Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wilson

  For a moment, he looks confused, and then my words fully register, bringing an ugly scowl to his otherwise pink face. “That was very unladylike.”

  I let out an exhausted laugh. “As if your staring was any better, noble sir.”

  “Are you always like this?” he asks, clearly riled by my words.

  “Only when I’m covered in my own vomit, Aras, so you needn’t worry.”

  Aras doesn’t respond at first, choosing only to grit his teeth in the most annoying fashion. He grabs both of our packs in a way that makes me think he’d rather kick them across the woods than be forced to carry them. I smile on the inside and desperately try not to show it.

  “There’s a pond not too far up ahead. We can stop and rest there.” His eyes flit to mine before looking ahead. “You can get washed up, and I can tell you more about these difficulties you’ve been experiencing.”

  Rather than saying something smart like I long to do, I simply nod. “That sounds nice.”

  Aras looks taken aback by my reaction, but he doesn’t say anything more. He actually surprises me by moving to the side and grabbing my soiled tunic, holding it out like a poisoned rag.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  He turns away, continuing his walk in the direction we were headed. “Taking it with us.”

  “But why?” I sputter, jolting to move after him.

  “It’s important to you, correct?” he asks, eyeing me over his shoulder.

  I nod, admittedly stunned.

  “Well then, we take it with us.”

  When he turns his head, he leaves me with nothing to do but ponder his confusing ways as I watch the day’s light skim through the trees and dance across his back.

  Eighteen

  Aras is true to his word. As the secluded pond comes into view, I could almost hug him. Luckily for Aras, I choose to keep my arms tightly wrapped across my chest instead. Crossing the small, sandy shore, he drops our packs in a heap before tossing my poor tunic into the shallow waters. I frown, watching the brilliant green become muted in the murky pond.

  Aras clears his throat. “You can get washed off, and I’ll take watch.”

  I eye him.

  “Watch of the area around us, Bravest! Not of you!” He continues to mumble under his breath, tossing around dirt as he turns his back and looks toward the trees. “Everything isn’t about you, you know.”

  “Oh, pipe down, Aras! I’m not stripping to the bone. I’m only taking my shoes off, if that doesn’t offend you too much. As long as you’ll let us take a break and light a fire, I plan on going for a swim.” I hesitate, suddenly unsure of my next words. “If you’re not too grumpy and defensive, I’d like for you to join me.”

  He turns around in a jolt, trying to judge my seriousness from afar. At the moment, he doesn’t look convinced.

  I sigh, removing my boots. “It’s just, I have some issues with—” I falter, not knowing how to word my fears. “What I mean to say is, sometimes the water and I don’t always agree.”

  In response, he walks toward me, hands on his hips while silently willing me to continue. An erratic beat pounds within my chest, and now I’m not sure what scares me the most. Aras and the truth, or Aras and the water. I decide it’s the truth, with a little bit of Aras sprinkled in it.

  “I used to think that my mother drowned!” I blurt in a miserable, messy rush.

  Aras stops, possibly shocked to his core.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” I continue, “but no one would ever tell me. They just said that she passed, and well, as a child, my imagination sometimes got the best of me. I didn’t mean anything by it, but—”

  I’m too busy rattling off words to notice that Aras has moved, one hand resting assuredly on my shoulder, while the other reaches to clutch my hand. He squeezes once, twice, and then again. Finally, my frantic lips close and all that’s left is this enduringly scraggily boy with a look of horrifying concern etched across his face.

  I knew I wasn’t done with the embarrassment on this trip.

  To Aras’ credit, he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes slide across my face in an unbearably slow fashion, once again searching for my hidden cracks, and maybe, just maybe, vowing to fix them. When he finally speaks, I’m so transfixed in his worry that it takes a minute for the words to hit my ears.

  “You weren’t crazy, Bravest Penelope. You were lost. You were a young girl living with nothing but your papa’s memory of an invisible mother, and you needed to create your own. Perhaps an interesting, and maybe even slightly scary version, but it was yours. You should own it, and today, you’ll get over it.”

