“You should be thanking the stars right now that I traded for that extra pallet, or else you’d be in for one painful night on these boards.” He pauses, waiting to gain the required reaction for his awful prodding. When I don’t even blink, he goes for the throat. “Although, I hope you don’t mind sharing.” At his words, he holds up the blanket like a prize, which strangely, looks much smaller than it did before.
“Actually, Aras, I don’t mind at all,” I say, a secret joy shooting through my veins at the sight of his shocked face. “In fact, I’m more than willing to let you have it all to yourself.” I grab my pack, holding it up for good measure. “Darcy actually packed me one of her own. She seems to have an eerie foresight for situations such as this, bless her.”
Aras laughs. I mean, truly, completely, blissfully laughs. The noise is so surprising and thrilling that goose bumps line my arms, and I hug my bag tightly, taking in this new boy and his infectious sounds.
“Even from afar, Darcy has long been a thorn in my side, so I can’t say that I’m surprised.” He smiles crookedly, his brows wiggling as he teases. “She ruins everything.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, a hand shooting to my mouth as if I could take it back. Heat rises to my cheeks, and for the first time since I’ve met him, a wild thought comes to mind.
Does Aras tease to joke, or does he tease to hide tiny pieces of the truth?
Seemingly aware of my sudden debate, his eyes dart away as if being stung, and he busies himself with the pallets across the floor. “I’ll take first watch, though I think we’ll be fine. Get some rest, so maybe tomorrow you can keep up. We’ll leave out early, so be prepared.”
I’m not sure why he’s suddenly concerned about my ability to pack up one tiny bag, but I hold back my usual retort and settle for complete ignorance. His pleasant-to-jerk switch is obviously malfunctioning, and I’d much rather he just stay on the more predictable jerk mode than migrate an uneasy path between the two. Besides, I’m not accustomed to blushes, and I find they are rather unpleasant. And for the weak.
Gingerly moving to my pallet as if I’m the only one in the room, I lie down with my back to him and try to block out any other foolish thoughts about this boy that may try to worm their way into my soul. Without a word, the light blows out, and I feel Aras as he moves to make himself comfortable against the wall. The access rope is pooled in a safe pile on the floor, but a part of me is still thankful for his willingness to keep watch. He may trust his friends, but I don’t.
“Bravest,” his voice whispers, so tender that I almost feign sleep to avoid the betraying call of my heart.
“Yes?”
Darn you, heart.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
My head melts into my makeshift pack pillow, and I pull my one cover up until it brushes my ears.
“Me, too, Aras. Me, too.”
ↄ
The woods hum with excitement, but the longer I stand here, alone and unsure, I think it may be danger. It’s different this time—my wait for The Lost. Though the sun’s rays shine brightly through the thick leaves above, I’m not prepared. I’m not even sure why I’m here.
A twig snaps to my left, and I turn my head, the trees around me blurring into one. When my vision clears, he stands before me. Painted, bloodied, and alone. My eyes sting in their search for the arrow’s wooden shaft, but come up empty. The sight doesn’t give me comfort. In fact, it only adds to my growing fright. If this man doesn’t have an arrow in his neck, it means he can’t be a dream.
It means he’s come to haunt me from the dead.
“I should have known you’d be back,” he says, his voice smooth, but with a sharp edge of warning.
His words startle me more than the sight of him, and I jump, straightening my shoulders as if to fight him off. He gives an ugly smile, one covered with browns, greens, and a tinge of oozing red. I step back, reaching for my dagger. This time, it isn’t there.
“Still relying on your old methods, I see,” he barks, boots pounding the forest floor as he closes the space between us. Before I can think to move, he’s upon me. Dark, brooding, enraged. His rough fingers grab my chin, and he tilts my face, forcing me to meet his wild eyes.
“You should have just set me ablaze.”
