After a long moment of silence, Crisp’s anger slips, and he clasps me on the shoulder in that brotherly way of his. “Well, did you at least find what you were looking for?”
I shrug, my hand coming up and covering his. “Not entirely, but I do know they don’t have him, so that’s something.”
His dark eyes crinkle, and his head lists to the side. “And how do you know that?”
I step back, letting our hands fall as I turn toward the path back to my all but empty home. “Because I would have felt him,” I say, meeting his eyes with a firmness that hums deep within my bones. “I would have felt him, Crisp, and you would have, too.”
And then I turn my back, leaving one of my only dear friends behind in the full moon’s light. For sorrow is an ugly thing, and if I stay too long, I, too, will be swallowed up in its grips, leaving no one left to pull us out.
Four
The halls are quiet at this forsaken hour, a deceiving silence that makes me feel as though I could rewind the events of the day and mold them into one perfectly wrapped package. Specifically one that doesn’t involve a bloody suit and a tonic hangover. So it is with great regret that I open the heavy door that leads to my chambers. At the sound, a soft sniffle fills the air, and then another.
A deep breath floods my lungs. If only perfectly wrapped packages could exist.
There’s a dark lump situated on the edge of my bed. The soft fabrics of my canopy remain pulled back and tied neatly around each wooden post, hiding part of the shrunken figure in their bound waves. Carefully, I take a step forward, as if my poise alone could somehow make this all better. I’ve never been good at things like this—saying I’m sorry and giving comfort. Darcy says it’s because I was mostly raised by my father, but I know better. I was also raised by her.
“Don’t,” she sobs, raising her hand to stop me when I’m just inches from the bed. “I don’t think my old heart could take the words that you have to say.”
With that, I run to her side, grabbing her warm body with my arms and nuzzling my head in the crook of her neck. I don’t make a peep. I don’t so much as breathe. For I believe Darcy when she says that what I have to say will break her. If I’m not careful, the words will break me as well. So there we sit, tangled in a silent mess of love and betrayal, hoping that the dark can hide the hurt that steals our hearts. It’s not until her shaking shoulders slow, her breaths becoming even and clear, that I lift my head and take her weathered hand in my own.
“I guess you noticed that I didn’t sleep in?” I ask, squeezing her fingers with my own.
She huffs and squeezes my hand back, a little harder than necessary. “If you were one of my plants in the garden, you would be the Silver Leith. Grown from a patch of her cousins, yet always yearning for the sky. Searching for a place of her own.” She looks down and although I cannot clearly see, I imagine that her warm eyes find my own in the dark. “I’ve tried to prune that plant for years. Teaching her to conform to the ways of her ancestors, those who grew before. Yet she always bends in her own way, no matter what I have to say about it. That plant threatens to be the death of me, but I love her anyway.”
The urge to roll my eyes is undeniable, but somehow, I find the strength to remain still. For once, I wish that Darcy could see my reaction because I think she would be proud. Astonished, but proud. After all, Darcy has always been one for the dramatics, inspired by the grand books that she burns precious oil to read during the night. Sometimes, I imagine we are all characters in her big book of life, each taking our roles as seriously as the next fool beside us. Of course, I’m the unruly, young one, so at least my character has always held the part of being a little unpredictable. It works in my favor.
“You know I never meant to hurt you, Darcy,” I say, “but I can’t just stand by while these fools do nothing and Papa gets hurt.”
“Your father has a plan,” she soothes, running her fingers through my tangled hair. “You just need to let it run its course. All will work out, you’ll see.”
“You’re right, Papa had a plan, but I believe his plans had to change once he got out there. He’d never leave me for this long. Not if he could help it. Not if everything was alright.”
Even though the words leave my mouth of their own free will, I can’t help but feel like a spoiled child for believing in them. I know what I did today was wrong. I know I should have just followed Papa’s instructions and kept out of it, but it has never been in my blood to keep out of anything. Darcy says I’m cursed that way.
“There are changes brewing in the wind, my dear,” Darcy croons, her soft words breaking cracks in my rough exterior. “Ashen is growing, and so is the world around us. We’ve been safe and forgotten since our beginning, but that doesn’t mean we will be forever. Your father knew this. He had to fight for a change. He had to fight for you.”
Her words send a ringing sound to my ears, and I close my eyes, struggling to make sense of the haze. “Ashen is safe,” I say slowly, “and so are we. Who would want to disrupt our lives?”
And my question hits the mark. Why would anyone disrupt a small territory in which no one wants in and no one wants out? Even our trades are made at the edge of our boundaries; no one willing to venture into the small city nestled between two looming mountains. I used to think that was why the boy said I was cursed. A disease no one wanted to touch. We have always been outsiders, yes, but we have always been safe.
In response, Darcy tugs on my lopsided bun and lets out a low sigh that sends thin strings of hair floating across my face. “What have I told you about the buns, Penelope? Remember, you must bind part of it first, and then pull it back. Otherwise, it will never stay.”
