“Penelope! Child, you scared me so! I thought that Neanderthal had taken off with you!”
I feel the moment she spots the said Neanderthal in the room because her arms tense, though she makes no attempt to apologize for her words.
Good for you, Darcy. Good for you.
Aras shrugs, as if being called Neanderthal is the very least of his worries, and he strides to the door, a begrudging Crisp in tow. “We’ll be taking our leave now to avoid any more unfortunate name calling. If you need us, we’ll be preparing for tomorrow’s departure.” He turns to me, his blue eyes bright. “We’re heading out early, Bravest. I hope to find you up, ready, and in the cheeriest of moods.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” I say, squaring my shoulders to his towering frame, “because I can guarantee at least two of those things.”
His smile is wide and catlike. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, you and me.” At his words, Crisp’s rough hand finds his shoulder, and then the two are gone, leaving my heart beating wildly in their absence.
“Well, he’s quite a pleasant one, isn’t he?” Darcy frowns, pulling my forgotten hood from my head. “Let’s just make sure we never find him too pleasant, hmmm?”
“Darcy!” I shout, more offended than embarrassed. Aras may possess certain skills when it comes to the ladies, but I will never find him pleasant in any shape or form. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if my dear aunt knows as little about me as I seem to know about her.
Pleasant. I’d rather drink one of Papa’s concoctions and vomit for days.
“I’m just stating the obvious, dear,” she says, making a sour face as she pulls the nappy strings of hair from my unraveling bun. “Your father never told me much of Aras, though I always assumed that’s who he met with. Aras has possessed the ability to woo from a very young age. I’d dare say he even had it when we left for this cursed land. The boy had an agenda then. He still has one now.”
“Darcy! How can you say such a thing about a child?”
Her words are harsh, but a part of me, buried deep in my treacherous heart, wants to believe her. What are Aras’ intentions? He says he lives to serve my mother, yet he is here in Knox’s name. Although they should be one in the same, it’s very clear that they are not. Obviously, Papa trusted him, but will he truly protect me when the time comes?
“Well, he’s not a child at the moment, now is he?” she says, giving me a long, sideways glance.
I grunt, and Darcy smiles in clear victory. “Now, let’s get some water for that bath before the wild creatures of the woods take permanent root in your nest of hair.”
And for once, I couldn’t agree more.
ↄ
The bath was long, hot, and, evidently, just what I needed. I’d like to say that the soak pulled away some of the hurt and confusion from days past, but, unfortunately, I think that will take multiple dips over multiple lifetimes to accomplish.
Perhaps I should soak more often.
“I can’t believe that this is our last night together,” Sara says as she takes another roll from the large platter sitting atop my pillowed comforter. “It just seems surreal. As if tomorrow I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.”
“A dream that you’ve been living since birth?” I ask, taking a bite of flavored cheese.
Sara doesn’t respond, just flips back on the pillows, an unfathomable amount of bread filling her mouth. It’s a rare occasion, this. Eating food in my room and wallowing in our own sorrow together. It’s the only sign that Darcy is truly affected by all this. My leaving to join my real father and possibly never coming back, that is. Under normal circumstances, she would never allow this lack of decency. In fact, I’m quite positive she would strangle us both.
Thank goodness that she feels bad for me.
“Now Penelope,” Darcy chides, “just because Sara has lived in Ashen all of her life doesn’t mean she was aware of everything living here entails.”
I shrug my shoulders, refusing to be drawn into another debate. Whether Sara knew of my secrets or not, it doesn’t do much good to fuss about it now. I was just stating the obvious. I’d like to think Darcy knew me better by now. On second thought, maybe she does and she’s just trying to break me.
“Besides, your bags are already packed, and there is nothing we can say or do to change it. You’ll just have to make it back to us, and that’s that.”
My eyes look up to find her own, a thin veil of moisture threatening to spill over to her worried cheeks. I reach for her hand, grasping it tightly in my own.
