“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Brave,” Bates calls, his words an invisible tether, reaching out and pulling me back, begging me to stay. “I believe we have everything you want.”
His very words sting my heart, causing more ache than I thought was possible to an already-fragile soul, and although I hear myself mumble in reply, I already know the answer.
“What?” I ask, tightening my grip on Darcy’s arm.
“Your father,” he says.
And before I can even brace myself for impact, the floor has finally won its match, and I’m completely content to let it have its way.
Eight
Delirium.
It consumes me, and for once in my life, I want it to. I’m at a standstill, a place that is neither here nor there. For all I know, I could be in my bed, blissfully asleep. My mind hovering on the dark edge of unconsciousness, waiting to cross over and be free. But I’m not. I know I’m not. And although black spots still hover in my vision, my ears work just fine. Impossibly fine, to be exact, and I’ve never longed more to stuff them closed than I do right now.
“Would you just calm down? All of this fussing about can’t be helpful.”
“Me calm down? It’s you who did this! Get your hands off her!”
A strong pull tugs at my limp arm, and my head lists to the side. I groan, and the pull abruptly stops.
“Darcy, is it? Unless you would like our precious princess to suffer more, I suggest you just stand back and let her come around. She’s no good to either one of us hurt.”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’m going to go and fetch a cool washcloth, but if you so much as touch her while I’m gone—”
“You mustn’t forget that she is just as important to me as she is to you. I won’t hurt her,” Aras’ smooth voice replies. His voice lowers, and he whispers to himself, “Not ever.”
And then the thin veil of heat lifts, and my breathing slows into an even pace. Darcy has left the room, and even though I need her, I know that I do, most of my tension is gone as well. I’m lighter now, and I think that if I were to peek through my lashes, the world would be clearer. Too clear, perhaps.
“And you’re sure she’ll be fine?” Weston asks, his words touching my cheek as he kneels down beside me. I can feel the burn of his eyes upon my face, but I don’t move a muscle, not even a twitch, content to stay in my home of blackness forever.
“As fine as she ever was,” Aras whispers before calling out to someone else in the room. “I told you she needed to hear things in small doses, didn’t I? She’ll come around, but not when you just throw it at her.”
His words confuse me, because not only do I not understand them, but also because what little I do know about Aras tells me that tone in his voice is anger. No, he’s not just angry. He’s furious.
“Oh, Aras.” Bates sighs, his heavy footsteps pounding back and forth across the office floor. “We don’t have time for your antics or hers. If she wants to see her father alive, she’ll have no choice but to adjust quickly to the change. After all, it’s not our fault they chose to leave her in the dark for so long. In fact, it’s not our fault they chose to hide her here at all. Isn’t that right, Weston?”
“General Bates!” Weston’s voice rings out beside me, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he’s full of the authority my papa gave him so very long ago. “I don’t think it’s your place to question Emory’s daughter or her antics. To be honest, I don’t think there is a place here for you at all.” He leaves my side, his heavy boots retreating to the door in a heated rush. “I think it’s time that you go. Whatever you had to say, I’m sure Aras can say it for you. He seems to be on better terms with Brave, and I’m sure he can negotiate a trade. She will expect nothing less than the safe return of her father, Emory, and the people of Ashen will expect no less as well.”
Bates barks out a harsh laugh. “Yes, you’re right. Aras does seem to be on better terms with the girl. Perhaps if I had been the one to catch her and cradle her in my lap, you’d let me stay.”
At his words, I stiffen, bracing the floor with my palms. I never envisioned myself falling into Aras’ arms, willingly or not. I start to sit up, but he catches the movement with his hands, warning me to stay still.
“It’s no matter,” Bates continues, amusement lined in his voice. “Just remember that what is good for Emory and Ashen is not always what is good for Brave. Her father has always gotten that confused in the past, and I’d hate for you to make the same mistake again. Now that we’ve found her, there’s not much to discuss.”
