Vivi leans forward, cheek pressing against my own. “A lot can happen in two weeks,” she whispers.
I wrap my arm under her chin, pulling her closer still. Beside me, I feel Ian’s gaze soaking us in, draining us of our anxiety, even though he’s partly to blame.
“Are you ready?” Ian asks, squeezing my free hand as the first of the city’s busy streets come into view. Vivi leans back, taking my sense of peace with her, and I flash Ian the most reassuring smile I can muster.
Ahead of us, a small crowd has already begun to grow, flowers of every color held high and ready to toss to their favorite prince and his future bride. Children bounce atop their fathers’ shoulders, excited squeals as our carriage pulls closer and closer to where they line the small spaces in front of their shops. The storefronts are bright and cheerful, just as Aras once described Orien’s markets to be. Most of these merchants have decided to stick with various hues of blue, each one different and marvelous in its own right.
If there could be such a place where the ocean and the sky meet, this would be it.
As our carriage passes through, men, women, and children shout their well wishes—words from Theron’s past that I’ll one day be expected to learn. Ian reaches out to them, a jumble of clasping hands and patting backs. His face beams with pride, a steady calm I’ve yet to see, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s the announcement that’s made it so. Now that our marriage is official, does he feel there’s no backing out?
“Don’t look so morose, kitten,” a sly voice croons in my ear. My shoulders flinch, and I whip my head to find Aras leaning forward in his seat. “Aren’t you supposed to be smiling? You look as if you’re about to sign your life away to the wrong man, and we can’t have that. Knox has eyes, you know.”
Eyes, indeed. If Hammel’s visit proved anything, it’s that Knox is not nearly as quiet and removed as he seems. But right now, I’m not worried about his prying eyes or anything else at all. In fact, I’m encouraged.
Kitten is the horrible name Reeve once tortured me with, and Aras used it without a second thought. It means something, this slip of the tongue, and I’m inclined to believe it means the most impossible scenario in the world. He’s starting to remember.
“What did you call me?” I ask, hating how he shrinks away at my words, falling back into his seat as if I’ve annoyed him yet again.
“Morose. That’s a fancy word for sad, Penelope Brave.” His eyes roll to the sky, and he chews his lip, clearly debating his next brash set of words. “If you’re going to be Theron’s princess, your vocabulary has got to improve. Until then, I suggest you keep your mouth closed, lest the prince realize he’s betrothed to a moron.” He pauses, blue eyes boring into mine. “That’s a fancy word for—”
A strangled laugh leaps from my throat, stopping his words before they finish. I only have a second to take in Aras’ bewilderment before Ian turns, tugging my hand, and pulling me to a stand as our carriage slows near the market’s center. “This is our stop,” he says, stepping out of the carriage.
My hand whips out, grabbing Vivi by the wrist as the other accepts Ian’s assistance down the steps. Behind her, Aras mumbles something about needing to find some shade from the lovely Theron heat, and he jumps down, disappearing into the crowd. My eyes follow him, watching to see if Hammel or any of Knox’s men materialize from the hordes of people surrounding us on the street, but if there is anyone here, he’s smart enough to hold his approach.
“This is an old Theron tradition, dating back to our first king,” Ian says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as I continue to tug Vivi from behind. “The firelights.”
“The fire what?” Vivi balks, her tiny voice sounding high and shrill above the crowd.
“Firelights,” Ian answers, leaning forward to find her by my side. “You pick a fire stick, make a wish, and light the fuse. Most of the time, the fire will explode in a hue of red, deeming your wish unfit. But every now and then, when the wisher’s heart is true, the fire will explode in the grandest of blues, making the wish come true.”
Ah. The firelights. The very ones Bates showed me in the sky not too many moons ago. The celebration he’d said, for marking my mother’s recovery.
“So the color determines whether or not your wish will come true?” Vivi continues, skepticism dripping from her tone. “This sounds more like a game of chance, depending on which stick you happen to light.”