And then, just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, melting into the forest. I reach up a shaky hand to my marked chin. Slick, green paint tints my fingers. Frantic, I turn to find the still waters, my safe haven the last time I was here. I fall to my knees in the dry, cracked mud before it, steeling myself for the image I’m sure to see. Except this time, it’s not my own reflection. It’s not even Aras’.
It’s nothing, as if I’m not even there at all.
A low growl sounds from across the waters, and my head snaps up, dread filling my bones at the sight of my new guest. Crouching close to the waters, his head tucked low and eyes trained solely on my own, sits a cat. No, not just a cat. A panther. A sleek, soot-black panther, with startling blue eyes that could light up the night. He doesn’t growl again. He doesn’t move. He just stares with intent. A silent plea written in his piercing gaze.
He wants me to cross the waters, and he’ll wait all day until I do.
Standing on slow, hesitant legs, I eye him on the other side. It’s a short distance, nothing more than a few paces, but it feels like the widest water I’ve ever had to cross. My heart hammers in my ears, and I wonder if he were to make a noise, if I’d even hear it at all. I look down just as my boot meets the muddied floor of the wet waters before me. I take one gentle step, and then another. Six steps in all, until I’m right before his dark paws, waiting patiently on dry land.
Just as I reach him, an image dances below my boots, and I squat down, water lapping at my thighs. There before me is a face. Not just any face, but my own. My dark hair is pulled back tightly into its braided bun, only a few wisps escaping and falling around my cheeks. My green eyes stare back with a fullness that I’ve not yet seen—an understanding that while I may not have controlled my past, I certainly control my future. My round chin, clear of paint, rises slightly, acknowledging this new fate. One that will not be controlled by the ghost of my mother, but the spirit of myself. As the waters shift with the touch of the panther’s paws, I’ve never felt more at peace, but most importantly, I’ve never felt braver.
Edging close to my side, the panther stops, seemingly aware that my sudden reflection has not only appeared, but also changed. I look away from the waters, eyes now intent on the powerful beast before me.
Slowly, but without fear, I reach out my hand.
Seventeen
I awake with a start. Cool sweat leaving dark tendrils plastered to my cheeks like dried rivers from a broken past. The low light of the room confuses my senses, and my heart skips, unease forming at where I could be. A soft boot scrubs across the floor as a hunched figure struggles to fold an unused pallet.
Oh, Ashen. I’ve overslept.
Rising carefully, running a quick hand through my tangled hair before he can eye me too closely, I clear my throat, alerting him of my return to the living world.
“How long was I out?” I ask before regretting my words. From the way the faint light dances in from the corners of the thick tarp, I can guess that it’s well past dawn. I can also guess that Aras never woke me to get some rest, or he tried, and I wouldn’t stir. I can feel the heat as it tries to engulf my cheeks, but I shake it off, determined not to let it get the best of me. I’m sure to embarrass myself much more before the end of this adventure, so there’s no sense in berating myself when I still have many wonderful opportunities to go. Besides, that’s Aras’ job.
“Long enough.” He shrugs, finally winning his battle with the pallet and tucking it safely away.
I bristle at his cool tone, but decide that for the sake of finding Papa, I’ll let it go this time. And probably the next. At this point, I’ll let anything go as long as it ends with what I want. What I need.
“I didn’t mean to oversleep. I hope you didn’t try to wake me.”
At my soft words, he turns. For the first time, I notice the rumpled state of his dark hair, a sure sign he did find sleep after all. A faint flame appears in his hand as a match brightens the room and sets the lantern alight. His dark pants remain the same, but he’s exchanged his black tunic for a rich brown one, with a collar rising so high that the tips of his hair nearly reach it in a wild, curling mess. The edges of his chin and face look darker than usual, and I’m surprised to find the first signs of faint stubble forming on his cheeks. He looks relaxed—kind even. The sight of him unnerves me, and I look away before he can sense my eyes roaming every inch of his being. It feels too intimate for some reason, seeing him this way. When I first rise in the morning, I see Darcy, maybe Papa, and that’s about it. Never, ever, have I awoken to a man who wasn’t family. Much less one like this, because this Aras, he may very well be a treasure.