“You don’t know what you speak of,” Weston growls.
“Oh, dear Weston, I think I do. Now,” Bates sounds, slapping his hands together and calling an end to his tirade. “Aras, if you would so kindly inform her of our proposition when she awakes, I will return to Orien with word of our forthcoming deal. I expect to see you in no more than three weeks’ time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course,” Aras replies smoothly, and not for the first time, I itch to jump out of his lap.
“Crisp!” Weston calls. I hear the rumble of the large office door as it opens, and he steps into the room.
What does Crisp think when he sees me now? I can’t imagine I could ever look more compromised than I do at this very moment. Or more foolish.
“General Bates will be leaving now. Please show him out.”
There’s a flurry of movement, before complete silence fills the room. We’re alone, but for some reason, I can’t bear the thought of opening my eyes. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to face him, or maybe it’s because I don’t want him to see the tears that are beginning to pool at my lashes. So when a warm hand slides across my cheek, stilling my very heart, I’m not the least bit surprised when all coherent thoughts evaporate through the open balcony and into the waiting sky above.
“He’s a lot to take in, Bates, but he means well,” Aras whispers. “He just has a funny way of going about it. You’re not just important to him, you’re also important to a lot of other people.”
His words are gentle, a soothing warmth against my racing heart. But I don’t budge; I don’t make a sound. He’s trying to be nice to me, to pull me to his side, and I’ve already made up my mind that’s not where I want to be. So I keep my breaths steady, my thoughts clear, and I wait. I wait for Darcy to come back with that wet cloth to wash him away and take my weakness with it.
“Are you sure you’re not fully awake? I could have sworn I felt movement earlier,” he teases, willing me to open my eyes.
Thankfully, I’m properly schooled in the art of foolish men, so I’m not even tempted to peek. I suppose I have Darcy to thank for that.
“Oh…” He sighs, leaning in close so we’re almost cheek to cheek. “Such a pity. And here I thought I wouldn’t have to breathe air into your lungs.”
In an instant, I’m up, our foreheads bumping as a sea of black dots invade my vision once more.
“Please just help me stand,” I moan, pulling myself up until I’m sitting on my knees on the floor. The blue dress stretches and pulls across my thighs. For some reason, I imagine his face when it completely rips in two. It’s not a sight I particularly long to see.
“Easy there, Bravest,” he says, grabbing me under the shoulders and hauling me up. “While this dress may be quite alluring, it’s not exactly your best friend at the moment. Though I hate to say it, I think your fancy pantsuits fit your personality much better.”
Choosing to ignore his backhanded compliment, I shuffle forward, regretfully grabbing his arm as I sway. The cool fabric feels like heaven under my fingers, and not for the first time, I envy his feather-white tunic and light gray pants. If only I could always dress as if I were a dreary, soft cloud. Maybe then, less people would try to approach me.
“By the way, did you purposely pick this shade to match my eyes? If so, you’ve truly outdone yourself.”
I wobble to a stop, my hand gripping his arm with more force than I
thought I could muster. “A joke? You’ve just admitted to stealing my world, and all you can think to say is a joke? A joke?”
His gaze turns serious, traveling across my face as if he’s looking for something that he’s not quite sure even exists. “Life is full of hurt, Bravest Penelope. When given the opportunity, one should make light of it, or risk unraveling with every obstacle that one faces.”
I become still, allowing him to stare into my eyes, as if he’s just said the most fanciful thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing. Then I smile. “Well, would you look at that? A guard and a poet! How did I ever get so lucky as to cross paths with the likes of you?”
His eyes widen and his lips begin to move, but amazingly, no sound comes out. Shocked. I’ve actually shocked him, and for once, I’ve won. My smile takes on a mind of its own.
“Did you just respond to my ill-timed joke with one of your own?” he asks as the beginnings of confusion crinkle across his brow.
“Yes, but it was a mean and snarky one, so that’s different. I suppose that makes us even, in case you’re wondering.”