“I’ll always come back to you, Darcy. Ashen isn’t cursed. It’s my home. It’s our home. No one is going to take that from us. Not even the king of Orien. Especially not him.”
She smiles, the warmest look I’ve seen her give in ages. “I know you’ll come back to me, child. And when you do, I’ll be ready.”
Her words send a funny tingle through my ears. Their eerie similarity to Sal’s not going unnoticed.
“All I ask is that you greet me with open arms, Darcy,” I say, pulling her into a tight embrace.
An embrace so fierce that I imagine it will never leave me, even when I’m far, far away from home.
Fourteen
The sunlight filters through the windows like tangled fingers, eager to reach hold of my tall, collared tunic and pull me into the shadows of the unknown, and I’ve never felt more alone. Is this what it feels like to leave behind one identity to gain another? The one I should have held all along. No, this is what it is like when your true life is ripped away. The one with Papa and the people of Ashen. The people who have given me a home. This new place. This new me. This new father. They don’t change things, not the things that really matter. At least that’s what I hope.
Below me, my small band of friends circles around Aras as he explains the grand plans for our trip. I’m surprised he hasn’t spotted me yet, staring out the window like a woman who has just bartered her soul. I keep waiting for his wicked grin to find me through the glass. Though perhaps it would be better to have been seen by him than Crisp. I don’t know how much longer I can take his looks with those sad eyes that beg me to stay, yet beg me to go. I wish he would stop looking my way at all. It makes my heart lurch in uncomfortable beats, and it does absolutely nothing for the forced bravado I’m trying to build as I make my appearance. If I keep standing here watching him, while he watches me, I’ll never leave. And I’ll never find Papa.
Suddenly, a loud pop sounds against the window, and I look up just in time to see the small rock bouncing back into the space below. Aras stands with his hands on his hips, lips pressed into a thin line that very much matches his irritated posture. He doesn’t say a word, but I know what he’s thinking all the same.
Are you coming or not?
I grab my black pack, fraying at the edges from its many adventures with Papa as a child, and slam it hard against the window.
Well, what does it look like to you? Yes, I’m coming!
Aras stares at me only for a moment before bowing down in an exaggerated flourish. When he rises, his eyes meet mine.
I glare.
He smiles.
Like lightning, I shoot away from the window, rounding through the quiet halls and out the front door to where my idiot of a guide and farewell party awaits. In terms of celebrating one’s rite of passage into the real world, so far, this ordeal isn’t going so great. When he sees me, Aras starts to spout off something smart, but one look at my face has him rethinking his desire to live. He turns on his foot, busying himself with his overly large pack.
Does it surprise me that he has so much to carry? Not in the least bit. I know I should contain it, but a wry smile winds its way across my face.
“Oh, would you stop looking at him like that!” Darcy whispers madly in my ear, surprising me with her presence as she fusses with my tunic’s collar. Though she doesn’t say anything, I know she disapproves of my attire. I can almost smell the blood she’s drawn from bit
ing her tongue.
“I’m only looking at him like that because he finds such pleasure in torturing my broken soul. I think I may very well die of poor companionship before I ever make it to Orien.”
“Don’t even talk like that,” Crisp breaks in, shouldering right up to my side. “You’ll make it to Orien, and then you’ll make it right back.”
Before he can stop me, I surprise him with a swift hug, pulling him tight against my chest. “You know I’m only kidding, Crisp. If anyone is going to meet their end, it won’t be me.” Crisp’s chest tightens in a heavy laugh, and I allow my distracting thoughts to become lost in his warm arms and the security of his steady heart.
“Please come back to us,” he whispers. His soft words sound like the sweetest of pleas, and I don’t have the courage to tell him the truth. That I’ll only come back if my papa does, too. I’m afraid he might hate me for it. So instead, I hold him a little tighter, hoping that the memory of his quiet friendship will be enough to cover all of my regrets.