Instantly, my lungs deflate at the thought, and shame floods my senses. It’s as if I’ve been privy to something secret and carefully guarded, this morning Aras. I have a feeling it’s something few others have had the privilege of seeing. Well, I say few others, but knowing Aras, it may very well be a few others too many.
I try not to squirm as I feel his eyes take in my disheveled appearance. The curling, monstrous hair. The sweat-laced tunic and swollen eyes. Basically the one where I awake from tangling with a dangerous jungle cat.
“I never tried to wake you.” He hesitates, for once measuring his words. “You looked as if you needed the rest.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap, wishing I were one of those women who get up on the bright side of sunny.
He chews on his bottom lip, eyes darting to my nest of hair before back to my face again. “It means you had an interesting night. Surely, you remember something? You spoke so clearly that I was almost positive you were awake. But then you called out to your papa, and I knew.” His voice trails off, as if embarrassed, although I’m the one who should be beaming red.
My eyes lower to the floor, wishing I could melt between the boards and disappear into the trees. “It was a dream. A horrible dream,” I say, hating the quiver of my voice as the words leave my mouth. “I’m so sorry. It’s never happened before. The bad dreams, I mean. I would have warned you. It’s just, I’m not used to sleeping in the same,” I pause, now my turn to debate my words, “area, as someone else.”
Aras’ brows scrunch up and his mouth twists with irritation. “Skies above, Bravest. You don’t apologize for a bad dream. We all have them. Goodness knows I have.”
His eyes turn away at his last words, and he begins to busy himself with the rest of his pack. Not once has Aras struck me as the type of person who could be burdened with bad dreams. Never. He has always seemed so strong, solid, and above all else, too sure of himself. But now I wonder about the dark shadows that could reach out to grab a person such as Aras, the queen’s guard from Orien. I want to know what has hurt him, and weirdly enough, I don’t want it to do it again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, surprising me with his words.
Though his back still remains to me, and it would be much easier to push him away, for some reason I can’t find it within myself to stay hidden any longer. So I decide to start with the truth. “Not right now, but maybe once we begin moving again. I think I’m prepared to leave, whether that surprises you or not.”
His head turns slightly, but not before I see the grin forming on his lips. “Oh, Bravest, if being with you has taught me anything, it’s not to be surprised. Now, get some breakfast, and for the trees’ sake, brush that hair.”
I smirk, replying with a gesture that Darcy would describe as rude.
ↄ
Our walk, which amounts to more of a swift jog through treacherous limbs and roots, is unenjoyable at best. Though I can tell that Aras keeps his ears well trained on the woods around us, he keeps the pace of a wild boar, and I find myself despising him with every step. Add the fact that my stomach has been swirling since my light breakfast of Darcy’s sweet bread and fruit, and I can feel myself edging closer and closer to a major disaster. My dark pants feel too tight against my stomach, and I’ve already loosened the small belt around my tunic’s waist. Although I could have changed once Aras carefully made his way down the treehouse rope, I decided to wear Crisp’s hand-me-down for one more day. Not only does it make me think of him and home, but it also reminds me of why I left.
There is one positive to the day’s march, if you can call it that. The whispers that so devastated my ears have gone away, leaving an uneasy peace that only seems to set me further on edge. Every now and then, Aras darts a look over his shoulder, as if he expects to find me incapacitated on the ground. I’d tell him not to worry, but honestly, he should.
“Do you want to break for lunch?” he asks, slowing his pace to that of a more reasonable rabbit.
My stomach rolls at the thought, and I try to keep the revulsion from reaching my face.
“I think I’m still full from breakfast,” I say, hoping that the new beads of sweat across my forehead are from this intense trek and not from the thought of eating food.
Something isn’t right, and it hasn’t been since I first entered these forsaken woods.
Suddenly, Aras does the unthinkable. He stops. Turning on his heel, he walks toward me, an unreadable expression on his face. When his hand reaches out to touch my cheek, it’s a wonder I don’t faint from its coolness.