  He drops his hands, and my absent breaths come back in a heavy, solid form. In one fluid motion, he tears off his boots and dives into the waters before us, leaving nothing but momentary confusion with his splash. Before I can second-guess myself, I pull Papa’s letter from my pocket and toss it on top of my pack. Then I take off running in his direction, not stopping until the cool water laps up against my chin. I roll to my back, for the first time in forever eyeing the warm, blue sky above.

  I know Aras has popped up close to me, probably planning wily acts while watching me float, but I pay him no heed. Closing my eyes, I tilt my face to the sun, wishing Papa could be here enjoying this moment. We have our share of water within the Ashen borders, but nothing this calm and serene. I could float here for hours if I didn’t feel the whisper of laughter against my cheek.

  “I’d dunk you under the water right now if I didn’t think it would scar you forever.” He pauses, judging my reaction, and though I don’t look, I can feel his scrutiny as the pond holds me in its soothing grip. “You shouldn’t be afraid of the water, Bravest. It suits you well.”

  I open my eyes to squint in his direction. The water has made his black hair even darker, with almost purple hues shining in the light. For once, it’s pushed back, the tips now long enough to barely brush past his ears. He looks like a different person without that mess in his eyes. Surprisingly different, in fact. As it turns out, Aras has a nice forehead, for a jerk at least. Even his smile looks stunningly devious, half covered by the cool waters. Not for the first time, I wonder if he can read my mind.

  “Just hush and float with me,” I say, closing my eyes and turning away once more.

  Aras doesn’t say a word. He chooses to comply with my wishes, although I never requested that he float within arm’s reach. So close, that I fear I can feel his heartbeat through the water. I swear he does that just to rile me.

  But I don’t move away; I don’t even flinch. We float like that, the two of us. Nestled in a slightly uncomfortable bubble, staring up at the clear sky and wondering what comes next. Or at least I do. He still hasn’t spoken a word about Knox or my apparent difficulties. The longer he waits, the more nervous I become. It’s as if every word this boy has to say is yet another blow to the life I left behind. He knows it, too, and I have to say something to break the painful silence.

  “I thought you said you were going to help me get over this irrational fear of the water.”

  “I am, see. You’ve already forgotten it. You’re as relaxed as a fat mutt after a good meal.”

  “Hmmm,” I muse. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered by that likeness, but at this point in my life, I’m willing to be flattered by just about anything. I have to admit that the pond was a good idea. I’m surprised you came up with it.”

  He laughs, a rich and throaty sound. “If you had to smell what I did, you would have been full of good ideas, too.”

  “Ah, but you know what ideas I value the most, Aras?” I ask, fighting to ignore his jab.

  He stills, knowing what comes next.

  “The ones that involve the truth. Those are the ones I like. The ones I need.”

  He floats in silence, unblinking as he stares above. I’ve almost given up on an answer when he speaks, setting my nerves afire with his promise.

  “I’ll give you the truth, Braves
t, but I can guarantee you won’t like it.”

  ↄ

  Good to his promise, Aras starts a fire on the edge of the open shore, almost nestled within the trees. The small blaze is warm. I should find it soothing, but there’s something about the sight of it that leaves me on edge. Whether it’s from the thoughts of The Lost spotting it and skinning me alive or the lingering fear of the dream from last night, I’m not near as pleased as I should be.

  Actually, I’m irritated beyond belief.

  My wet clothes stick to me like a second skin, and I’m left with the ridiculous hope that they’ll somewhat dry before nightfall. Aras, the lucky boar, has the luxury of taking off his shirt and laying it along the heated rocks to let it dry. A secret part of me longs to see it burst into flames. Another part of me thinks that if Aras walked around like this more often, he might be more enjoyable. But that’s only a very hidden, secret part of me, of course.

