fast enough.
Rising from the dirt, I crawl on my hands and knees until I find the cool relief of the water’s edge. There I fall to my stomach, scrubbing away the remnants of his blood with a frantic rush. Sounds fill the air around me, and I think I might be whimpering again, but this time, I don’t have the energy to stop it.
Splash, scrub. Splash, scrub. Again, again, and again.
My eyes stay sealed shut with the promise never to open again like a corpse in the ground. I can’t risk it. I can’t see it. My reflection surrounded by the tinge of red blood will be enough to end me. Papa’s disappointed face smothers my racing thoughts, and I fight the tears that threaten to pour down my cheeks. The scrubbing slows until I am all but nothing, floating away on the edge of an endless pool.
When I finally open my eyes, it is not only my reflection I see, but also someone else’s.
Two
“What were you thinking?” the boy behind me demands in a whisper strong enough to bend the trees.
Before I can even muster a reply, my grace takes the lead. Twisting back in a tangled mess, I send a loud splash rippling through the water when I fall. I watch as his jaw tightens, and I get the strangest sense that he might actually be angry with me. Me—the girl who just narrowly missed being shot with an arrow. From the looks of the sleek bow strapped neatly across his back, it’s his arrow. The thought alone should be enough to send me running through the woods, but it’s the sight of his clear, olive skin that keeps me pinned in place.
He isn’t one of The Lost.
“So you dare to meet alone with that man, but now you can’t find the courage to speak? This just keeps getting better and better.”
His gaze darts to the trees around us, and he lets out a heavy breath, as if I’m the problem in this situation and not the other way around. Maybe it’s the adrenalin
e, or maybe it’s the dead man’s spirit coming back to advise me from above, but despite what he just did to that man, I’m not afraid. I can’t afford to be.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t this!” I say, leaping to my feet and motioning to the dead man laying not two steps away. A rise of bile pounds at my throat. I struggle to swallow it down, looking anywhere but back in the poor man’s direction. “But maybe I should be asking you the same question.”
He shushes me with his hands, as if I’m an unruly child who he has been forced to look after. If only he knew I am but a burning candle left unchecked. I’ve been simmering quietly for a while, but this boy, he is the oxygen to feed my flame.
“Oh!” I shout, causing several watchful birds to scatter from their perches and flee to the sky. “I see. I’m getting in the way of your murder, is it? Perhaps next time, you could warn me when your arrow decides to land three inches from my face.”
He growls in frustration. Although outwardly, I look like a raging, cornered animal, on the inside, I can’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. It’s the loudest sound I’ve heard him make, and though he’s scared me senseless and forced unnecessary death upon me, I can’t help but be a little proud it’s me who helped produce it. Something must change in my eyes, because he looks up into the treetops, dragging two exaggerated hands through his wavy, black hair. Several wild strands mat across his forehead with sweat, while the ends of others curl up to the sky.
He’s been running, and from the looks of it, for quite a while.
For a moment, I imagine his sharp eyes peering through the trees, his steady hands as he nocks the arrow and lets it fly. It could have just as easily been meant for me. The pool of red begins to cloud my vision, and I look down, startled to find his cool hand resting upon my own.
My dagger. I was reaching for my dagger.
“I don’t think so, Princess,” he says, and I flinch at the use of the word. “I move, I breathe, and I fight back. I’m not some feeble sparring partner who’s intent on letting you win.”
Up close, his sharp blue eyes blaze into mine, wild and untamed, yet they also control all at the same time. He’s the type of person who is used to getting what he wants. Taking, using—it’s all the same to him. So when the lazy smirk falls across his perfect face, I’m not the least bit surprised. He thinks I’m weak, but even worse, a fool. He thinks he’s come to save my day.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 1