“It will be as if I never left.” I smile.
From behind, Aras clears his throat, annoyed he has had to wait this long. “Now that we’ve clearly gotten the inappropriate goodbyes out of the way, if you’re ready, Bravest, we must take our leave.”
I slowly slip from Crisp’s embrace to find Aras standing with both of our packs shouldered across his back, his hands once again pressed firmly on his hips. My eyes narrow as I walk up to him, arms held out wide.
“I can carry my pack.”
“It’s no bother. Besides, I plan to move quickly, and the less slowing us down, the better.”
Only he would turn something courteous into something completely not. “That pack is important to me,” I say, switching tactics with a serious tone. “I don’t want to lose it.”
Aras’ smug features fall for a moment, realizing the pack must hold my papa’s letter. Something that whether he likes it or not, he knows means the world to me. Without warning, he slams the bag into my chest, and I latch hold as if it’s my only means of survival. Which it isn’t. Papa’s letter lies safely tucked away in my pant pocket, but the desire to be in control of something, anything, is drowning away all of my fears. If I can’t control my future, at least I can control my meager belongings.
Aras nods to our small gathering before walking toward the front gates. I start to follow, but then stop, turning to take them all in once more. Crisp’s features stay blank, while Darcy’s mold into something unrecognizable. Something that may be akin to fear. Weston hangs back by my side, waiting for me to make the first move and follow Aras out of the gates. Out of the world as I know it. His features are smooth and calm, which I think he means to be reassuring, although the effect is anything but. The only one missing is Sara. I’m heartbroken she isn’t here, but I can’t help but feel that it is better this way. Maybe I can be stronger if the last memory I have of her is lounging across my bed with an epic amount of food spilling from her mouth.
Yes, I think, fighting back an uneasy swell of emotion. It is much, much better this way.
Following Aras’ lead, who seems to have made an art of leaving abruptly, I nod a shaky head and turn to the beckoning gates. Before I can make two good steps, Darcy stops me in my tracks.
“Penelope!” she calls, running up to my side. Her hands hurry to meet my own as she pushes something into my fingers.
The scratchy paper burns against my palm. Aras’ letter. The one I purposely left behind on my table, but didn’t have the heart to burn. I was hoping she would do it for me.
“This means nothing to me,” I whisper, secretly willing the words to be true and hating that I don’t know why they aren’t.
“I know, dear,” she says, eyeing me with patience. “I just don’t want you to forget.”
“Forget what?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to ensure that Aras is still moving.
“Forget that this is a game. One that he is very skilled at winning, if you aren’t too careful. Keep it,” she says, closing my hand around it, “and remember that the only person you can trust is yourself.”
I frown at her obvious lack of confidence in my ability to think straight and shove the letter into my pack. “I’ll never forget, Darcy, and I’ll always win. Papa raised me that way, and you did, too.”
“Good girl,” she says, kissing my cheek and pushing me away. “Now, hurry, before you lose him already!”
I groan loudly, and if I didn’t know any better, Weston stifles a small laugh as I turn to follow Aras’ path. With each step, my brain becomes more muddled until I am nothing at all. A leaf floating down the stream with no real aim or destination. Because even though my feet may think they leave for Orien, they don’t. They leave for my papa, and if Aras isn’t leading me there, then at first chance, I’ll run. I’ll do it on my own.
As soon as we top the small hill that leads down to the main, dusty street, my heart stops and my reluctant feet with it. There, along each side of the road, stand my people. The people of Ashen. Their dark green tunics somehow shine in the sun, lighting a path for my final walk out of the city that has given me so much. It’s our unofficial color, the green. It’s why I wear it today, even if it is one of Crisp’s old hand-me-downs. Papa said the color united us with the earth. That it represented our link to something so precious, to something that kept us alive. But no matter what, I’ve always liked it because it’s beautiful… and because Papa always said it brings out my eyes.
