Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wilson

  Either way, I’m not sure we can make it.

  Though my stomach shifts with unease, Aras rolls into a neat ball at my feet, urging me to do the same and rest through the night. It’s only the thought of gaining the necessary strength needed to run through these woods that finally forces me to rest my head on my full pack. Feeling the reassuring edge of the journal inside, I close my eyes, willing myself to find the heart that I’ll need to follow Aras’ lead.

  ↄ

  My cheek aches with the coarse dirt that lodges within my lashes, creating a moon-shaped mark running from my pinched eyes to my chapped lips. I lie there for another full second, taking in the rough sensation, before I finally recall that this isn’t the way I fell asleep, nor is it a way that I’ve ever woken up. My eyes open and I sit up in a flurry, the remaining dirt falling to the ground around me in a storm of tan powdered snow. Gingerly, I move my feet, catching my breath only when I feel the reassuring presence of Aras still curled in a blanket of sleep. The feeling is a fleeting one though, a pitter of my heart, as my hand reaches back to find empty space where my pack should clearly be.

  And without a doubt, I know what I must do.

  Rising to my feet and taking a careful step over my sleeping friend, I sneak one last look back at his peaceful face. Little light from the outside fire remains, but there is enough to see the outline of his softly pressed lips, one of the few times I’ve actually had the pleasure of seeing them together, as he longs to talk just as much as he longs to breathe. The soft waves of his dark hair have fallen back to the side, revealing his smooth brow and angled cheeks. Turning away, I hope that this isn’t the last time I see him in such a forgiving light, as I’m quite sure that what I have to do next may very well make it just that.

  The light flap of the tent barely skims my fingers and I slide through to the open camp before me, fighting a shudder at what I see, though I knew it all the same. Reeve sits leisurely on a wooden stump, the worn journal clutched between his heavy fingers. My pack lays haphazardly to the side. The smile he gives me is as wicked as I’ve seen, and for some reason, a tinge of something familiar hums through my veins. I fight the stumble that my legs threaten to bring and prod myself forward on careful feet. I can’t afford to let the fear take me now, not when I’m this close to taking control of it myself. To taking control of my future.

  “Such an interesting journal for Aras to be hiding up his sleeve, don’t you think?” he asks as I draw nearer. “Tell me, what do you think he has to gain from it? From what I can tell, nothing. Seeing as the queen is the closest thing he’s ever had to a mother, he already knows the words to this story well. So why would he risk carrying the one thing that could have ended her in his pack, where prying eyes may take it from his grasp? Who was so important that he felt he needed to bring a glowing treasure into a burning wood?”

  My slow steps continue, bringing me so close that I can feel the heat of the fire licking against my emotionless face. Reeve continues to leer, watchful of my every move, until I’m right in front of him, our boots brushing. I’m not a fool to believe he doesn’t know the answer to his questions. I think he may have even figured them out long ago, before he ever snuck into my tent and took my worth from right underneath my nose. And though his words confuse me even more, now is not the time to play his games. Now is the time to make a change.

  “You sleep like a child, you know,” he says, rising to his feet until I have to look up to watch his dark eyes. “Dead to everything around you but the intricate workings of your mind. It’s not safe, that kind of sleep. It leaves you too vulnerable, with nothing left to hide. And when you finally awake, you find that everything you’ve ever held dear has been stolen from you. Even your deepest, darkest secret. The only one that keeps you alive.”

  Suddenly, he reaches out with his free hand, grabbing my chin while his other holds firmly to those darkest secrets. “Tell me, Brave, do you even know how to fly?”

  Carefully reaching my fingers down to my boot, I look him straight in the eye, knowing my words wring truth from my soul. “No, Reeve, I only know how to soar.”

  And with one swift movement, the dagger has sprung to his arm, a sticking thud as the blade finds its mark. Like a magic all of its own, time comes to a halt and not a movement is made, except for the tint of surprise and anger that flash across his eyes. Truthfully, I know he sees this same reflection in my own. I’m out of my body right now, hovering over this horrid scene, while pretending I don’t see it. I simply can’t let myself. Not now. But later, when the sting of adrenaline has slowed to an absent purr and lucid thoughts fill my brain, then maybe I’ll let the thick coils of regret and guilt take their hold. At the moment, I can’t afford it.

