Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wilson

  Disgusted, I yank my arm back harder than necessary, but he pretends not to notice. Instead, a soft smirk plays on his lips as he takes on a wide stance with his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently, it’s a practiced move.

  “You’re mocking me, but you don’t know anything!” I seethe. “You think you’re above me? You think I’m some wandering idiot out in the woods and here you’ve come to save the day? Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m more than capable on my own. I don’t need some little brother tagging along to keep me safe. Particularly a delusional one who has the tendency to kill on sight.”

  This only causes his smirk to curve into a dangerous grin, so that the small dimple on his right cheek shines like a blasted star.

  “I pity the soul who has to call himself your little brother, a burden I am more than happy to go without. Besides,” he says, pulling out a lazy hand and running it up and down before me, “what was I supposed to think when I came across you looking like this?”

  I bristle at his challenging tone and glance down at myself with pride. This is a sparing outfit Papa had made especially for me. He’s been making them since I was the age of three, when it was clear that Darcy’s neat and tidy dresses just wouldn’t do. “You’re my little adventurer,” he’d say, “and you need something that will bend to your ways.”

  Today’s wear is solid gray and fitted perfectly across every inch of my petite frame. The fabric is thick, but light, designed to not only help me move, but also to protect against shallow cuts to its surface. Even after all I’ve been through today, it still holds true, without so much as a rip upon it. It makes me feel strong, durable, and completely unladylike. I’d wear it to bed if I could, and I refuse to be chastised for it.

  “And what of you?” I say, motioning to his montage of black. “I guess you’re surprised I even took you for a human being, and not the stealthy black cat you are so clearly trying to imitate.”

  His eyes lighten with amusement, and he uncrosses his arms, closing in on my personal space. He tilts his head down until we’re almost cheek to cheek, his dark stubble whispering across my jaw.

  “Is this your way of saying you like what you see?”

  Immediately, I shove his shoulders back with my hands and scowl at his smug expression. He thinks he can distract me, and maybe for one weak moment he did, but there is nothing that will make me forget the dead man who lies at my feet. The one who held the answers I needed the most.

  “Look,” I whisper, hoping to bring him back to my side. “I realize that maybe you thought you were helping me by murdering this poor man, but I really was in no danger. I can take care of myself.”

  And more than ever, my words ring true. I may be small, but I’ve always been strong, and above all, smart. It works to my advantage on most days, and I’m easily underestimated. That is, unless you know me, and my new pal here clearly doesn’t.

  He shakes his head with an air of dismissal, and I fight the frustrated scream that begs to leave my lips. “First of all, he wasn’t just some poor man who you could swipe with that little dagger of yours and put to sleep for a few hours.”

  My eyes widen at his words, and I take hesitant step back, anything to distance myself even more. “How did you—?”

  “Forget it,” he cuts in, dismissing me with a wave. “It was never just him I was afraid of, but the others who are always nearby.”

  As if on cue, savage hoots begin to fill the air, and I stiffen at the calls as they bounce off the trees. His hand finds my arm, but I shake him off, determined to move on my own. I got myself here, and I can get myself right back out. There’s also no way I am letting him follow me to where I’m going, even if he apparently knows the way already. He’d have to kill me first, and now I’m not so sure that isn’t what he plans to do anyway.

  He reaches out, grabbing for me again. This time, it sticks. “Oh no, you don’t! You wouldn’t make it five paces in these woods before they surrounded you. You’re coming with me!”

  I reach down with my free hand and pull at his fingers that have caught my wrist. “Let. Me. Go.” I frantically struggle.

  Unable to break his hold, I raise my boot and come down hard. Like some annoying beast, he senses the move in an instant. Instead of the blow connecting with his foot, he takes advantage of my balance and swirls me around until I’m planted against his chest. His arms clamp across my shoulders, and he bends down, his words hot and rushed in my ear.