I laugh at her attempt to change the subject, but I decide to indulge her anyway. “Darcy, I highly doubt my hair would have lasted what I went through today, no matter how I’d fixed it.”
Choosing to ignore my rebuke, she stands, carefully finding her way to the old lantern atop my nightstand. Striking a match, she lights the wick, and soft, golden hues send shadows dancing across the room. “Come,” she says, “let’s get you—”
She freezes, getting her first good look at me since I’ve arrived. I can only imagine what she must see.
“Why, Penelope! Are you? Is this?”
I grab her hand just as she reaches for the front of my soiled shirt. “Blood,” I say, forcing her frantic eyes to focus on my own. “Yes, it’s blood, but it’s not my own. I’m fine. I’m alright.”
“You are far from alright, child! Who did this?” She pauses. Breaking my hold, she brings her hands to her face and looks away. “You were not made for this! You were not raised to return home with someone’s blood covering your shirt!”
Her words hit me like a slap to the face, and I’m there again, leaning over the water as red rings surround my dripping hands. Squeezing my eyes to a close, I stand, turning away to gather my words before I spew things I know I’ll regret. Without a sound, I rip the soiled shirt from my head, tossing it on the cold stone floor at my feet. Stomping to the adjoining washroom, I kick off my boots and pants before rounding the corner into my own nook of darkness.
It seems that most days, I am not made for this, nor am I made for that. Although I know that this time, her words are right, that I am not made to bear the blood of another’s slaughter, I can’t help but wonder if I am made for anything. Anything at all. And at the heart of it, the most awful truth of it is that I deserved the look of disappointment that crossed her face when she took me in. I didn’t kill a man today, but I am the reason he died. For me, the two are one in the same, and I have a feeling they are for Darcy as well. I know this because Darcy and I spend way too much time together. I tell myself this is why we fight so much. It has absolutely nothing to do with my unwillingness to listen. Absolutely nothing.
There’s a bucket of once-warmed water by the tub, now cool after hours of sitting unused. Through I hate the thought of being chilled, I begrudgingly climb into the tub and scru
b myself down from head to toe with the icy waters. With each splash, my heart stops and starts again anew. It is with this pattern that I finally find my mind beginning to relax, and the anger that felt so strong only moments ago is all but washed away with the memories of today.
Slowly, I stand to my feet, grabbing a towel and wrapping myself in its welcomed warmth. My legs lead me of their own accord, and before I know it, I’m back in the light, facing down Darcy with a new determination. Though I know she notices the sloppy wet prints my feet leave on the floor, she doesn’t say a word. I take it as a peace offering.
“You’re right,” I say with resignation. “What I did today was foolish and uncalled for. I could have gotten severely hurt, and even though I didn’t, I still hurt everyone around me. Most of all, I know I would have disappointed Papa.”
The last of my words settle on my tongue like spoiled fruit, and I fight a grimace. “Though I can’t say he would have been surprised.”
Darcy nods, and I can’t help but notice the new stands of gray that line her once-chestnut brown hair. Something akin to guilt washes over me. I suppose I’m responsible for those, too.
“No,” she says, “he wouldn’t have been surprised. And I shouldn’t have said what I did. You are capable of many things, it’s just… I wish you wouldn’t push your limits so.”
I smile, taking a seat back on the side of my bed. “If you’ll recall, Papa taught me to believe that I have no limits.”
“Indeed, he did, much to my dismay,” she says, snatching my discarded clothes from the floor. “Now, do you care to explain, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”
She holds the fabrics up as if the bloodstain alone could reach out and bite her. To her credit, it’s probably the first time she’s even seen anything like it. It’s my first time, too.
I bite my lip, trying to decide the best place to start. Short and sweet seems to accomplish the most with Darcy, so whatever I say, I must say it quick.
“A few days ago, I left a letter for a tradesman at the edge of our boundaries. For extra spoils, I asked him to deliver it to The Lost. Considering Papa must have traveled through their woods to get wherever he was going, I knew they would have some knowledge of what took place on his route. I asked for a meeting, and someone replied back in kind.”
Darcy’s head begins to shake, but I continue, hoping to finish my words before she threatens to disown me.
“I knew I had to leave quickly, and take no one along, or else you all would have tried to stop me. I know Papa advised us all to wait, but I just couldn’t do it, not when I had what I thought could be a solid lead. So I left before dawn, sneaking out the back garden gate.”
“And what?” she asks. “You were just going to hold a peaceful meeting with the very ones who don’t have an ounce of peace within their bones? The very ones who roam the forgotten woods, waiting for their next victim?”
Her words hit me at my core, and I fight the urge to look away and defiantly flop back on the bed. Somehow, I find the strength to keep my gaze steady. “I had a solid plan. I came in peace, but if all else failed, I had my dagger.”
Her free hand slaps to her forehead, and she closes her eyes. “Of course. I should have known. The glorious dagger coming to save the day! I told your father that nothing good could come from a little girl owning a poisoned weapon!”
“It’s not poisoned,” I retort, finding the sudden need to defend both Papa and myself. “It would have only knocked him out for a few hours at the very most.”