  Slowly, Reeve’s rough fingers begin to loosen from my chin, and his face takes on a hazy hue, as if he is only just seeing me for the first time or maybe even the last. “You stupid, stupid little girl,” he slurs, shoulders slumping as his legs falter beneath his weight.

  “Not a little girl,” I say, gripping his forearms as he slides to the ground beside the burning fire. His eyes narrow and widen again, the effects of the dagger slowly taking their place. Papa always assured me it would work fast, but the lowering of his lids pushes the words from my lips in a quiet rush. “Your princess.”

  And then his eyes are shut, and he’s gone away to that very place he warned me of not moments ago. Sleep… and a very deep one at that.

  Thirty

  “Aras!” I whisper, shaking his shoulder with the one hand that isn’t coated with the light speckles of Reeve’s blood. I hold the dagger tight in my grip where I pulled it from Reeve’s sleeping form, satisfied he won’t keel over from the ugly wound.

  Aras’ eyes open with a jolt, and a line of confusion crosses his face as he takes me in, a wild monster of hair, dirt, and blood. I hold my head high, refusing to let the shame take me just yet. His eyes focus in on the dagger, bringing a look of shock, followed by disappointment, to his face as his words pin me in place. “Bravest, please tell me you didn’t.”

  I groan, standing up in a sharp fit and grabbing the rest of our meager belongings to stuff in my pack. “I didn’t do anything that will harm him for good. I just put him to sleep for a bit.” I pause, chewing carefully on my words. “Well, a long bit. Besides, if a clear getaway was what you were looking for, then I’ve just given us a head start.”

  Looking away, I close my eyes, allowing the silence of the tent to overcome my frantic sense of energy. Words tingle against my lips, but I clamp my mouth shut, holding them in like a caged bird. I don’t want to say too much more, for I fear the words will sound false to my ears.

  Aras watches me for a moment longer before bounding from the tent. His newly focused eyes take in Reeve as he rests beside the fire, one hand still gripping the worn journal. His head flits back and forth between the bizarre scene before him and my spastic movements about our humble tent.

  “He took it,” he mumbles, staring down at Reeve and the journal as if he still thinks this is all a part of some ludicrous dream. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s much too late for fanciful thoughts.

  “Of course he did,” I say, once again finding my strength and rounding up to his side, “and my dignity along with it.” My eyes tilt to Reeve’s prone, but breathing body as he lies by the pit. A small wound leaks little lines of red onto the dirt floor, and a rise of acid churns in my throat.

  Dignity, indeed.

  Aras’ eyes turn clouded as he takes me in, and I feel his stare rattle within my bones. His lips tip down in a worried frown, and my eyes twitch with the emotion that his look brings. He sees right through me, this Aras, and deep down, I know he always has. I just never wanted to admit that this near stranger could know me or that he could affect me in this way. I still haven’t decided if I like it or not, or more importantly, if I should. Feeling more than a little exposed, I shift my weight on my heel, while Aras sniffs out my fear and ever-approaching regret.


  “It’s going to be alright, Bravest,” he says with a soft, but fierce determination, as if his will alone can hold up the crumbling walls of my foundation.

  I wipe a shaky hand under my nose and give a quick nod, not daring a glance in his direction. This must satisfy him because he quickly tears one of the sleeves from his dark tunic and begins to wrap it tightly around Reeve’s wound. “At least this way he won’t bleed out and think we’ve left him for dead. It may stop him, if only for a moment, before he sends his men on our trail.”

  His words do little to soothe the now-painful pound of my head. We both know that Reeve will not stop at anything until he gets what he wants, and unfortunately, I think that might be me.

  “And it’s a trail that’s growing ever warmer, the longer we sit here and wait,” I mutter anxiously, prying the journal from Reeve’s warm hand and stuffing it in my pack. “Lead the way, Aras. For once, I’m ready to follow.”