  “Do you see that man, there?” he asks, nodding to the poor soul sprawled on the dirt. “He doesn’t just belong to The Lost—he owns them. So those voices you hear? The calls that will come to you in your dreams and keep you from sleep? Those voices are looking for him.”

  He pauses to turn his head and measures my expression. “What will you say when they find him? When they find you?”

  I huff and look to the woods. My heart pounds, and for a moment, I imagine it has taken wings and will fly me to the sky like the birds from the trees. This morning, it all seemed so simple. All I needed was to find answers. All I needed was to find my other half, the only other half I’ve ever known. How does one begin to learn how to live life without a father? It wasn’t a question I was prepared to answer, so I left before the dew could dry from the ground, ready to do the one thing I was told I never should.

  Perhaps I should have slept in as I told Darcy I was going to do.

  My shoulders slump against his chest, and although a part of me still considers making an ugly break for it, I know I’m out of options. “I’ll tell them I didn’t have anything to do with it, and then I’ll pose the same question I intended to ask him.”

  “And when they don’t believe you?” he asks.

  “I’ll make them.” My voice is firm, and if my heart didn’t pound with the falseness of it, I’d actually believe myself. I glance up, surprised to find his eyes softened in the filtered light. It’s the kindest look he has given me since we first locked gazes in the water, and despite everything, I find myself yearning to see more of it.

  “If only they didn’t know who you are,” he whispers.

  A sickening feeling hits my gut, and it’s exactly as I felt the very second I first spotted Papa’s letter next to my bed. My head swims with confusion, trying to make sense of what cannot be. It’s no longer coincidence. He knows me. This boy knows me, yet I don’t know the first thing about him.

  “I—”

  Before I can finish, he whisks me around and over his shoulder in one fluid movement. My nose bangs against his back, sending an instant sting of pain as he takes off through the trees. My arms flail against his back, and I try in vain to lift my head to check the woods around us. The loud calls fill the air once more, and for the first time, I imagine what they’ll do to me when they catch us. He’s right. I don’t know what I’m doing.

  “If you’d stop moving around, this would be a lot easier,” he grunts as I squirm across his shoulder.

  The forest floor whirls past my eyes and my chest hurts from the constant bouncing against his back. My words come out in puffs, and I imagine the sounds being swallowed up by the rocks and dirt beneath his feet.

  “If you just would’ve let me go my own way, it would have been much easier for us both!”

  He lets out a soft huff, but he says nothing as we continue to wind our way through the woods. Eventually, I close my eyes and brace my head in between my arms, trying to calm the waves of nausea before they threaten to take hold. It’s not until the calls begin to fade and the small pockets of light threaten to break through the thinning trees that he finally stops.

  His legs are shaky as he bends to let me stand. He keeps hold of my shoulders, and I will my body not to fail me now. I take an easy step back, but my head’s not ready and I start to trip. His hands lash out, pulling me to his chest and righting me again.

  “I didn’t go through all that work just for you to hurt yourself now,” he chides.

  I push back from him in disgust, this time findin
g my equilibrium. “Don’t be smart with me over something I never asked you to do. Better yet, don’t be anything with me. Now that we’re out of their reach, we part ways. Am I clear?”

  He sits down in a lazy heap, leaning his back against a tree. When he finally looks up, I can’t help but wonder if he can actually see me through the mess of hair that falls carelessly across his eyes. I have the strongest urge to smooth it back, and then when his smirk is good and ready, to smack him hard across the face.

  He must read something in my look because he gives his head a rueful shake, his knowing eyes becoming painfully clear once again.

  “Absolutely,” he says.

  I flinch, as if his words alone could launch out and knock me to the ground. I didn’t anticipate our parting to be so easy.

  Refusing to seem bothered by it, I turn on my heel, gathering our surroundings. The trees are beginning to open up and reveal the edge of a long, peaceful valley. The Lew and Tolan ranges line each side, and I imagine my home where the two giants meet. I release a slow breath, beaming on the inside. If I make good time, I can be back by nightfall.