“My point exactly, dear. Poisoned!”
“Darcy!” I all but shout. “Do you want to hear my story or not?”
“Yes, yes.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. Go ahead, and I’ll try not to let my weary heart outmatch my tongue again.”
This time, my eye roll is automatic, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about it. I rock up and down on my toes, building momentum to continue my horrid tale. “As I was saying, the dagger was just as good of an option as any. Once he was under, I planned on dragging him to a secluded place and tying him up.”
“Penelope! This just keeps—”
“And if the dagger didn’t work,” I interrupt, “I also had the vial Papa left me on my nightstand, along with his letter. Either way, he was going to be knocked out long enough for me to accomplish what I needed. I planned to get Crisp as soon as I had him secure. Don’t worry, Darcy, I wouldn’t have just hung around to question him myself.”
“Well, that certainly brings about a peace of mind, now doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. But if you’re wondering why I ended up with blood on my shirt, you must know that it had nothing at all to do with me, and everything to do with some misfit who thought he was saving the day. My day, actually.”
“Misfit?” she asks, curiosity betraying her tongue.
“Yes, he wasn’t one of The Lost, but he didn’t claim allegiance to anyone either. He saw my exchange with the man and mistook the situation. Then, as you can see, he took matters into his own hands.”
“And The Lost, this is his blood?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s dead? Isn’t he?”
I nod, secretly wishing that if I don’t say the words aloud, then they can’t be true.
“Oh Penelope!” she croons, dropping the cloth to the floor and rushing to my side. “I’m so sorry, my dear!”
“It’s alright, Darcy. I’m fine. I just wish things would have gone a little differently for us all.”
“And this misfit? He was kind to you? He didn’t make any unworthy advances, did he?”
I laugh, imagining his cheeky grin at my misfortunes. “No, not at all. He simply knocked me out with Papa’s tonic and left me in the grass just over the river. I guess you could say that we didn’t get along.”
Unease clouds her dimly lit features. “You told him who you were?”
“No, but he knew anyway.”
She clucks her tongue. “Interesting,” she says. “And you’re sure you’d never seen him? No one your father knows?”
“Positive. He was much too sure of himself to be from around here.”
And it’s true. The people of Ashen are humble at heart. It’s why we have so little, yet need much less. We’re a breed of our own, Papa says, and there aren’t many like us either.
“And aside from these two men, you didn’t see anyone else?” she asks, pausing to absently smooth the invisible wrinkles on her skirt. “What I mean to say is—you didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary, like an animal, perhaps?”
Her question catches me off guard, and I peer at her through the soft light. “I think it’s fair to say that I did run into my share of animals today, but unless you are speaking strictly in the literal sense, then no, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Should I have been looking for something in particular?”
“Well, good.” She harrumphs, effectively moving on as if she didn’t hear my question. “We’ll have to let the others know. The Lost won’t take kindly to this, especially if they suspect our involvement.”
I start to push her again, but something about Darcy’s jumpy mood tells me I might be in for it if I do. Besides, she’s probably just worried that I may have left out the part about tangling with a wild beast in the bushes.
I sigh, letting her win for the thousandth time by just acknowledging her fear. “No, they won’t, and that’s exactly what I am afraid of.”
“It’s a matter for another day, dear,” she says, calling an end to our discussion. “Now, let’s get you dressed.”
Slowly, I slide off the bed and make my way to the small closet that holds my gowns. Just as I slip into the smooth fabric, a small gasp fills the air.
“Penelope, there’s a letter in your shirt pocket.”
I turn to see Darcy’s pale face staring intently into my own, as if she’s discovered yet another one of my well-guarded secrets.
“It’s just Papa’s letter,” I say, more embarras
sed than anything. “I carry it around with me everywhere, you know, just to keep him close.”
She shakes her head, confusion ringing in her tone. “No, my dear, his letter is here, but this is something different.”
I stop in my tracks. “Well, what is it?”
Her hands shake as she flattens out the torn parchment, bending closer to the light. “It says, ‘You’re welcome. Thinking back on our time together with the utmost fondness, Your Handsome Prince’.”
Without realizing it, my hand flies to my mouth and I stifle the small laugh that threatens to undo the serious fog invading my chamber. Darcy is not pleased, and well, I shouldn’t be either.
“What is this?” she asks, shoving the letter into my outstretched hands.
“A parting note from my dear friend, apparently,” I drawl, moving to the light so that I can get a better look.
The paper ignites a funny sensation in my hands, and I can feel the skin around my neck bloom with patchy, red spots. I never knew that annoyance could be such a tangible thing. Should I ever have dreamed he would write, of course this is what he would choose to say. He’s everything an Ashen isn’t, and it’s why we would have never gotten along.
Darcy peeks over my shoulder. “Should we burn it?” she whispers.
A smile teases my lips at the possibility, but that’s exactly what he would expect me to do, and for some reason, the thought rubs me the wrong way.
“Probably.” I shrug, folding the letter back up into its compact square and laying it beside Papa’s on the stand. “But not yet.”
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 3