  I expect him to jump to his feet and grab his pack, but instead, he carefully walks over to a water bucket placed near the fire. Tearing his other sleeve from his ruined tunic, he plunges the cloth into the tepid waters before turning back to hand me the wet mess. “Clean up,” he motions to my speckled hands, “and then we leave.”

  Without a word, I grab onto the dripping sleeve as if it’s a lifeline. The only thing that can make me forget. Immediately, the blood begins to run down my fingers before fading away into a puddle at my feet. I’ve never been so happy to wash something off, and its exit feels like a welcome release.

  Now I’ll only carry the blood on my heart.

  “Are you ready?” Aras asks, startling me with his quick presence. His pack is strung across his shoulder, while his sleek bow is strapped tightly to the other. His blue eyes are still soft, though his posture tells me I’m about to run for my life.

  Squaring my shoulders, I gather up what little courage I have left. “I hope you can keep up,” I say.

  ↄ

  We’ve barely even made it past midday and my feet already ache with each pounding step. Though no one has swooped down from the trees to stop us, I still feel the silent eyes on my back as we race over roots and fallen limbs. Time is on our side at the moment, and the longer Reeve sleeps, the longer we’ll run through the guarded stares. It’s when he wakes up that I fear an arrow through my heart. More than once, I catch my gaze drifting down to my fingers, expecting to see the speckled red that I’m beginning to fear will haunt me forever. The stain is gone, but the memory is not.

  Aras has remained silent throughout our jog, rarely looking back over his shoulder to check if I’m still there. Although, I’m sure the labored breathing does give me away a bit. I have no doubt that he believes I’ll fall out at any moment, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of being right, even if he has been peculiarly nice these days. I am running for my life, for Ashen’s sake, so I deserve a little faith.

  Aras’ ignorance isn’t the only problem. The real trouble lies within the silence. It’s a deafening quiet, only leaving enough space for my thoughts to run wild, and the longer I’m left alone with my thoughts, the more confused they become. Questions have jumped to my lips at least a hundred times, but they all seem to fly away with the huff of my breath. The ones that bother me the most, as with all things these days, tend to revolve around Aras. Reeve’s words play in my mind, a frightening tune I’m afraid may send me mad. Why is Aras so close to my mother, and why hasn’t he mentioned a family of his own? Didn’t they worry for him, going off at a young age to commit treason in the woods? And there’s yet another question, bouncing around in the corner of my mind, never settling for even a moment, although I hate the feeling of unease it sends rumbling up inside.

  Who is the girl?

  As if I’ve accidentally puffed my thoughts aloud, Aras turns to look over his shoulder, his pace slightly slowing. His eyes are stern from the stressful run, but there’s a softness there that I’m not expecting. The sight of it causes the tip of my boot to catch on the treacherous forest floor, sending me into an elegant lurch before I carefully right myself again. The softness fades and something else comes in its place.

  “Should I carry you on my back, or are you able to stand on your own two feet?”

  Ah, of course, sarcasm at the expense of my withering bones. I scowl in his general direction, afraid that if he looks too close, he’ll see he’s not very far off mark. “Carry me, please, though I can’t guarantee my wrapped arms won’t slowly hinder your breaths.”

  A genuine smile flashes across his sweaty, scruffy face, and just like that, we’re back to our old selves—enemies, but not quite. In turn, my smile reflects back, though it’s not as true as his. A sense of loss has bubbled up in my gut, and I look away, hoping for anything to lessen the unease. I’m not sure when I started to enjoy our little truce at camp, but I find myself laden with disappointment now that it’s fading away.

  “Shall we eat while we walk?” he asks, pulling two of Reeve’s apples from his pack.

  I start to tell him that the meager apple will do nothing to replenish the energy I need, but then I think better of it. I did promise to follow his lead, after all, even if that includes keeping me dangerously underfed. Plucking the apple from his offering hands, I savor the sweet juice as I take my first bite. Aras smirks, as if he is above finding so much enjoyment from a piece of fruit, and reaches out to ruffle my hastily tied back hair.

