Pity—and lots of it.
Aras looks to him, a silent conversation playing out on the steps to our demise. Bates gives a sharp nod toward the right staircase before looking straight ahead, as if we’re not even there.
“Just a moment, and a very short one at that.”
The words must be all Aras needed to hear because he jolts up the stairs, pulling me with him. My boots scrape against each step, leaving muddy trails on the clean carpet, but I don’t stop. I don’t care. I don’t even think. I just keep right on moving, holding on as tight as I can to the one person I fear I’m about to lose.
The one person who I’m not willing to let go.
Aras’ steps pound against the floor, not stopping until we’ve topped the stairs and opened the first closed door we see. He pulls me into the tiny room, which with a quick glance, looks to be a closet with a tiny, square window allowing the only bit of light. Aras shuts the door behind us, immediately beginning to pace the small space before me, like an animal in a trap. Hesitantly, I step forward, placing my hand on his shoulder as if I can set him free. Aras’ boots come to a stop, but when he turns to face me, the sound of my gasp is the only thing that assures me I’m still here, and not some loathsome puddle on the floor.
For his handsome face, with its smooth olive skin and piercing blue eyes, is marred with something I’ve never seen. Nor something I’d ever wish.
It’s lined with tears.
“Aras,” I breathe, his name leaving my lips in a whisper of need and heartache all the same.
My hands move from his shoulder, up his neck, and across his wet cheeks. My fingers fanning out in a desperate fight to wipe away the evidence of his sorrow. His fear. His loss. My mind whirls with Ian’s warning, that my Aras had gotten himself in too deep. That my own mother was worried that he’d do something irrational just to make things right.
Just to help me.
But despite the facts, despite the horrible, dark feeling that slowly winds its way up my shaking legs and into my core, I refuse to let the sorrow take me. Take us.
“Just tell me what it means, Aras,” I whisper, pulling him close until we’re chest to chest, and I have to look up to speak. “Whatever it is, it’s nothing that we can’t work through. Please. Just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make this right.”
Aras’ hands come up to cup my cheeks, his own fingers now wiping away tears that I didn’t even know had formed. His chest heaves with a slow breath, his head shaking to the side, moving the black curls across his brow and out of his eyes.
“I only ever wanted to be a part of your story, Bravest. From the time you were born, until the moment when we finally met, I just wanted to know you. I wanted to feel what it would be like to stand by your side, even for just a short time. This last trip to Ashen meant everything to me. Everything. And I’d do it all again, no matter the price.”
He bends down, placing his forehead against my own, and I close my eyes tight, willing the truth to fall away because I’m not ready to face it just yet. I’ll never be ready to understand the price that Aras has truly paid for a few weeks in the woods with me.
The promise.
So instead, I open my eyes wide, pulling back to steel my shoulders, and say the words that I’ve always known, but that I have fought against since the very moment we met.
“Oh, Aras, you are my story.”
And then he kisses me until we’re all but lost, and it’s only the sound of Bates banging on the door that makes us found.
Fifty-Six
The red door closes with a soft click against my back, and even the insignificance of it feels magnified in the giant room. Ahead of me, Aras and Bates walk with a quiet purpose to where I know my father waits, probably watching with keen eyes from the cushion of his opulent chair.
I don’t know because I’ve refused to let my eyes wander that far.
To my sides, long, red fabrics hang from the ceiling, emblazoned with black panthers and the occasional Orien seal, making the room seem even more suffocating than the building flame I’m trying to douse from within. Just as in the hall, a thin carpet leads like a walkway to the end of the room. Three arched windows sit directly behind what must be my father’s throne, and the same twisted fixtures hang from the tall ceiling, though none of the candles are lit. It leaves the room with just enough light to see, but also enough to keep its secrets.
I hope it will keep mine as well.
“Aras. Bates.”
His voice rings out with a careful calm, laced with power and arrogance, and just enough hate to keep our boots frozen in place. Up close, I can finally see the beginnings of color in his eyes as he inspects me like a new horse for his stock—a sharp slate of gray with a rich darkness looming at their edges, as if it sits by idly, waiting for the day when it can take control. His dress is nothing like the clean white that I’ve come to expect from his men. Instead, his lean frame is covered from head to toe with a rich, black robe allowing only the hint of a deep red to peek out from underneath.
His dark hair, the same shade as mine, is neatly trimmed and slicked back, leaving not a single loose strand out of place. A black, but graying beard covers his face with sharp, neat lines, arching down from his mustache and cutting up high against his cheeks. His thick brows bounce with what I imagine to be amusement as he rises from his high-backed chair and descends the four steps that separate us from his rule.
Yes, dangerous amusement, indeed.
All too soon, his boots reach the bottom, and my eyes tip to the lone chair that looms just over his shoulder. The dark wood shines with the light from the windows, like a glossy coat of elegance, meant to hold the center of the room. Without a single decoration, it’s clean—ordinary even, for such a self-righteous king. In fact, the only inconsistency in the wood rests at the very center of the curved back, so small I almost didn’t see it.
A black circle with four flames arching from its top. The marking that has intrigued me for so long hides its meaning no more. For the circle is not simply a shape. It’s the letter O. Orien’s fire, I realize. The symbol of my father, and now it stares back, mocking me with one silent word.
Promise.
My heart pounds and my eyes jump away, only to come face to face with the man who tried to burn the only mother I didn’t even know I had. His movement is so swift and forceful that I have to catch myself from stumbling back. Before I can speak, his hand reaches out to grab my chin, his rough nails all but digging into my skin. He tugs my head up, down, to the side, and then back, all the while watching me with those piercing slate eyes. My insides begin to tingle with a deep-rooted burn. The silent flame still builds and begs to be released, but I refuse, clenching my jaw and curling my fingers into tight fists.