He scoffs, running his free hand through his curling hair. A rare beam of happiness alights my heart; the heat must be doing a number on him as well. For once, I feel as though we’re standing on level ground. “Yes, Bravest, I was wondering.”
“Good,” I say, standing up taller. “Once I change, I will look for you in the dining hall. Whatever deal you’re interested in making, it better involve the return of my papa as quickly as possible, or else I have no interest in what you have to say. Bates may think he knows best, but what’s good for my papa is good for me. That will never change.”
“I never expected it would,” he replies, pinning me with his gaze. “Though you should know, we don’t actually have your father, but we are quite positive we know where to find him.”
A painful twist pulls at my heart. The fact I know nothing about the world around us only compounds my worries. Is it better for Papa to be with the Orien, or with someone else? I wish I knew.
“Just so long as the end result is the same,” I toss over my shoulder, choosing to ignore my own confusion for now as I make my way to the door. “And by the way, you knew me long before that fateful day we met in the woods, Aras Renn of Orien. Be prepared to tell me why.”
I take a risk and glance back at my parting words, but Aras looks as cool and calm as ever. Not even a hint of concern across his features. Silently, I curse him.
Darcy meets me just as I cross the threshold, a cool cloth armed in her ever-working hands. “Oh, good! You’re awake.”
“And just as cheery as ever,” Aras adds.
Darcy’s eyes gleam with daggers. “The master is gone, yet he still thinks he owns the right to speak. Such a pity, young Aras. I never took you for a fool.”
I take the opportunity to flash him a cruel smile. “Well, I certainly did.”
Darcy shoves the cool cloth to my face, effectively stunning my senses. I’m quite positive she does it on purpose.
“Now come, dear. We have better things to attend to.”
She leads me out into the entrance way and toward the steep staircase. Cool water drips from the cloth, to my face and down my dress, leaving small droplets all along the floor. Hesitantly, I turn to look over my shoulder, wondering if Aras still stands as confident as he did yet a moment ago, but Darcy pops me with a swift lick to the back of the head.
“He doesn’t deserve your pity, young lady. No Orien does.”
“It certainly wasn’t pity I was planning to offer,” I bite back while kicking off my shoes and attempting to scale the stairs faster than Darcy’s little legs can carry her.
“Would you simmer down?” she whispers in a harsh voice. “It won’t do any good for him to watch us both tumble down the stairs.”
“Oh, I think it would do plenty good,” I say, craning my neck back as she pulls unsteadily on my elbow from behind. “Perhaps if he saw me for the fool I truly am, he would return back to his wild homeland, never to be heard from again.”
Darcy snorts softly, not because it is all she has to say, but because it is all she is capable of producing at the moment. She never has been one for stairs. Or for moving briskly.
“Besides,” I whisper, “he says that the Oriens don’t even have Papa. They just think they know where he is. We can do this without their help. I highly doubt Papa would want any of us involved with those heathens from the north.”
I pause at the top of the staircase, allowing Darcy to catch her breath. Instead of stopping with me, she juts by me, grabbing my elbow and roughly tugging me toward my room. Throwing open the door, she pushes me inside before slamming it closed. She leans against the heavy wood, her face a picture of both worry and deep-rooted misery.
She has something to say, and I’m not so sure that I’m going to like it.
“Penelope…” She exhales as her eyelids flutter impatiently closed. “There are things that I am about to tell you now that go against every oath I’ve ever sworn to your father. Every oath that was specifically designed to keep you safe. Except now, you are no longer safe, my dear, and I think your father would agree the time has come to break that promise.”
I do nothing; I just stand and stare at her closed eyes, which can’t seem to bear the thought of opening up and taking me in. Darcy’s words are like a dangerous melody—a chorus of sounds I don’t understand. My skin prickles and my breaths become uneven. The oily words of Bates fill my mind, and I struggle to make sense of the suffocating fog that surrounds me.