“Oh, Viviana. Nothing is left up to chance. Here in Theron, we believe everything happens for a reason. Once you see your sister’s firelight, I have a feeling you might change your mind.”
“Why? Did you cheat and have all of your firelights stuffed with blue?”
“No.” He laughs, when any sane person would feel like strangling her neck. “But your sister’s heart is as true as they come. It will shine blue—trust me.”
Vivi’s shoulder brushes close to my side. “If that’s the case, then I suggest you be careful what you wish for, biggest sister.”
I move to reply, but Ian tugs me forward, and she’s lost in the crowd of well-wishers as we’re brought onto a stage in the market’s center.
“Prince Ian! Princess Penelope!” a woman calls out as we approach. She stands beside a small, wooden table loaded down with round, papered tubes, each with a long fuse protruding from its end. She greets us with a smile that peeks through some of the wild strands of white hair that have slipped from her bun. She pushes them back with sooty fingers, blessing us with the full view of her kind face. “The whole city is thrilled for your upcoming wedding, and it is a great honor to be chosen to help with your firelight ceremony.”
“The honor is all ours, Lenna,” Ian says, warmly clasping her hand. “Have you gotten us all prepared?”
Lenna nods, gesturing toward the table. Ian doesn’t seem to believe there is a careful trick to selecting the perfect light. He simply reaches out and snatches the first one he sees. I, on the other hand, have much to lose if this wish business is a true one, so I push my hand through the middle of the pile, coming up with one that’s buried deep. I raise my eyes, seeking Leena’s approval, but she’s already setting Ian’s fire stick on a metal post leaning out of the wooden stage. She motions for the crowd to get back and lifts a finger to her lips. As if she has a gentle magic of her own, the voices drop.
“We are here today to witness the fire ceremony of Prince Ian and Princess Penelope, engaged to marry in three weeks’ time. Holding true to Theron’s traditions, Prince Ian will go first.” She looks over her shoulder. “Now Prince Ian, it is time to make your wish.”
Ian’s eyes find mine, and without meaning to be, I’m trapped in his endless shades of green. A peace that won’t stop giving, even when it’s been run dry. His lips tip up, so soft and subtle that I know it’s a smile only meant for me. He closes his eyes, black lashes shielding his thoughts, and more than anything, I wish for them to open. I wish for them to see me as I am—this selfish, scared little girl who will always want what she can’t have—rather than who he believes me to be. The brave, beautiful girl who longs to be a princess of not one kingdom, but two. The girl of fire and ice who has always loved him back.
Open your eyes, my dear Ian. I can’t be her.
As if my very thoughts have leaped from my mind, seeping into his pores and shaking him alive again, his lashes lift, and I’m left with nothing but the endless depths of kindness that I’ve done nothing to deserve. Except this time, there’s a flash of something different.
Acceptance, but determination, too.
“I’ve made my wish,” he announces, voice loud and clear in the fading light. He cups my cheek, cool fingers sliding across my heating skin, and if Aras is out there watching, he can’t accuse me of not playing the part. Not when Ian has ensnarled my cruel heart with his touch. “Now Penelope, it’s time to make yours.”
“And according to the advice of my little sister, I suppose I should make it count.”
Then my eyes are closed, se
aled away from the kind boy with the golden hair that shines brighter than the very stars in the sky. Away from the teetering crowd, coiled on heavy springs with the anticipation of the colored light our fires will bring. Away from the sister who watches my every step, ready to jump to my side when my legs should start to fail.
Away. Away. Away. Until all is dark, and I am found.
Bring him back to me, I plead. Please, just bring him back.
I don’t realize that a tear has escaped until I feel the gentle swipe across my cheek. I open my eyes, breathless and weak, but full of purpose all the same. “I’ve made my wish,” I say, entwining Ian’s fingers with my own. “Now let’s see if they’ll come true.”
Forty
“And you’re sure you can’t even tell your own sister?” Vivi moans, falling back onto the bed with a defiant flop. “It’s not as if my knowledge could change the outcome either way. Ian said that if your firelight turns blue, your wish is guaranteed. He never mentioned anything about sharing your wish with others.”