“Bravest! You’re burning up!”
Before I can protest, he grabs me under the arms and lowers me to the rough ground below. My stomach protests with the added pressure, and I frantically flap my arms in an attempt to knock him away.
“Hold still!” he says through his teeth. “I’m only trying to help.”
But help is the last thing I need right now. In fact, the only thing I need is space and lots of it. “Aras, I think—” And before I can even finish my sentence, I’m relieved of my breakfast in the most embarrassing of ways. Aras jumps back, thankfully missing the mess by inches. Crisp’s tunic, however, isn’t quite so lucky. Instead of running away and berating me for my foolishness, Aras sighs, pushing the matted strands of hair back from my tired eyes.
“I wish you would have told me that you still weren’t feeling well. I thought it had passed.”
What is he talking about? Not feeling well? Does he mean the voices that pierced my brain or my stomach wanting to eat itself from the inside out? Because these are obviously two very different, unconnected things. Aren’t they?
Thankfully, he catches my worried glance. “Being in the woods for an extended period of time may have upset your natural state, so to speak. Now, you’re past the barrier and—”
My hand flies to his chest where he kneels before me, speaking nonsense as if it were the clearest explanation in the world. He doesn’t take notice. Raking his hands through his dampened hair, he turns his eyes to the treetops as though he could easily see the sky above.
“I can’t believe it! Of all the lies, of all the betrayals, this one thing he chooses to be honest about. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t for one second—”
“Aras!” I shout, ending his tumbling rant.
He looks to me then, wide-eyed and spooked. “I’m sorry, Bravest. I should have been more upfront. Your father, Knox, he told me some things, but I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what?” I demand, a wave of dizziness spiking at his frantic speech.
He notices my sway and grabs me by the shoulders, ruined tunic and all. “It’s you.” He swallows thickly, searching my eyes and willing me to listen. “Your blood to be exact. He said that once you passed the barrier, you’d come into your own. You’d find yourself, and it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“You mean I would vomit my breakfast and hear whispers through the trees?” I ask, holding my temper in check before I explode.
“You heard whisper
s?” he asks softly, his shoulders dropping as his hands flop back down to his sides. “Skies above, Bravest. You should have told me. I could’ve done something. Anything to make you feel more at ease.”
His words shock me, and I can’t help the barbed retort that leaves my lips. “Please, Aras. You may like for me to feel a lot of things, but at ease isn’t one of them, and you know it.”
Instead of fussing back as I fully expect, he sighs, looking to the forest floor. “I deserved that, but more importantly, you deserved the truth. I was going to tell you eventually. I just thought it would be better to give it to you in small spurts, since you know, I’ve single-handedly turned your life upside down.”
I snort, instantly regretting the gesture as the burn of today’s breakfast makes a reappearance. The words life altering and Aras do seem to go hand and hand. I will give him that.
Tired of sitting on the forest floor in a pool of vomit, waiting for him to further ruin what I once thought was my life, I raise a shaky hand, willing him to help me up. Without hesitation, he reaches for me, his grip warm and firm against my own.
Our current situation may not be ideal, but at least we’re in this together.
Once back on my two feet, I find that my stomach has returned to its normal state, in that it remains inside of my body. I look down to confirm that my beautiful, green tunic has seen better days, which regrettably, it has. Without thinking, I reach down and pull it off, tossing it to the side in a crazed flourish. Aras, the poor fellow, if you can indeed call him that, stares slack-jawed before me as I swiftly riffle through my pack and grab a new shirt. One might think he’d turn around at the sight of a woman in her undershirt, but no, he doesn’t. He just stands there, smooth olive cheeks splotched with red.
Aras never has been one for chivalry.
“Have you gotten your fill, or shall I do it again for good measure?” I ask, yanking my gray, long-sleeved sparing top over my head. It’s a copy of the one I ruined in this very wood, and for the life of me, I hope this one doesn’t bring me the same luck.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 13
