“Careful, Brave,” Crisp whispers from behind us, a firm hand reaching out for my shoulder to right my balance.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He hasn’t left. Thank goodness, he hasn’t left.
Crisp leans back and drops his hand, firmly pressing his arms to his sides as we continue our entrance into the ever-tightening room. One of the men has turned to greet us, a startling look of awe stretching across his finely made features. His gray eyes flash as he glances between Weston and me, and I can’t help but imagine there are giant wheels spinning in his head, gaining momentum with each step we take. Suddenly, I want to slip these wicked shoes from my feet and flee the room to the comforts of my bed, where every day blessedly runs into the next.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this without my papa, and I have a funny feeling this is exactly what the man before me thinks as well.
“General Bates,” Weston says before nodding to the man before us, “I’d like to introduce you to Emory’s daughter, Penelope.”
“And what a pleasure it is to finally meet you, Penelope,” he says, bowing before me and reaching out to place a light kiss upon my hand.
His dark hair is combed back with what I consider an abundance of gel, and the corners of his mouth turn up, as if he’s just said a joke and he’s waiting for my laughter. Light pieces of gray are sprinkled atop his head, and I would imagine him to be close to my father’s age, maybe even slightly older. I allow myself a silent cheer of victory. Whatever he’s here for, at least it’s not a marriage proposal.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, General Bates of Orien,” I say, pulling my hand away and motioning for him to stand. “But it’s Penelope Brave, actually, and please, call me Brave.”
I feel the pressure of Weston’s body as he tenses beside me, but he doesn’t say a word, and for that, I give him credit. Of course, he’ll just wait until we’re alone to berate my manners. Perhaps I should plan to stay very, very busy tonight and for the next several days after.
General Bates grins, seemingly unaware of my manners, or lack thereof. I’m beginning to think I might actually like this man… that is, until he speaks again.
“Yes, of course. Brave it is. I can think of no other name more fitting for a young woman with both her looks and her spirit. I must say, I expected some resemblance, but you, my lady, are the spitting image—”
“These gardens put on quite the show, now don’t they?”
The familiar, deep voice fills the room around us, and for a moment, I’m shocked out of my wits, floating above and watching the scene as it plays out below. I don’t even notice I’ve begun to walk backward until I run into the warm hand of Crisp as he latches onto my elbow, determined to keep me from making my rapid escape.
All has stopped around us, and reluctantly, my eyes move to the other man, standing alone against the glass, his back still turned to the room. His dark hair falls in a clean mess, the ends just curling up over the top of his tunic’s feather-white collar.
No. It couldn’t.
But then he turns, a wide, cocky smile threatening to jump off his face and slap me across my own.
Yes. It could.
“But it’s nothing compared to the magic they produce at night, am I right?” he continues, raising his perfect brows together at once.
Weston coughs uncomfortably, and for one delirious second, I pretend he is his daughter standing there beside me, holding me up so that I don’t lose my battle with the beckoning floor. Maybe soon, he’ll whisper something encouraging in my ear, like why you didn’t tell me that the man who rescued you in the woods was so handsome?
“Because he’s not,” I whisper back to myself.
Weston’s eyes cut to my own, perhaps believing that the dress has slowly stolen my oxygen, and I’ve gone onto another place where coherent thoughts are no longer necessary. He gives my arm a tight squeeze, obviously checking for consciousness, and I return the favor with a squeeze of my own.
Before us, Bates’ face seems to have taken on a hue of red, and he fights to maintain his carefully controlled features.
“Oh, yes, how could I forget? I’ve gotten ahead of myself, I’m afraid,” he says, turning sideways and holding his arm out to the obnoxious man behind him. “Captain Aras Renn of Orien. Guard to the queen.”
I’m not sure what wants to sink faster, my heart or my knees. He strides forward with ease, each step showing that he is very well used to being in control of the events around him. Just as he is in control of me now. Heat licks across my neck as he takes me in, and I consider yelling out to Crisp, exposing this Aras for whom he is. The wild wanderer in the woods who about got me killed and then put me to sleep. Instead, a low growl floods the room, and I’m not sure, but I think it might be from me.
Aras’ eyes alight with what can only be considered a twinkle, and he takes my hand in his own, clear blue eyes meeting stormy green. “Oh yes, Bravest Penelope, is it?”
He moves to take his hand, but my grip holds firm. “No. Penelope Brave. But you can call me Penelope, please,” I say, trying to hide the tightness in my voice.
He cocks his head to the side, considering my demand. In a flash, I’m in the woods again, convincing him to let me be. “Penelope Brave, Penelope Brave,” he drawls, as if testing the words upon his lips. “No, I think Bravest Penelope sounds just fine.”
If the whole room was a giant bubble, his very words just bludgeoned it.
“Now, just who do you—?” Weston shouts before Aras throws up his hand with a casual wave.
“Oh, don’t mind me. While you three finish up introductions, I’ll be waiting in what I assume is Emory’s office. Please come find me when you are ready to do something productive. Now…” He turns his attention to a rigid Crisp, who still stands beside me. “You can lead me there, correct?”