I start to respond, her huffy attitude just what I need to take my mind off last night, when a sharp tug squeezes my rib cage, cutting off my air. I cough, if only to cover my scowl.
It’s been like this ever since Sireen barged into our room, rushing us out of bed and into the washroom like a mother hen pecking after her chicks. It’s not as if we had gotten much sleep to begin with, considering Vivi’s constant badgering over my wish. When I continued to ignore her every plea and outrageous guess, she finally succumbed to rest merely an hour before Sireen came in to give us the cheery news.
It’s fitting day. Dress fitting, to be exact.
“Sorry, Princess. I’ve only got a pin or two left. Then I think we’ll be set.”
I look down from my stool, watching the royal seamstress as her hands struggle to pull the white silk fabric as tight as it will go. “It’s no problem,” I say. “I’m more than happy to be poked and prodded, considering the only alternative.”
Her lips form a tight line, but her eyes sparkle with a knowing approval. “Yes, I can imagine the queen and your mother are very busy right about now.”
Busy—that’s putting it lightly.
Since the moment our marriage was announced, it’s been a flurry of decisions. What color for the linens? Which meat for the main dish? Which flowers for the aisle? In other words, how can we rush a real marriage, all the while planning for a fake one? Right now, we are simply going through the motions, as Ian’s mother so expertly stated. To Aras and anyone else involved with Knox, it has to look like we are taking this wedding seriously, even if it’s only going to be Ian and I who are secretly skirted away to exchange our vows in some hidden palace room.
Never lose heart though. Rosaline has assured me that the celebration of our marriage will take place after my father is good and buried. So, all of this planning isn’t for naught. I should be thrilled, but the only emotion I can conjure up is dread.
I don’t want to break sweet Ian’s heart, but I also don’t want to shatter mine as well.
“Is that Penelope Brave I see?” A warm voice slithers its way into the room, causing Vivi to sit straight up in the bed, her hair a tangled mess of misshapen braids. My head whips back, heart sinking as I watch Aras strut into our chambers. His eyes roam over my frame where I stand high upon the stool, as if on display for all of Theron to see. Heat blooms across my chest, the delicate lace of the bodice doing very little to cover my embarrassment, nor anything else. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I’m all but sent stumbling to the floor when a flash of desire boils in his gaze. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, something cold and ugly takes its place. “And here I thought I saw an actual lady standing upon the stool. Such a cruel way to dash my hopes.”
“Why don’t you come with me to target practice, and I’ll dash a little more than that?” Vivi rises from the bed, sending me a look as she prances out the door. “I’ll be back within the hour. If you’re still here bothering Brave with that soiled attitude of yours, then you can consider yourself my new sparring mate, brother.”
“I’d be delighted,” Aras calls. Thankfully for us both, she’s already disappeared down the hall.
“I think that’s it, Princess,” the seamstress says, reaching down to grab her supplies. When she pats me on the shoulder, I look into her eyes, begging her not to leave me alone with the one boy I can’t stand to be without. Her gaze meets mine, a clear apology written in her pressed lips and reddening cheeks. Giving my arm a reassuring squeeze, she turns to leave. “Let me put away my things, and I’ll be back to help you with those buttons.”
Then she’s gone, and all I’m left with is the heat of Aras’ stare and the loss of his love.
“You look uncomfortable.”
Humph. What keen observational skills my Orien guard still possesses. At least there’s that. Next thing I know, he’ll be asking if my voluminous skirt, overlaid with the palest of lacy blue flowers, comes with a pair of pants underneath. Truthfully, I wish it did.
“I thought Ian said he didn’t care if you wore pants on your wedding day.” He tsks, dark curls sliding across his forehead with a gentle shake. “You’re not even married, and already the lying has begun. I suppose you consider yourself lucky, seeing as your father won’t force you to live with him for the rest of your life.”
