His words send a visible shock through my chest, and I move to run my hand through my hair before remembering it’s bound tight and braided into a bun. I settle for a clammy hand across my forehead and decide that for now, this will have to do. I look up to see him watching me, like he’s looking for the beginning of a mighty crack that may very well break me in two. If I didn’t know any better, I’d also say he is looking to see how the mention of Crisp’s involvement might melt my façade. Though it does worry me, I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of stressing about it. I have to focus on what’s important.
“Well, what was the purpose of these meetings then? Was it because I’m of Orien descent? Darcy swears he was trying to keep me out of trouble, although I’m not sure that was even possible, considering all that’s happened now.”
“Yes.” He considers with a slight nod. “You could say it had a lot to do with that.”
“So vague and very helpful. I appreciate it, truly.”
He barks back a laugh that bounces off the high ceiling of the room, sending goose bumps down my limbs. “Emory always said you’d be a little fiery if I ever had to deal with you in person. I just thought he was exaggerating, but then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Oh?” I ask, snapping my hands onto my hips. “And exactly why shouldn’t you be surprised?”
“Because you’re just like your mother.” His laugh is soft.
My eyes widen, and the air around me fills with a suffocating heat. “What did you just say?”
“I said,” he starts, but the look on my face must frighten him because he jumps forward, placing a warm hand upon my shoulder. “I thought she told you. Darcy. I thought that was why you were so upset. Because you knew.”
I smile sadly at his worried features, for once wishing that I really were the bravest girl he’d ever seen. “No, but she told me that you’d have plenty to say.”
He drops his hand from my shoulders, fisting it at his side before turning back to the fading light of the sun. “They really did keep everything from you, didn’t they?” he asks, more to himself than to me.
Before I can think, I reach out and take hold of his tensed forearm, willing him to look at me—help me. “Please,” I whisper. “I realize I’m sometimes a bit difficult to handle and that when the two of us enter the same room together, it feels like my head is going to explode from the very wrongness of it, but I do need your help. And if I’m right, I think you need mine.”
He takes in my words with a raised brow before his eyes carefully focus in on the hand still attached to his arm. Embarrassment lines my features and I lurch away, crossing my arms across my thundering chest. I just latched onto his arm of my own free will, and I’m not sure, but I think that action alone qualifies me as disturbingly desperate.
Oh, Papa, what’s become of me?
Aras rolls his shoulders and leans his back against the windows, all the while keeping his eyes pegged on my own. Is it horrible that I now imagine him tumbling out the window headfirst? I watch as his eyes narrow into dangerous slits, and he chews ever so slightly on his bottom lip. No, I decide. It most certainly is not horrible.
“Do you even listen to the words that come out of your mouth, Bravest?” he asks in a tone that makes me feel as though I’ve stumbled upon an angry nest of hornets.
I shrug, hoping he takes it as an air of defiance, and not the cowardly sign that I’m about to fold in on myself. Which I am. Very soon.
“You ask me for help, even though, oh, how did you so elegantly put it?” He taps his finger on his chin, eyes stretched to the ceiling in mock confusion. “Oh, yes! You want my help ‘even though when we’re in the same room together, your head feels like it might explode from the very wrongness of it.’ I did get the gist of it, right?”
I roll my eyes, while otherwise not moving a muscle. “I only said what I think we both can agree upon. When I said that I didn’t like you in the woods, you said the feeling was mutual. How was I to know you’ve had a sudden change of heart?”
“Oh, my heart has stayed sure and steady alright. I just think we could both get a lot more work done together if we weren’t so forthcoming with our true feelings. I do have my self-esteem to protect, Bravest Penelope, and you are a most vicious opponent.”
Frustration bangs against my chest with an angry, wild force, and I clamp my lips together in a tight line before the unchecked words spew across his arrogant grin. I can’t do this… except I have to.
Without so much as a sigh, I turn on my heel and plop my bottom down on a rose-colored cushion, hoping the seated position will slow the flow of the rushing blood to my overheated brain. My elbows find the table before my cheeks hit my palms. I don’t dare turn around, but I understand enough about Aras to know he’s watching me with an entertained look plastered across his face. I won’t leave this room. No, I can’t leave this room. Not until he says the words I need to hear. Until he tells me about her.
“So, I’m just like my mother, huh? You knew her well then?” The words leave my mouth in a hurried, smothered mush, and I can only hope he understands them, as I am in no mood to repeat my greatest fears. That when my mother told Papa and me to look for her in the stars, she didn’t mean that we’d really find her there. She meant she’d be looking at them from another place. Alive and well, yet gone all the same.
Aras doesn’t say anything at first, choosing to slowly meander around the table, without a care in his careless world. He pulls out the chair beside me with a messy scrape and plops down on one elbow with his head angled toward my own. “Yes, I said I know her, as in, I’ve practically grown up by her side.”
He pauses, waiting for his words to find their way into my cluttered mind. Present tense. He wants me to realize that he’s speaking in the now. The words of acknowledgement refuse to leave my mouth, and even if they could, I wouldn’t trust the pathetic cry they’d surely ring on their way out. So I give my head a subtle nod, hoping this is enough to appease him into continuing.
