“And you’re sure it was meant for me?” I ask, my voice small and unsure.
“The very most sure,” he proudly says. “Your mother told us both right before she left. Do you remember what she said?”
“Yes.” I sigh, content to never move from this spot and watch the sky for signs of my mother until dawn. “She said, ‘Look to the stars, for you’ll find me there.’”
“Penelope!” she shouts, dabbing my face with the wet cloth. “Brave!”
I feel them then, the soft tears as they roll down my cheeks, padding against the blue hues of my dress and turning it dark and speckled. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in this silent pool of despair, but judging from the frantic look on Darcy’s face, it has been a while.
“Speak to me, child. Please, say something. Anything.”
I flop back on the bed, curling my legs up into my chest as far as they’ll let me. I want to fold into myself. To disappear into the woods, just like Papa. To rise into the stars, just like my mother. But Darcy’s heavy breathing takes away the concentration needed for self-pity, and I find myself annoyed that I can’t even wallow in my own grief. For the first time, I envy Crisp.
What good is sorrow if you don’t have the time to let it consume you?
“Well, get it on record, Darcy, because I must admit that I was wrong. You do have the power to break me. It’s just been done.”
“Oh, Penelope. My dear, sweet child. Never have I wanted to hurt you, and never have I wished a secret upon anyone, especially not like this.”
Her words, while meant to soothe, scrub away at my already-bruised heart, causing each beat to bring a rush of pain. Again and again and again.
“And while we’re at it, is there anything else you would like to come out with?” I ask, sitting up and facing her with a calculated glare. “Let me guess, you’re not really Papa’s sister, are you? Just some callous nanny he hired to take care of his Orien child. And Crisp, what is he? A bodyguard, hired to keep me hidden and in line? Does it stop there, Darcy, or are there even more layers to the lies?”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them. I lean toward her, my arms held out as if the words were solid things I could grab and catch with nimble fingers. Except the look on her face tells me I am too late. That no matter how hard I try, they will never be recovered. A hollow feeling forms within my chest. I’m angry, yes, but it’s not Darcy who deserves my wrath. Before I can tell her so, she jumps to her feet, moving to the door in one quick, fluid motion.
“You have every right to be upset, Penelope Brave, but let me tell you this. I have been with you since the beginning. I have always stood by your strong-willed, precocious side, and even after today, I will not leave it. You are my niece, by blood or not.” She raises her shoulder and puffs out a breath of air that’s filled with so much emotion, I fear she might very well split in two. “Aras is here by way of the Orien King. After your little romp to the woods, he knows who you are, and more importantly, he wants you back.”
I start to rise from the bed, a million questions bubbling on my lips.
She holds up her hand. “And before you ask, I was being truthful when I said I never met your mother. None of us did. Your father made sure of that. I don’t have the heart at the moment to tell you who she is, but judging from your father’s leave and the Oriens arrival, I’d say you know she is pretty important.” Darcy opens the door, edging one shoulder out. “Now, get dressed and prepare yourself for a long afternoon. Any more questions you have should be addressed to Aras, and please, for your father’s sake, try to be civil.”
And then the door closes with a soft click, and I am left with nothing to feel but the emptiness of my chamber.
ↄ
Blood or not. Blood or not.
Her words fill my mind in an endless swirl, haunting my thoughts until I am all but a numb shell of a girl who once was. I sit alone, huddled under the soft sheets of my bed. The dress is gone now, wretched thing. A glorious hump of blue in the floor that looks more becoming there than it ever did on me.
There’s a soft knock at the door, the light vibrations the only thing moving through the lifeless room. If I had any energy or will, I’d get up and open it. Instead, I pull the covers over my head and pretend that this is all a very bad, horrid dream. The kind only Papa could wake me from.
“Brave, I’m coming in whether you invite me or not.”