  “I can’t tell which is sourer, you or your clothes,” Aras quips, turning his back to add more fallen branches to the fire.

  A dark mark hovers just over his left shoulder blade; the sight of it beckons dangerous questions that I’m not willing to ask. My eyes narrow at the small, black circle with four wavy lines rising from its top. No one marks their skin without purpose, and from what I understand, the pain is enough to make it a mighty one indeed. His head barely has time to swivel before I drop my eyes, pretending to study the flames before me as they dance and lick toward the sky. I’m quite positive I’m not quick enough.

  “I wasn’t aware that one should be chipper before death.”

  He huffs, thankfully understanding that I don’t just mean the forced reunion with my tyrant of a father. “For the last time, Bravest, don’t worry about The Lost. I’ve a long history with them. They’re not going to bother me, nor anyone I travel with.”

  I can tell by his tone that Aras truly believes what he says. Even so, his words do little to bring me comfort. I’ve grown up being taught to fear The Lost, and after my last mishap in the woods, it’s a habit that’s hard to break. Papa always said The Lost were displaced and cast out of their lot in life. That tends to make people angry, he’d explained. Angry and fool-hearted. And time alone in the all but silent woods doesn’t do much for one’s state of mind. Though he never did say where they were displaced from, I knew enough to gather that something terrible must have happened. Either by them, or by those who sent them away.

  “Papa taught me to never trust anyone outside of Ashen, especially not The Lost.”

  He grunts and thankfully reaches for his now-dry shirt, pulling it over his chest and saving my eyes from further torment. Or starving them. It’s pitiful that I’m not sure which.

  “Emory has good reasons not to trust them, but he also has to realize that times have changed. He may find that where once stood an enemy, now stands a solid ally. That’s what I’ve been trying to convince him of the past couple of years, anyway.”

  “So is that why you put an arrow through that man’s neck? Because he was an innocent ally coming to save my day?”

  In an instant, Aras is upon me, dark eyes staring inches from my own. “I shot that man not because I wanted to, but because I had to. He knew you were Emory’s daughter, but in that moment, he also knew that you weren’t. He may not have figured out your true secret, but what he discovered was secret enough. There’s not a second of the day that goes by that I don’t think about my decision, Bravest. Would he have hurt you at that very second? No. Would your little dagger have actually worked? Maybe. Sure. I don’t know. The point is that he knew. He gained a piece to a dangerous puzzle, and in that moment, I realized I couldn’t let him live. I made a promise to your mother,” his words break at even the slight mention of her, “to your family. I promised to keep you safe, and I will.”

  His words stun me, the wind knocked out of my chest like the time I was five and fell backward out of a tree. Luckily, the fall didn’t kill me, but I thought the fright of Darcy alone would do me in. It’s the same way now as Aras throws around heavy words like mother, family, and promise. But this time, instead of Darcy, it’s his last word that threatens to have its way, pulling me down until I can’t possibly reach up again.

  I don’t like promises, especially ones made by others who seem to know me better than I do myself.

  “But I thought you said they were allies?” I ask, pushing the threatening promises aside.

  “They are, but not even the best of allies can be trusted with all of your secrets.” He pauses, finally breaking the intense spell upon us and looking away. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Bravest, you have to know that I’ve never killed a man, not until him. So if you think he haunts you in your dreams, then I think you of all people can imagine what he does to me when I close my eyes at night.”

  He stands, walking to the edge of the pond and staring out across the smooth waters. He never said it, but I feel it all the same.

  “You knew him, didn’t you?”

  He doesn’t answer. As he tilts his head up with closed eyes, I know he is envisioning himself to be anywhere but here. I don’t know if it’s the sad way his lips turn down or the heavy weight that surrounds his shoulders, but something pulls me forward. Something strong, fierce, and unwavering. I’ve never felt so afraid and so sure in my life.

  “And if I had never left that day… if I had chosen to stay in Ashen and wait for Papa. I’d still be home and he’d still be alive?” I ask, carefully coming to a stop at his side.