This time, it’s his words that are in a rush, a tinge of worry lining his features as if he thinks I won’t stick around long enough to hear him out. “She’s been alive all this time, Bravest, and there isn’t a day that she hasn’t thought of you. Darcy was right. This was all for your protection. She placed you in Emory’s care,” he pauses for a heavy second, rephrasing his words, “in your papa’s care, because she knew it was the only way for you to live a normal life.”
His soft words do nothing to soothe the dull ache in my soul, and I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking the tears before they even have a chance to form. “Is life really so bad in Orien?” I ask, opening my eyes to look into his. “If that’s the case, why would you think I’d ever go back? She obviously had a good reason for leaving me. Why would she care so much to have me back now?”
“It’s not…” He pauses again, choosing to look down at the wood before him rather than face my scrutiny, or maybe my complete loss of hope. “It’s not her who wants you back. I mean, of course, if things were different, she’d have you back in a heartbeat, but she’s always been protecting you. She’s always kept you safe from him until now. That’s the problem. She’s—”
Before I realize it, I find myself up and moving across the room, the open doors calling me like careful arms, pulling me into their embrace. I taste the tears on my lip and wonder when in this conversation did I truly begin to let go of the flood I was so carefully holding back. Was it when he said that she was alive? Or that she couldn’t have me back? Or that she could no longer keep me safe? And now, of all things, it sounds as if something has happened to her. Her. This ghost of a mother whose only gift was to give me away and watch me from afar. For some reason, I find myself caring, and for the very life of me, I wish I didn’t.
“Bravest,” he calls, coming to a stand as he freezes my retreat. “Please. I know this all sounds crazy, but you must believe me. Your mother is in jeopardy, because, well, because of everything she
did to protect you. That’s why Emory left, and that’s why no one has gone after him. They believe it to be a lost cause, which maybe it is, but when you chose to leave the safety of Ashen, you walked right into his trap. He knew it was you from the moment your feet hit the forest floor. From the very moment…” He pauses, rubbing his hand roughly through his dark hair. “Well, he just knew.”
Although I now stand perfectly still, my feet planted before the doors, I feel the pound of my heart seeping throughout every single inch of my wary frame. Silent tears blur my vision, and I fight the black dots and heavy fog that struggle to take me down. Aras keeps spouting of he, he, he, but right now, it’s the last thing I want to hear. I only want to hear about her.
“Who is she?” I whisper in a calm voice, much braver than my own.
His olive cheeks lose some of their vibrant color, and I start to turn before he even opens his mouth. “Ingrid, Bravest. Ingrid, Queen of Orien, and whose life I serve.”
My shoulders hunch forward, his words a literal blow to my stomach. I can’t take it. I can’t hear anymore.
“Aras,” I breathe, stumbling through the doors just as the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place. Because I may not know much about the outside world, but I do know enough. Every queen has a king, and there can be only one person she’d want to protect me from.
“Wait!” he calls, the sounds of his steps rounding the table to follow.
But I don’t slow. I don’t think. Instead, my feet pound the heavy floors, and I can’t move fast enough to save what’s left of my shattered life. I know he has more to say, and it’s that fear that keeps me moving through the narrow halls toward the garden’s entrance.
“Bravest! Please! Your father—”
At his words, my hands fly to my ears in an effort to keep the inevitable from reaching my heart, although if I’m being truly honest, I know it was already there all along. There’s someone dark and powerful who lives in Orien, and he’s been deceived, just as I have. And now… now he wants me back.
“Not hearing the words won’t keep them from being true!” Aras calls in a desperate attempt to keep up through the winding halls. “I can help you. You have to protect yourself! Emory trusts me. You can trust me! I’m only telling you what no one else had the heart to say. You have to realize by now that Emory isn’t—”
My hands meet the door with a violent thump. It springs open, the cool night air chilling the tears that streak my face. The sudden space leaves me gasping, and I land on my knees in a tangled heap. I breathe in tightly through my nose, tilting my head to the open sky, and almost, almost forget his last words that found me before I could fight my way out the door.
Eleven
My Dearest Brave,
As I write these very words, my heart prays for your forgiveness. I will not be able to meet you for breakfast as I had promised, and it hurts my soul that I dare not say when I’ll be able to meet you again. Things are changing, my love, and not for the better. It is with this knowledge that I must leave you in the care of the people whom I trust most, so I may beat the change that threatens its cruel hand upon us. I know this must make you feel angry and hurt, but you must understand that what I do now, I do for you. I do for us all.
I’ve told no one of my plans, not even Crisp, so try not to harass him too much. I will try my best to return, and until then, please do not leave the safety of Ashen. There is too much at stake, Brave, even though I know you’re more than willing to take it on. I can’t do what I need to do if I’m also worrying about you. (And yes, this is your father shamelessly trying to guilt you into listening for once. Funny, I haven’t the least bit of qualms about it either, my child.)