The heavy door swings open, and Sara’s lithe feet stride to my side. My cheeks begin to burn with discomfort from the heat of the blankets that now bask in the rays of the afternoon sun. I only recently discovered that it shines unfavorably down on my bed through the balcony doors at this time of day. When there is light out, I’m usually not in my room to take notice. If only I had learned something from my recent three-day hiatus.
“Please tell me that you are at least wearing something under there. We are friends, Brave, but even I should be treated better than that.”
Her words carry their usual jovial tone, and I wonder if she even has any idea of what has taken place over the course of this never-ending day. I shake my head, and the sheets catch on what’s left of my tattered braid. Of course she knows what’s happened. She is the daughter of my papa’s guard—best friend to our leader’s daughter. She’s always known more than I do, and until recently, I didn’t understand just how much.
I groan loudly before ripping the sheets back from my head in a most devastated fashion. “If you can’t handle me in my undergarments by now, then I dare say you must leave, dearest Sara. You should have known better than to expect me to stay clothed in that vise for long.”
Sara smiles, although it doesn’t reach her eyes. She stretches out her hand, lightly touching her broken masterpiece of a braid. “I’m sorry.”
“For the braid… or for my complete loss of identity?”
She drops her hand and frowns. “You know what I mean. I’m sorry for everything, present braid included.”
“Well, you should be.” I sigh, standing up from the bed and making my way to the closet. “If one of your braids can’t make it through a single visit with mongrels from another land, then you have sorely embarrassed yourself. Once I’m gone back to Orien, no one will want your services. Not even Crisp, and you know he cares nothing for his hair.”
Sara bounces up and beats me to my destination, effectively pausing my heart. I’m going to have to seriously reconsider this good friend status.
“Don’t you even joke, Brave! You are not going anywhere, especially not to Orien.”
I fix her with a mock glare, grabbing a pair of black fitted pants and a loose tunic of matching flare. Mustn’t let anyone know that I am anything other than dark and moody. “And where else would you wish me to go, if not to my homeland? Perhaps I’ll even find a new friend there. One who doesn’t lie about things of importance, like say, one’s beginning.”
Sara’s eyes dart away, but not before I see them shimmer with tears. My heart plummets, and I once again find myself mulling over Darcy’s last words. She told me to be civil, and I’m sure my current behavior doesn’t qualify as such.
“I know you think me a liar, but I’m far from it. I’m never let in on the happenings of my father; you know that. We grew up together, Brave. Only ten days apart. I never suspected anything that I’ve now been told. If I had, you would have been the first to know. I promise.” She catches my hand, squeezing it in her own. “Besides, if there is anyone to blame, you know it is Crisp. He’s four years older, and I swear he’s known it since the day you were born. Think about it. Why else would he follow you around so endlessly, keeping a stern eye as if your head might very well roll off at any moment?”
Personally, I just thought he had a soft spot for the unhinged, but I nod my head anyway, taking in Sara’s careful words. “I’m sorry,” I say, wrapping her into a tight hug. “I’ll try to be more civil.”
“Oh, Brave.” She laughs. “If you were civil during a time like this, I
’d think I’d lost my friend.”
Ten
“And you’re sure you don’t have the faintest clue of who my mother is?” I ask, wincing as Sara pulls my hair back into its usual shape.
“My answer is the same as the first five times you asked it, Brave. Quite frankly, I wish I knew, so as to shut that trap of yours.”
I hear the smile in her words, but it still doesn’t do much to lighten my mood. “I know. It's just that there was something else Darcy said.” I pause, not sure if I want to know Sara’s thoughts on the subject. If they align too well with my own, I’m sure to be doomed to these dark clouds forever. “What I mean to say is, maybe it was just a slip of the tongue.”
“Spit it out, Brave.”
I roll my shoulders, building up what little courage I have left. “She said that ‘blood or not,’ I’m still her niece. What would that even mean? Blood or not? Of course I’m her blood! She’s my father’s sister. How could I not be?”
Sara pauses, taking in my words. “Maybe your mother was from a different world.”