  “Alright then.” I turn, wishing him good riddance with my glare. “How should I say this? I hope I never see you again?”

  “That sounds about right.” He smiles before holding up a pouch of water. “A drink before you go?”

  Shrugging, I take a step forward, warily eyeing him. I hate to admit when someone else is right, but having a dead person lay across your chest has a way of sucking the water from your bones. Swallowing with regret, I reach for the pouch. It’s not until I’m several good swigs in that I notice the empty vial lying beside him on the forest floor. Dread hits me like a well-played punch to the stomach, and my eyes dart to his. But he’s already up, moving to catch me, just as my legs start to give out.

  A low growl leaves my lips, and the world starts to heave to the left and back to the right. He lowers my limp body to the ground, taking surprisingly great care not to injure my head. His face hovers over my own, and if things would stop spinning, I might be able to read his expression. His lips start to move, but I have no interest in hearing what he has to say.

  “I really, really don’t like you,” I whisper, my lids threatening to close.

  A wide grin swallows up his face, and a rough hand traces a gentle path across my cheek. “The feeling is mutual—”

  And then, just as the blackness reaches in and calls me home, the strangest thing happens.

  He says my name, or something very much like it.

  Three

  The moon hangs in the dark sky at an odd angle tonight, or maybe that’s just me. My head pounds with each blink. Slowly, the pieces of the world start falling back into place. I’m lying on my side amongst the thick, green grass, and my neck is turned in such a way that I know I’ll feel a thousand needles in it by morning. The night air is still cool this time of year, and goose bumps threaten to rise over my covered limbs.

  I’m alone. At least for now.

  Hesitantly, I roll myself up until I’m leaning back on my hands and my knees are drawn back to my chest. The ground around me still threatens to tilt on edge, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve felt the effects of Papa’s concoctions before. “You must understand the power, before you’re given the power to use it,” he’d said, right before he put me under. Judging from the way the tips of the tall grass come into focus, and then shift back out again, I’d say it’s not long before I can stand. Walking may be tricky, but just like my vision, it will slowly become steady once more.

  Carefully turning my head to the side, I notice my dagger, stuck into the ground at my feet like some discarded tool. Anger steams from my pores, and I lash out, yanking it free from the hard soil. The motion causes my head to swim, and I plummet to the side. For a moment, I picture him perched up high in a faraway tree, his amused eyes piercing through the night, laughter puffing from his lips.

  He knows me, yet I know nothing of him.

  The thought alone pummels me forward, and I brace myself on my arm while pushing to my knees. Thankfully, my eyesight seems to have settled. In the distance, I see the outline of the large, wooden gates that mark my home. A heavy sigh of relief leaves my lips.

  Ashen.

  If there was ever a place I wanted to escape, this was it. Yet now that I find myself disorientated and sullen in the grass, all I want is to be back in it’s comforting grasp. Interesting, isn’t it, how near-death experiences can change one’s perspective?

  Without another thought, I rise to my feet, standing completely still in hopes that the world won’t suddenly start to move around without my consent. When I’m satisfied I won’t trip and fall on my face, I take an easy step forward, and then another. There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. I know without a doubt that Darcy raised the alarm the minute she discovered I was not sleeping in, but out on an apparent and ill-fated rescue mission. I also know, however, that the alarm would not have been sounded very far. It’s one thing for Ashen to be without its leader, and it’s another to be without its beloved daughter. I can guarantee that the people of Ashen remain blissfully unaware of the latter. Although I’m eager to be home, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

  As I near the delicate bridge that will lead me over the wide river that buffers my home, I turn to glance over my shoulder, taking one last, long look back. He’s here. I know it. I can feel his stare like the dying heat from a fire, warming my body from the inside out. He doesn’t stir, and I imagine he doesn’t even blink. Chills line my arms, but this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

  What boy cares so much for a girl who isn’t even one of his own? He thought he was saving my life today by ending another’s, and although he’s placed me dangerously close to my home, he knows better than to be seen by anyone else. I suppose I should feel somewhat grateful, but annoyance is the only emotion I can conjure.