  He sighs, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “More than likely, though Knox wouldn’t have waited for much longer. He had a feeling you might be with Emory, but before your papa left Orien, your mother made a deal to keep Ashen from harm, and deals with Knox aren’t the kind you can go back on. Believe it or not, Knox can’t go back on them either. His hands were tied. It’s why he needed Emory to leave Ashen. When he did, all deals were off.

  “All he needed was a glimpse of you, away from Ashen’s protection. He saw the same thing that day as the man I shot dead. You’re different, Bravest. You don’t belong to Ashen. It was dumb luck I was even there that day. After news of Emory’s departure broke, I kept to the woods, worried you’d do something stupid and go after him. When Alec happened to mention he had a meeting with someone from Ashen, I followed him, and then I shot him down like some pig for slaughter.”

  He stops then, allowing me to digest the rush of words that threaten to sweep me off my feet. I’ve always known that Ashen was different, but I thought we didn’t leave our border for safety, not because we couldn’t. And now, to find out that it was my mother’s favor that kept us safe all along feels like a knife to the gut when all I need is mercy. I want to be thankful, I truly do, but right now all I feel is nothing.

  “But let’s look at what’s really important, right?” Aras continues, obviously sensing my displeasure. “If you had not left Ashen, you would have never met me.”

  I place a sure hand on his arm, for once letting go of all the lies and focusing on the present. “And therein lies the true tragedy in all this mess.”

  He finally opens his eyes, looking down to meet my own before bringing his free arm around and lightly brushing his fingers across the knuckles of my fingers that still grip his sleeve. Then, as quickly as the small gesture took place, we drop our hands and turn our attention back to the open pond before us. Though we don’t speak of it, I felt it from the very second our fingers touched, and I can’t help the small smile that slides its way onto my face.

  A truce.

  Nineteen

  “Your father has never been a very kind man, Bravest,” he says, starting out our dreaded conversation in only the bluntest way he knows how. “Nor have any of your grandfathers before him.”

  The fire still crackles, and though my eyes continue to scan the trees for invisible threats, I’m somewhat calmer and more settled than I was before. Aras’ nonchalance has seemed to rub off on me as I
find myself betting on his theory that the outskirts of the woods are the most dangerous because that’s where the true Lost take refuge. According to Aras, it’s the inner workings that remain the safest. These members, he says, are of worth and sound mind. They don’t want to find a way to drag people in. They want to find a way out. And according to Aras, my newfound father seems to be the only one keeping them here.

  Through our conversations, I’m beginning to see the woods in a new light. A light that may have been purposely tainted for me as a child. Though I now understand that Papa and Darcy only meant to keep me safe and from wandering where I shouldn’t, there’s a part of me that still holds a good bit of distrust for these people who dwell in the woods. There’s something there, restless and untamed, and before I leave this place, I aim to find the source of it. I hold my tongue, not yet willing to trust Aras with my deepest thoughts. For while he may find himself in a good position for now, I can’t help but wonder what will happen when his charm runs out.

  Or when they discover what he did to their leader.

  As our conversation comes to a comfortable lull, Aras sits at ease by the fire, slicing up pieces of rabbit to skewer on a stick. My eyes flick to his sleek bow, placed carefully to the side. It still makes me nervous, that bow, and if I’m right, I think it does Aras, as well. If I had my way, I’d burn it right here and now, but then we’d starve, and I’m too selfish to even let myself think about dying of hunger. Apparently, Aras is, too.

  “And if he’s so terrible, why not overpower him? Why not revolt?” I ask, knowing good and well that this is what Papa and many of the people of Ashen tried to do.

  Aras laughs, humorless and cold. “What do you think Oriens have been trying to do since the beginning of our time? The closest anyone has come to it was Emory, and you know where that landed him. You have to understand that Knox comes from a long line of powerful rulers, those that not only rule by cruelty and fear, but something much worse. Something even deadlier. Something invincible.”