In the dark. Hide her away.
Yes, there is a secret all right, and I get the horrible feeling that it might be me.
Slowly, my legs begin to move backward of their own accord, only stopping with the soft bump of the bed. Darcy opens her eyes and frowns at the open space between us.
“Get on with it, Darcy. If you’re afraid that your very words will break me, then rest assured, for I am nothing but a collection of disheveled pieces, glued back and held together with only the little string of hope that I keep for my papa’s return. So if you’re looking to shield my feelings, looking to spare my heart, don’t bother. You see, you can’t hurt me, because I already am.”
She breaks away from the door, taking slow, careful steps toward the bed, as if I am a nervous deer she’s afraid to spook. I narrow my eyes and shrink onto the cushions. The dress stretches to move with me, because at this point, the poor thing has no choice. Darcy, it seems, is not that far off mark.
“Oh, my dearest Penelope,” she coos softly, stretching a tentative hand out to touch the long, dark strands of my hair as she sits down beside me. “The night I very first laid eyes on you is one I am sure to never forget.”
Her first words don’t come as a surprise, as I’ve heard them before. In fact, I’ve heard them plenty. Usually when I was young and used to ask about my mother. It was her way of distracting me. Her way of helping me to understand the unimaginable. As I grew older, wiser, I simply learned to stop asking.
“Here you were, wrapped up tight in your father’s arms. A little present of dark curls, even at such a young age, and right when I looked at your sweet face, you opened your bright eyes, staring back at me with twice the curiosity of most adults. I looked at your father and said, ‘She’s trouble.’ And do you know what he said back to me?” she asks.
And I do. I most certainly do. “She’s perfect,” I whisper.
“Yes, she’s perfect, and of course, he was right.” She chuckles. “Although to be fair, I was, too.”
The sweet memory of my papa slows the frantic beat of my heart, but I know Darcy isn’t here to tell me tales and send me to sleep. She’s here to give me the truth. For I know the story, as I memorized it by heart. My mother died not long after I was born. Complications due to my birth I assumed, although no one would ever say either way. But before she passed, she gave me my name, adamant that it be Penelope Brave, because she said I’d need to be brave to face t
he world without my mother. That she needed to know I would be taken care of—that my namesake would give her the strength to pass on without me—and so she did.
My father never remarried, and my family never spoke of her again. Except of course, when I would ask.
“And my mother?” I prod. “What did she think?”
“Oh, your mother, well, she thought of you the very most, because you see, she was the one who gave you a second chance. She was the one who gave you to us.”
I sit up sharply, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her vision into mine. “What do you mean—a second chance?”
Darcy starts to look down, but I gently shake her shoulders, willing her to look up again. “I never knew your mother very well, dear. I only met her once or twice, but I knew that she and your father were involved for quite some time. He loved her, and he would do anything for her, just as he does anything for you. You must understand—you are his world.”
Her very words muddle my brow, causing a pounding ache above my eyes. Of course Papa knew my mother. He loved her. He was married to her. And above all, Darcy knew her, too. She was the second half of Ashen.
“Darcy,” I balk. “You’re not making any sense.”
She reaches out, taking my hands from her shoulders and squeezing them in her own. “Love is a strange and powerful force, Penelope, and your mother was using it to save you from something—a fate I hope you never know. Your father knew you were both in trouble, and he helped you. Saved you.”
“From what?”
“The Orien, my Penelope. Your mother was from Orien, and you most definitely are too.”
Nine
“There!” he points. “Right there! Did you see it, my Brave?”
I smile, my eyes twinkling in the dim light of the starlit sky. “I did, Papa. I saw it.”
He lowers his arm and our shoulders touch again as we lie on the rooftop, gazing up at the stars overhead. Shooting stars are rare, he tells me, and that’s how we know they are sent to the ground from someone above. It’s a sign, he says. A sign that our loved ones see us—a sign that they are still there.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 6