I sputter out a shocked laugh. “Orien is otherworldly enough, thank you very much. I don’t need to feel anymore alien than I do right now!”
“Oh, it’s just, you know Darcy. She is a bit on the dramatic side. It was probably more of a purposeful slip of the tongue to make you feel bad for being so uncivil.”
A slight smile graces my lips, and I risk a glance in the mirror for the second time of the day. My personal record. Vivid green eyes stare back at me, but now I wish they were a beautiful hue of blue. “Do you really think it’s nothing?”
“Let’s put it this way. If your father could have a twin, it would be her. Same dark blue eyes. Same garden dust-colored hair. Darcy may not be a lot of things, but she is your father’s sister.”
I frown, my eyes darting back to their usual mark on the floor. “But you see, that’s what I’m afraid of. If Darcy is my father’s sister, we have to be blood. The only way is if…”
“If what?” she asks, stopping mid-brush.
“If Papa and I aren’t really blood.”
She slaps my shoulder with her free hand. “That’s wash and you know it!”
“But do I?” I prod. “Papa and I look nothing alike, truly.”
“That’s because you’ve always looked just like your mother.”
“Who no one has even seen,” I regretfully add.
“You’re wrong,” she says, dropping the brush on the dresser and pressing her hands to her sides. “There is someone who probably knew of her, and I’d bet he is waiting for you as we speak.”
“Aras Renn?” I incredulously ask. “Oh, I’m sure he knows lots of things. Lots of things I have no intention of hearing!”
Sara huffs at my obvious ignorance. “Besides, I don’t ever remember meeting my mother, but I don’t look a thing like Father. I could belong to anyone.”
I turn in my chair, taking in her button nose, straight, blonde locks, and bright blue eyes. If she belongs to anyone, it’s her father. “You’re right,” I say, deciding to humor her. “I was silly for even thinking it.”
“Yes.” She sighs, relief steaming up from her shoulders like puddles in the summer sun. “Your father loves you, more than life itself. You are his.”
“Yes.” I smile, turning in my seat and looking to the chipped floor. “I am his.”
ↄ
I walk into the dining room unattended. Crisp hasn’t shown himself since this morning, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s trying to avoid my wrath. I at least thought Darcy would show up, but after my behavior, I could quite possibly deserve her absence.
The large candles hanging over the smooth, rectangular table are lit and glowing, evidence of the dying light that trickles in through the large windows. Relief floods out of my lungs. I’m alone, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to be. If I’m being honest with myself, Aras scares me. How is it that he can make me feel both so very weak and so very strong at the same time? He doesn’t just get under my skin. He drills under and settles in for the night.
“And here I thought you wouldn’t show.”
The easy words find my ears, and I jump at his sudden presence. I spin on my heel, panic rising in my chest, as if he could reach into my mind and hear my very thoughts. I have to start thinking clearly, and by clearly, I mean not about him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Aras smiles, his dark, wavy hair no longer smoothed down, but curling about on its ends. The oddly adorable disarray makes him look like he did when I first met him in the woods, and I’m not sure if it makes him more likeable or not.
“You didn’t,” I too quickly lie, fiddling with the hem of my tunic’s smooth sleeve.
His grin grows, and I fight the pitiful urge to melt into the floor.
“Feeling better?” he asks, pulling out a chair and motioning for me to sit.
I eye him warily before selecting the chair beside it and pulling it out for myself. “As good as I’ve ever been,” I say, repeating his cool words to Weston earlier in the day.
Aras does his best to look unaffected by my lack of girlish manners and plops down in his own seat. Silence fills the room, causing my skin to prickle with unease, and I find my eyes darting about, looking for anything that can save me from this torture. I seriously consider getting up and running from the room when he clears his throat, stilling me in my seat.
“I assumed you’d have some questions for me,” he says, gliding his fingers across the grooves of the wooden table before him.
I huff, thinking his assumption quite the understatement. He grins at my reaction and throws out a gentle hand, motioning between us. “By all means, ask away, Bravest.”