A warm hand prods my shoulder, and I look up, surprised to find Weston with such a tender look upon his face. We walk forward, and then his deep voice fills the air.
“We lose not our dearest Brave today, but instead, we gain our strength. For she will lead us out of this darkness. She will lead us home. When she returns, we will follow her, and she will make us whole. She is our Ashen! She is our hope! She is our Brave!”
“Brave!” the voices chant in unison.
Weston’s hand tightens around my shoulder, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m shaking. As the people before me bow to their knees and lift up their heads to see me as I shuffle by, small black dots fill my vision and their chants become muted to my ringing ears. And it’s not until I feel the rough hands of Aras against my elbow that I notice my stumble, a plume of dust rising into the air as my boots skid against the dry dirt and rock.
Weston’s words come hot against my ear. “Do not be afraid, Brave. Emory always told us that you were destined to do great things, and although we may not have shown it, we always believed. We believed and we waited. Today, we wait no more.”
“Weston,” I breathe, leaning into Aras as if he were the only thing that could keep me up, “you’re starting to sound like a lunatic. If Papa were here, I very much doubt he’d like it. In fact, I think I may have the power to demote you at this very second.”
Weston only chuckles before raising his hands to our people who line the street. Though no one leaves, everyone rises and stands in complete silence. A look of solace upon each face. My eyes jump about before resigning to the hard ground beneath my feet. I can’t take the expressions on their faces.
It looks too much like hope, and it feels too much like pressure.
Though our walk isn’t long, each step toward the entrance feels like a day. I foolishly hoped that as I neared the gates to our home, others would leave and go about their more important business for the day. They don’t, and it haunts me all the way to the tall, wooden doors that screech open at my approach. Just as I’m shaking Weston’s hand with a firm grasp, a voice calls out from the crowd.
“Brave! Wait!”
The sea of Ashens part, and Sara pushes her way through the crowd, running with a lithe step that I’ve always envied. Aras drops my arm as she crushes me into a fierce hug, and I stretch my arms around her, wishing never to let go. Together, we breathe, and all too soon, she breaks away, shoving a wrapped cloth into my chest.
“Open it later,” she says, and then whispers into m
y ear. “There are things much more important than blood.”
She leaves me then, a flurry of blonde hair and grit, back into the crowd, and away from my lonely heart. It’s not until we’ve crossed the bridge that hangs unsteadily over the rushing waters, and Aras’ walk turns into a light jog, that I begin to cry. The tears come slowly at first. Small, random drops that roll steady and silent down my flushed cheeks. Barely present, but there all the same. And then, as if they were only biding their time, they pour. They drown. They devour. If it weren’t for the tall grass, swaying comfortingly across my knuckles as I run alongside Aras through the field, I highly doubt I’d know where I am. I could be floating in the clouds, caught in the middle of a giant, brewing storm. Waiting to be torn apart and taken away.
But I’m not, and despite how much I may wish it, I’ll never be. Instead, I am here, chasing Aras through the fields and straight into a life that is not my own. I know he hears my tears and labored breathing, but he doesn’t say a word, and for that, I find myself incredibly grateful. His pace is strong and fast, and while my first reaction was to jump on his back and claw his face, the run has calmed my senses, bringing me back to myself. It’s as if he knows I need to not just get away, but to flee. However, it’s also quite possible that he’s just doing it to agitate me.
Without warning, Aras pulls up short, his tight black tunic and matching pants now darkened and soaked through from the dewy grass and sweat. I stop beside him, placing my hands on my knees, not the least bit ashamed to be a little more than winded. As I look up at him, I blow a puff of air to remove a strand of sweaty hair that has somehow escaped my braid. The tips of his mouth tilt down and a hand reaches out to my face. Taken aback, I freeze, terrified that he’s going to push the strand behind my ear, but his fingertips only slide past as he lightly pulls on my tunic’s green collar.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