“Because he’ll be dead,” I supply, only stating what he’s warned me of all along. Then I turn, the fabric softly swishing against the floor, and I call him forward with my hand. “Walk with me, Aras; I think it’s time we had a little chat.”
Folding my skirt into my hands, I make my way toward the open balcony. The soft pad of his boots echoes across the floor—the only sign that tells me he’s agreed. Kicking off my shoes, I step out onto the balcony, relishing the feel of the cool stone against my heated skin. A gray feathery cloud has settled over the city, and I tilt my head up, longing for the rain I know is to come.
Aras rests his hands on the stone ledge, eyes set on the faraway streets, but his nonchalance can’t fool me. Not with the tightness of his shoulders or the slight pinch in his brow. The very way he breathes, shallow and quick, as if too much of my presence will do him in.
He’s never been more aware of me than he is right now, and I aim to make him acknowledge it, too.
“So tell me if I have this correct,” I say, stepping forward to join him by the ledge. My shoulder sidles up to his, daringly close, our arms nearly touching. He doesn’t look my way, but he also doesn’t move. “Father will arrive, and together, we will take down Theron and everyone in it?”
He nods, suddenly very interested in the invisible dirt under his nails. “We will begin the process, and you will finish them off.”
Well, it does sound so very endearing when put that way.
“And after? He’ll let Mother and Vivi go? My papa? He’ll set them free?”
For the first time, he looks up, eyes boring into my own with more expression than his words could ever bring. “I’d say it would be awful hard to hurt someone if he or she wasn’t around to begin with. Perhaps you should think about sending them away. A little vacation, until the fire settles, so to speak.”
“Because he’ll kill them?” I ask, latching onto his arm.
To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, but his next words cause me to pull away, dropping my hand as if I’ve touched a roaring flame. “No, Penelope Brave. Because there won’t be many left standing once he arrives, and it’s common knowledge that those who aren’t present are harder to kill.”
He turns away, determined to leave me be and drink in the city once more, but I’ve never been very good at taking a hint when I hear one. “And when everyone of importance is gone and dead, what then? He’ll leave me here to rule under the guidance of his heavy thumb?”
“Something like that. He’ll more than likely appoint your husband, someone he can trust, to help keep you in line while his duties lie in Orien.”
“How pleasant,�
�� I seethe, Aras’ lies and Hammel’s promises now mixing like a violent poison in my gut. “So I’ll be trading one forced marriage for another, is that it?”
Aras’ mouth twitches, and his lips press into a firm line as I push against his lies. But you best hold on tight, my lost prince, because I’m not done. Not yet. Not even close.
“And when I refuse? When I finally decide to stop playing nice, what then, Aras? What will my loving father do?”
He growls, the sound low and deadly in his chest, and pushes back from the ledge. He turns to leave, a building fire ready to burst, but I grab him by the arm, halting his stormy retreat. His eyes flick to my face, heat burning in their trail across my skin, and I’ve already decided I won’t like a word of what he has to say.
“Then all of his loyal guard will bind together, and with Knox’s help, we will destroy you once and for all. You’re strong, Penelope Brave, but not strong enough for five men at once.”
My breath catches, a hundred cracks forming in my soul, and my hand tightens around his arm. “Did you see it? Did you see my firelight? It turned blue, Aras. All the test ones they shot off that night turned red and gold and green. But not mine. Mine was as blue as the same set of eyes I’ll never be able to let go. And do you know what I wished for, Aras? Shouldn’t you be scared?”
Anger flashes across his face, and his jaw tightens as he yanks his arm free from my grip. “I’m not scared of your wish, Penelope Brave. Your wants don’t have the power to change the course of events. But do you know what I’m afraid of, what we both should fear? Ian’s turned blue, too, and that’s what scares me the most.”
He leaves me, boots once again echoing throughout the room, and I can’t help but think of how ironic our lives have come to be. Who would have imagined that for once in his cursed life, Aras and I may agree.
For it’s not Ian’s wish that scares me, it’s the fact that he would never tell me what it was.
The Darkest Night (The Orien Trilogy Book 2) Page 25