Although I know you’ve heard me say it a thousand times, I must leave you with this—from the very moment we met, you took a piece of my soul and you flew away with it. When you jumped, I jumped; when you ran, I ran; and when you climbed, I climbed. You tumbled into my world, wild and unseen. I’ve never been more grateful for any gift in my life. The gift of you.
So as you find yourself alone, do not worry and do not fear. You are always with me, my Brave, for you are my heart. Until I find home, look to the stars, for you’ll find me there.
My love,
Papa
The now-worn paper looks up at me, barely visible in even this bright, starry night. The tears have all but stopped now, dried up and flown away to the sky, but that doesn’t mean I hurt any less. If anything, I think it means I can feel the pain more than ever. The tears distracted me, soothed me, and kept my very darkest thoughts at bay. Now that they’re gone, I can feel the black tendrils creeping back into my mind, digging in deep, looking for a place to take root.
I can’t let them have me.
Carefully, I place the paper on the dirt floor beside me and ease onto my back. With my knees pulled up and my arms folded behind my head, it’s easier to pretend this isn’t real. That I haven’t just discovered my entire existence is a lie. That I haven’t just lost everything I love the most. Although I try not to, I find my eyes slowly drifting up to the night sky, the last words of Papa’s letter echoing in my soul.
I still need to find you, Papa, even if you are not my own.
In response, the stars seem to shift and sparkle more than usual tonight. I have yet to see one shooting across the sky, but something tells me that if I look long enough, I will. For a moment, I imagine the darkness of the deep sky pulling me up into the clouds, begging me to join them. I once thought that my mother was there waiting for me, but now that I know she isn’t, I’m not so sure I’ll ever be ready to go.
I close my eyes, feeling the comfort of my own darkness, and the sensation stops, grounding me with it. When I open them again, I’m greeted with two stars shooting across the sky, and my heart jumps in my chest. Two. I’ve never seen two. I sit up straight, rubbing my eyes until small, black dots blur my vision.
“You look as though they can talk back to you,” a deep voice calls out, making my shoulders instantly still and rigid, before I grudgingly forget the stars and flop back to the ground in a graceless heap.
When I don’t respond, Aras strolls to my side, the dry dirt rising slightly with his boots. Without waiting for an invitation, he plops down beside me, immediately encircling his arms around his knees. I try not to flinch at his close proximity. I try not to even look his way.
While I sat hunched in the dirt, reading over and dissecting Papa’s letter for what has seemed like hours, he was there. I never saw him, but I could feel him all the same. I imagined he stood close to the door, his back against the stone wall, watching me in all of my crazy glory. Although he seems to have once again found his ill-timed humor, I know he was anything but smiles as he watched me scour my papa’s letter like a mad woman searching for air. Even Aras has a heart, I’ve come to find.
A strange and very tiny one, but a heart all the same.
He earned my respect in those hours of silence, although I’m sure he is about to take it all back at any moment. Besides, it’s not him who I should be angry with. I’m not actually sure I should be angry with anyone. Hurt, yes, but anger? Papa has always said anger would only make me weak, and now that I’ve had a good taste, I can’t help but think that he was right.
Aras turns his head, and I immediately feel his heavy gaze upon my cheek. He doesn’t say anything at first, choosing only to blink those excruciatingly long lashes as if time alone will give him a clearer picture of the mess that is now before him. I snort lightly to myself. Good luck with that.
He laughs under his breath, clearly entertained that I’m not going to acknowledge his presence, and looks to the sky. “Wait a minute. I mean, surely…” He stops mid-sentence, snapping his head in my direction. “They aren’t really talking back to you, are they?”
This does earn him a glare, and a nasty one at that. “Yes, Aras. Of course they are, and right now, they’re telling me that they want you dead.”
He stills, obviously checking my
sanity, before rolling onto his back, his shoulder brushing close to my own. Too close, in fact.
“Look,” he says, letting out a breath. “I get that you don’t like me. I mean, if I were in your position, I have to admit, it may take me a few days to come around, even to someone as clearly charming as myself.”
I roll my head to face him, checking to see if he is indeed as full of himself as I had originally believed. He waves off my skepticism with a shrug, and our shoulders end up even closer than they were to begin with.
Dreadful boy.
“What I mean to say is, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. I meant what I said when I told Darcy I would never hurt you. You have to understand that although I am but a stranger to you, albeit a very handsome one, I’ve known of you forever. I owe Queen Ingrid my life, and for that, I will freely give it to her. If that means chasing you down in a foreign, backward land and protecting your stubborn tail, then so be it.”
The mere mention of my mother’s name raises the hairs on my neck, even more so than Aras’ ever-so-cocky speech. I have no idea why he feels so indebted to her, and I have a feeling that learning the truth would only bring me further down into his thick web of trouble. Perhaps what bothers me the most is his obvious will to protect me, although by coming here with the clear purpose of bringing me back to my supposedly dangerous homeland, he doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job of it. Wouldn’t I just be better off hiding somewhere else and waiting for Papa to return?
“Why now, Aras?” I ask, sitting up to break the heat from our burning shoulders. “And why send you to do it? You’re the queen’s guard. If she’s in trouble, doesn’t she need, you know, your expertise at home?”
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 8