“Penelope,” I say into the dark wood before me. “If you are capable of doing anything right, it should at least include calling me by my correct name.”
He edges nearer, an amused tinge in his voice. “Now, I think we both know that you’ve never wanted to be called Penelope a day in your life. Only your aunt has the audacity to do such a thing, and well, you two don’t seem to be on the best of terms.”
I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, willing my eyes to stay focused on his light pools of blue. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were plucked directly from the sky and sent here as some sort of punishment for my sins. He keeps his eyes locked on my own for several agonizing seconds before finally breaking the trance, standing up, and walking toward the far window-lined wall. I don’t move my head; I just stare uneasily at the soft, rose-colored cushion he has just left behind. Papa always insisted on the reddish hue. He said it was my mother’s favorite. I never had the heart to tell him that I think she might have had questionable taste.
“So, can I take that as a yes?” he asks, causing my eyes to jump from the cushion to his back.
Oh, Ashen. What have I missed this time?
He turns back to find me, a peculiar smirk upon his face, making his dreadful dimple stand out in the worst of ways. I haven’t a clue what he just said, so I slowly nod my head, hoping to avoid looking like a fool and getting myself into any unforeseen trouble at the same time.
“Good!” he says. “I always knew you liked it when I called you Bravest.”
Well, perfect. You know it’s been a successful day when you’ve accidentally agreed to the tarnishing of your namesake.
Ignoring the angry bubbles that steam from my pores, I stand to my feet and walk right up to his obnoxious and somewhat intimidating side, peering outside. The wind blows roughly as evening finds the small city below. Brightly colored fabric roofs ruffle in the breeze as shopkeepers close up their stalls for the night. Few lights remain lit in the hanging lanterns that line the main road, and soon the sky will be filled with smoke from each chimney’s fire.
The modest, wooden homes lie scattered about from the main square like spokes on a turning wheel. From here, I can only see the dim light of candlelit windows, but I’ve always imagined I could see mu
ch more. A dining table. A family. A husband and wife. Normalcy I dreamed of, but had never found. Despite my different beginning, I often looked down from this very window and smiled. These are my people, I always thought. Except, apparently, now they aren’t.
Thankfully, this new knowledge steels my nerves, and I turn to address the brute beside me. “You knew me before that day we met in the woods. How?”
He looks down at me over his shoulder. “A bossy little thing, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you at least say please when you’re asking for sensitive information?”
I raise my brows, refusing to back down. The pain has dulled my senses, and now I’m willing to mow others down in my quest for Papa, no matter what the cost may be for me. The past three weeks have left me with an empty sadness. A black hole yearning to be filled. If I don’t have my papa, I’m beginning to believe I have nothing.
Assured I’m not going to ask again nicely, Aras shrugs and places his hands upon the wooden lip of the window, leaning so close that his olive face nearly touches the glass. “Over the past several years, I’ve been in constant dealings with Emory.”
“Describe several,” I interrupt, leaning in beside him. The casual use of my father’s name does something funny to my stomach. A sharp ache of warning that maybe I don’t want to know what comes next.
I feel his eyes on my cheek as he turns to see if I’m serious. When I don’t bite, he groans softly before turning back to the glass. “Since I was thirteen, and if you’re counting, which I’m sure you are, that’s a little more than eight years.”
“Eight years?” I say, jumping back. “Why would Papa ever need to meet with someone from Orien, much less you, for eight years? He never mentioned a word! Ever!”
Aras leans back from the glass, crossing his arms as he watches my obvious self-combustion with an eerie calm. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t, considering I was a trusted confidant who met him in secret along the edge of Ashen’s borders at the beginning of each new season’s change. If for some reason he was unable to make it, and on many occasions, it wasn’t safe enough for him to do so, I met with your boy, Crisp. I didn’t so much enjoy those sessions, but I had orders, so I followed them. The point is, our business wasn’t that of anyone else’s, and it certainly wasn’t yours.”
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 7