Crisp doesn’t answer, but turns on his heel, swiftly making his way back to the doors. A cold chill remains in his exit. Aras sends me a subtle wink, slowly mouthing the overt jab, little brother, before strutting out behind him.
For a moment, no one moves, no one breathes, and although I may be speaking strictly for myself, no one thinks. A horrific wind has just blown, and we’re all left waiting for the dust to settle.
Bates is the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Brave. Sometimes, Aras forgets his place, and well, he can be a bit of—”
“An ass? I noticed.”
And before either of the men left standing slack-jawed in my presence can speak, I spin around and follow this Aras right out the door.
Seven
The doors bang shut behind me, the echoes making their way through the tall entranceway. Anger rolls off me in heated waves as I click in my uncomfortable heels across the floor toward my papa’s office, which has now been taken over by a madman. As I near the door, my steps slow. I force air into my lungs in a last-ditch effort to approach this situation with at least an ounce of calm. I’m no good when I’m angry. At least that’s one thing my recent romp in the woods cleared up.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Aras says, his body propped up casually against Papa’s dark wooden desk as he surveys my entrance. My father is not a flashy man, but if there is anything in this room that could remotely be considered ornate, it’s that desk. It was one of the few things that was already here when we first arrived in Ashen, and its memories, though we don’t know what they are, have always meant something to him. To us.
Shaking my mind clear, I narrow my eyes before crossing the room and standing as close to him as I dare. He bites his lip, and the square letter itches across the skin of my chest. “And just what exactly did you expect? That we would let you so rudely address me and then walk out the door?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Well, you are a casual bunch.”
“Casual or not, small or not, we still demand respect.”
At my words, he leans forward, peering into my eyes. “You’re just like him.”
I
jump back at his sudden scrutiny. “Just like who?”
“Who else?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders, the fine fabric of his tunic pulling tight against his chest.
And just like with everything he’s ever said to me, his words boggle my mind. There is no way this guard from Orien knows anything about my papa. No one from the outside does, and we like to keep it that way. Yet he spoke his name with such confidence, as if he were an old friend stopping by for a visit. One I now find myself desperately wanting to end.
“Crisp,” I call out, looking over my shoulder, frantically searching for a distraction.
Instead of his assuring presence, I’m greeted with silence. My skin prickles, and a cold sweat breaks out across my brow. I didn’t anticipate doing this alone.
“Who’s Crisp?” he asks, and I jump, whipping my head back around to face him.
“You know exactly who he is. The guard who led you here. What have you done with him?” I demand.
“Oh, him. Don’t worry, Bravest. He’s just gone to fetch me a glass of water. I’m a little winded after my trip, as you can imagine. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already offered,” he says in mock offense.
Determined not to dignify him with a response, I move past his lounging frame and head to the small balcony located just beyond my papa’s desk. The air is hot, but it’s a welcome change from the stuffy room. I tilt my head up to the sky, drinking in the sunlight as its warm rays hit my face. Maybe if I stand here and pretend to become one with nature long enough, he’ll leave me be.
“For all of its isolation, Ashen does have breathtaking views.”
Or maybe not.
“Oh yes,” I say, refusing to open my eyes. “I remember now that you mentioned the gardens. When was that? Before or after you mocked me? Shame, I can’t recall.”
“I wasn’t talking about the gardens,” he smoothly replies.
At once, my eyes pop open, and I turn to find him staring at me from the balcony doors, a thoughtful look on his face. For some odd reason, I think I might be blushing. “Crisp should be back any minute with your water. I’d hate for your thirst to worsen by standing out in this heat. Perhaps you should go back inside and wait for him.”
He smiles crookedly and leans his shoulder against the wall. “Crisp, is it? You seem very concerned with this fellow. Please tell me you don’t make a nightly habit of meeting him in the back gardens. The whole fearless leader-guard thing seems highly inappropriate, if you ask me.”
And there it is—his blatant admission that he did follow me back here. I knew he couldn’t just drop me in the grass and leave. No, not him. He’s the type who has to see his charge through to the very end, and then some. The question is—what exactly is his task and what does it have to do with me?
“That depends,” I challenge, propping my back against the hard rock wall and crossing my arms with as much defiance as I can muster. “Do you make a habit of following women around and watching them when they least suspect it? Because, you know, the whole guard spying on the daughters of fearless leader’s thing seems a little inappropriate, if you ask me.”
“I asked my question first,” he prods.
“And I don’t answer the questions of people I don’t like.”
He straightens before stumbling back, his hand flying to his heart. “Ouch, Bravest! Did anyone ever tell you that your words have the ability to slice through like knives?”
“All the time.” I smile, brushing past him and returning to the suffocating room. “I consider it to be one of my greatest strengths, so watch out.”
He turns to follow on my heels, as if he knows his simple closeness is enough to undo me, sending me flailing over the edge.
“And what of this mysterious dagger?” he whispers to my back. “I thought that was one of your greatest strengths. I’m surprised you haven’t attempted at least one good slash across my face at this point. Have you misplaced it since our last encounter, or do you just think that highly of me?”