  He didn’t have to knock me out.

  Giving one last angry look into the dark, I turn on my heel and march across the bridge, more than ready to leave my new friend behind on the other side.

  ↄ

  Sneaking back into Ashen is, to my disappointment, much easier than I thought it would be. Although I had the sense not to go knocking right on the front gates, I can’t say it would have made much of a difference anyway. Pulling the snarled limbs back, I find the lever on the rusted door and push it open, breathing a sigh of relief when I find the small, forgotten garden to be as empty as the morning I left it.

  Rushing in, I shut the door behind me, bolting the remaining two locks hidden at the top. Turning to face the garden, I slowly slide to the ground, relishing the feel of the cool metal against my back. There’s not much to see in the dark, but my eyes roam over every inch of this place, drinking it all in as if it were going to be my last sip in forever. Which it will be, now that I’ve entered back in the one way that no one knew I could get out.

  “We had a good run, garden, me and you,” I whisper to the wild greens that stand at attention, brimming with an excitement that only the hint of warmer weather can bring.

  They say nothing in return, of course, but that doesn’t mean they don’t hear me. They are comforting, these plants, and if they could speak, I imagine that they would only have the nicest of things to say.

  I used to play here as a child, during those rare times when Papa was too busy fulfilling his duties and Darcy got tired of teaching me how to one day take over those said duties, or in her words, “become a lady.” The thought alone makes me smile. Darcy has always played the role of begrudging aunt particularly well. From her watchful eyes following me around at every turn, to her blatant refusal to call me by my true name, she’s always taken care of me like my mother never could. Of course, Darcy swears I was named Penelope Brave for a reason, and my mother never intended for me to go by Brave alone. She’s always refused to call me anything but Penelope, and I’ve always refused to answer.

  We make a perfect pai
r.

  Sand and rock crunch underneath the weight of company, and I jump to my feet. The warmish thoughts of my aunt dissipate, floating away like seeds in the wind, leaving only a smile upon my face and a promise of what’s to come. Darcy will have my hide.

  I’ve only taken a step when the light prick of a sword meets my chest. “Guarding against all of Ashen’s plentiful intruders, are we, Crisp?” I ask, although I know the question is a foolish one at best. No one visits Ashen. Ever.

  “Brave?” Though there is nothing but the low light of the moon hanging in the sky, I could swear that his expression looks not only surprised, but also embarrassed. “What did you think you were doing sneaking off like that? I thought for sure we had lost you!”

  “Oh, well, that,” I concede. “It’d take a lot more than a meeting with The Lost to end me, though you won’t be telling everyone that’s where I’ve been.”

  He shakes his head, finally remembering his sorely placed sword, and drops his stance. “We all knew that’s where you went. Let’s not pretend like we didn’t,” he says, a grim line falling across his face. “You scared me, Brave. All of us. If your papa were here—”

  The tip of my tongue tingles, unsaid words trying to spring to life. Of course Papa would be upset if he were here. I’m his only daughter, and I just ran out into the woods unattended. He would have a good talking to with me, my papa, but that’s just it. He’s not here to do it, and it’s Crisp’s fault just as much as anyone’s. I don’t say a word though, instead choosing to study my muddied boots with an intense and newfound interest.

  Darcy says I need to work on my sharp tongue. Maybe tonight, I can get something right.

  And he doesn’t deserve my wrath, not really. Although he’ll never admit it, Crisp suffers a lot. More than anyone perhaps, and at times, I’m almost ashamed to admit more than I do. As a part of Papa’s minuscule guard, Crisp should have known his whereabouts at all times, even better than he knows his own. Now failure follows him through the grounds like a heavy cloud, with no hope of a strong wind to come along and blow it away. I’ve always liked Crisp, but this is where we differ. I’ll never let something as strong as grief hold me down. Even in the darkest night, when I cannot see and all seems lost, I’ll fight. I can thank my papa for that.