  “Before we get to the border, you’re going to have to let me do something about that mess.”

  “I could say the same of you,” I taunt back, secretly wishing I could cut it as short as his and be done with it. A wry smile twists its way across my face. I wonder what my new father would think of me then?

  Aras’ lips move to make what I’m sure is going to be a witty comeback, but something startles him ahead and his mouth snaps shut. Tightening his jaw, he tucks his barely eaten apple back into his pack, while swiftly sliding the bow off his other shoulder.

  “Did your papa ever give you an estimate on how long the effects his crazed dagger would work?”

  Afraid to answer, my eyes immediately gaze the crowded wood before us, looking for a sign of Reeve’s men. If he’s already woken up, there is no doubt that word of our departure has quickly spread. If that’s the case, we’ll be done for soon. Almost at the thought, a burning sting starts simmering in my gut, slowing making its way to my fingertips with each breath. It’s just as before by the river, when my anger and sorrow nearly lit the journal on fire.

  I suck in a deep breath, now scared more than anything of the magic that aches within my bones. It’s becoming easier—this flame—and I have to fight it before it takes control. I clench my fists, not even caring that my nails dig into my palms, leaving crescent-moon shapes in their place. The burn wavers, and I curl my fingers even tighter, dousing the flame from within. I haven’t even had the chance to think about my near calling of the fire by the river. I’ve been too concerned with my mother, Aras, and the secret girl he keeps. How foolish must I be that I can’t even remember the smoke that carefully rose from my being? Last time, I had cooling waters to douse the burning need within me. Now I’m only betting on pure will.

  Aras slows his steps until we’re as good as still before he tips his head in my direction and back again to the right. My eyes follow his motion, and then I see it. Deep brown mixed in with the dark trunks. The color disappears as it shifts, only to reappear behind the tree. It’s The Lost, or at least one of them. I’m so stunned to have caught one of them tracking us that I don’t even notice the nocked arrow as Aras carefully aims to get his target in sight. Without thinking, my hand clamps onto his arm. He startles, the arrow slipping from his hold.

  Shock colors his features as he takes me in, and then a cool darkness oozes into place. Before he can speak, my words battle to right my madness.

  “Please don’t! I can’t—I can’t take another one.” Though I don’t say the words, Aras knows what I mean. I can’t take a
nother death. I can’t take another person’s life ending because of me. “If there’s another way, anything, then let’s take it.”

  Aras drops the bow, and a grim frown swallows his face. “Bravest, I’m not aiming to kill. I’m aiming to injure. Trust me, it will be just enough to take him out of our path, and nothing more.” His eyes turn softer, and a small puff of air leaves his lips. “I promise.”

  Even though the last thing I want is to see another person injured, I nod my head. I understand that this time, I must give in. I have to help my papa, and in order to do so, I have to make it to Orien. As much as I hate to admit it, I need Knox. Aras nods back, watching me longer than necessary, judging to see if I’ll change my mind. When I don’t waver, he focuses back on the danger hiding before us. As he nocks the arrow once more, the bowstring arches as he draws it back. His fingers barely quiver before becoming completely still; he’s made his mark. I close my eyes, the burning all but dying on my fingertips, and put an unhealthy amount of trust in Aras’ aim.

  Then I hear it.

  The low, soft sound whistling its way into my ears. A steady, fevering rush. The whispers are back, but this time, they are different. I can understand them, the same funny language I heard not long ago in my dream. The one I was sure I’d heard before. The one that felt like home. And this time, they only say one word.

  “Stop!” I call out to Aras, latching my arms around his shoulders and sending us to the ground in a messy lurch. His bow swings to the side, the arrow releasing into a nearby trunk and narrowly missing my outstretched leg. Aras says nothing, though I can feel each and every heavy breath as they pound through his back and hit my chest. I move to speak, to apologize, to do anything that can make my obscene behavior seem right, when Aras puts a single finger to his lips, shushing me. His eyes dart forward, and I look up, expecting to see the man with his own weapon pointed at our necks.