I stop cold in my tracks, and he bumps into me, his chin knocking against Sara’s artful creation. He jumps back, clearly embarrassed with his mistake, but all I can think is he better not have messed up my hair. Well, that—and what in Ashen’s name has Darcy done with my dagger?
“Don’t worry,” I say, turning around to face him, his eyes blazing into my own, “when I find it, you’ll know.”
A small smile settles on his face, and for a fleeting moment, I think we come to some sort of unhealthy agreement. Sometimes, it’s nice not to like someone.
“And what exactly are we looking for?” A shrill voice invades the room.
And just like that, the smile is gone.
“Hello, Darcy,” I call over my shoulder, glad to have somewhat of an ally in the room. “Aras here was just asking some interesting questions about my dagger. Strange how I haven’t seen it since I’ve been back. You haven’t noticed it lying around anywhere, have you?”
Darcy doesn’t say a word. Instead, she sidles herself right up to my shoulder, meeting Aras with a look of complete mistrust. Aras moves to step back, and for his sake, I pretend I don’t notice. Typically, first encounters with Darcy don’t go very well.
“I haven’t seen your vile dagger, my dear, and with any luck, you won’t see it again either. But the real question is—what does this fool want with it?”
Darcy shoves her thumb so close to Aras’ chest that he jumps, for once startled by the world around him. I smile as if I’ve just won a heated match of Quest, a favorite game of mine that I used to play with Papa, and ignore the nagging thought that I may have also cheated. For once, Darcy has actually saved the day.
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Aras replies, his hands rising softly in the air. “I was only warning her of the true trouble that is destined to come from that dangerous tool of hers. I have no intention of ill will.” His mischievous eyes turn to meet my own. “She’s a special one, Bravest Penelope is.”
Darcy, of all things, stares back with a look of pure admiration across her once-tight face. Is it just me, or has he stolen my ally? No cheating in the world could hold a candle to him, this fool! And didn’t she notice that he purposely pronounced my name wrong?
“Oh, please, forgive me! Where are my manners? I forget that sometimes Penelope’s tales can get the best of her,” she says politely, holding out her hand to his waiting embrace. “I’m Darcy, sister to Emory. And you are?”
Obviously pleased with Darcy’s snide remark, Aras sends me the briefest of smiles before turning his sights back on my aunt. The joy of victory is written clearly across his cool features. “Aras Renn, guard to Queen Ingrid of Orien. And I, for one, am very pleased to see that Emory’s daughter has someone of such strength and knowledge to lean on in these times of crisis. No doubt you’ve been of the utmost importance to her, not only over the past several weeks, but also over her lifetime.”
Darcy’s pale skin blooms with pink and a grand smile perches on her lips, but before I can condemn her to my lifelong list of people whom I distrust, her very next words send an icy chill through the otherwise heated room.
“I see, Aras Renn of Orien. You’ve traveled far, but I hope you know that even those who go to great lengths don’t always get what they want. I don’t suspect you will either.”
She turns to grab my arm, and it takes a moment for me to register the pulling sensation as I’m all but dragged backward, away from Aras and the blistering words that have once again stolen his smile. “Come, Penelope. I think we’ve all had enough for one day.”
Before we can make it to the door, Darcy is forced to an abrupt stop as Weston and Bates file into the crowded office. Weston’s face is covered with tiny dots of moisture, his otherwise stoic expression one of panic and mistrust. The sight of him stops my heart. If my father’s most trusted ally is coming undone, what’s to become of me?
“And that is the point, isn’t it, Darcy?” Weston asks. “Don’t you think it’s time we found out exactl
y what they want?”
“It’s of no interest to me,” Darcy shoots back. “Besides, we don’t have anything for the taking.”
“No one said anything about taking,” Bates interrupts, intently eyeing me. “Just a negotiation is all. One that I think Brave would be very interested in, don’t you agree, Aras?”
My eyes dart toward the open balcony doors, where Aras stares at me with something akin to sympathy before absently nodding his head. “Yes, I do think it’s time that she becomes aware of the situation and adjusts to her new skin, so to speak.”
“I’m sorry,” I sputter, looking out into a sea of unrecognizable motives before me, “but last time I checked, the world tilted on edge the very day my papa, our leader, walked out of these very doors, never to return again. So if you think there is another situation more concerning than a lonely and confused daughter left to run a small territory until her papa returns, I can think of nothing more I would wish to hear.”
“Brave—” Weston starts.
“Nothing!” The word leaps from my mouth before I can hold it in, and I hope no one notices the tremble in my voice. The very painful ache when I think of my papa. When I think of my light.
“She’s right,” Aras says, startling me by taking my side for once. “If she says she needs nothing from us, then she doesn’t. It’s not up to us to say that she does.”
“But we have everything she wants,” Bates replies, his voice cool.
My eyes move to his. The soft gray depths turning into dark pools. “You’ll never have anything that I want,” I snarl, turning my back to the room and dragging Darcy toward the doors.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