I will not give up my magic for this man, even if he threatens to pull it from my soul.
“And you must be the mythical daughter.” He finally speaks, and I try not to flinch when I begin to feel the heat from his fingers burning against my skin. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t seem very impressed.”
He stares at me for a moment longer, daring me to look him in the eye. When I keep my gaze toward the wall of windows, his lips widen with the wickedest of smiles. A predator catching his prey. To my left, I catch the careful shake of Aras’ head, as if he already knows the words that beg to be released from my smart mouth. Two weeks ago, I might have heeded his advice—simply stayed quiet and looked out for myself. But those two weeks have come and gone, and now I’m not just concerned for my well-being, but consumed with his. If I can steal any of the wrath already set in Aras’ direction, I will, and I’ll do it well.
“And you must be the tyrant father,” I say, finally locking my eyes with his. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t seem very impressed.”
For one glorious second, pure surprise flashes across his hardened gaze, and then, just as quick, manic euphoria rises in its place.
“Such a pity.” He tsks as the tips of his fingers begin to burn i
nto the layers of my flesh. “I was so hoping you’d be nothing like her, but what fun it will be to watch you break into pieces, so I can build you whole again.”
Without so much as another glance, I’m thrust on my back, the air whooshing out of my lungs as I hit the stone floor. For one frantic moment, I think this may be it. I think this may be my end, except no one ever told me about the bright stars that dance above your pounding head when you’re dead.
No, not stars. Fire.
Repressing a moan, I roll to my side, my hair barely missing the flames as they build a cage around my crumpled form. My chin stings with what I know to be burns, and I resist the urge to reach up and comfort them with my touch. Through the thick flames that bleed of black and the darkest hues of red, my father stands before me with his arms crossed against his thick chest. His expression screams of a cruel pleasure. The kind only an experienced killer could create, causing his true being to shine from within.
The real black panther waiting to pounce.
“And what do you say now? Still not impressed?” His cruel laugh fills the room, rising above the raging fire. He crouches before me, reaching in through the obedient flames and taking my burned chin in his hand once more. Tears begin to blur my vision. I bite my lip, holding onto the scream that the pain brings. “Then what a fun little game we will play until the day I win your awe.”
At his words, he lets go, edging back as the flames move to bend for his will just as they did for me not so long ago. For now, I will let him win. I will let him think that this little trick, this wall of flames, has scared me stiff. But one day, when he’s good and ready, I will show him my own.
And unlike this flame, my fire will never go out.
Carefully, and in a painstakingly slow move, I rise to my feet, unwilling to be beaten even when the raging flames cage me in. My father’s back is to me now, moving with calculated grace as he strides to Aras’ side. I know both Aras and Bates must be thinking a thousand different things, but not a single emotion shows on their face. My little rant may not have turned out as I had wanted, but hopefully, most of the burden will be left on my shoulders and not their own.
“And now, Aras, for the most important question of all,” Knox says, looking down as he stands at least a head above my Orien guard. “Though I think I already know the answer, tell me, was she worth your promise? Was she worth your will? Your soul?”
The flames around me drop to the floor, smoldering to ash at my boots, and although I know I should move, I do nothing. I just stand there with my eyes unblinking and my heart plummeting in my chest. For the fog has cleared, and now I can see what I’ve really been to Aras since the day of my birth.
I am the ghost, and I’ve haunted him to his death.
Before me, Aras’ shoulders square in a rigid line, his chin tilting up as if he hasn’t a fear in the world. “She’s worth my very life,” he says.
And those very words have sealed our fate.
“What’s happening?” I demand, moving toward them as if I could rewind time and undo what’s already been done.
Aras’ eyes dart to mine with the truest of concerns laced with the deepest of warnings, but I hold his gaze, no matter how hard it hurts to see the boy I care for being torn apart. It’s not until I reach their side that I notice the ugly smirk planted across my father’s face, as if he had planned this whole drawn-out scene all along, and I’d been an all-too-willing participant. Bates catches my eye with a knowing glance, and his words from below find me once more.
You are a strong girl, and don’t you dare let a soul believe any different.
I decide he might be right.
“What’s happening, child?” Knox drawls, watching my reaction as if his whole world hinges on my grief. “Well now, only the very best of honors, that’s what. Aras here has offered himself. Promised to be exact. From here on forward, he will be a part of my elite guard. Free to use my magic as I see fit, and all he must give up is his pure will. The very things that make him tick. Think. Feel. Hate. Love. Some argue that these men give up their being, but on the contrary, they’re only just living up to it. After all, who would want to struggle through the heartache that life can bring, when all of your thoughts can simply be controlled by mine whenever I see fit?”
“You must have a lot of men jumping at the opportunity to become your slave then?” I ask, schooling my features into the clearest of calm, while my insides begin their silent path to destruction from within.
“Slave?” He laughs, cocking his head to study the steady lines of my face. “More like ultimate guard. Protector of the king. Privileged, to be exact. But to answer your question, no. I have four men in my guard. Five now, including Aras. It takes a certain kind of man to stand in my inner circle, you see. And it typically begins with someone who needs something. Money for debts. Power for freedom. Protection for someone he loves.”
He stops, a deliberate smile lighting his face at the last of his words. “I wonder, dear child, what it is that Aras needs?”
For one last moment, my eyes flick over to my Orien guard, and I soak him in. Every last blasted piece of him. The disheveled hair. The brightness of his eyes. Those kissable, olive cheeks. Every word, every hope. I commit them to memory because I’m beginning to fear it’s all I have left.
“I can’t say that I understand much about Aras,” I say, not even bothering to look away when a soft smile pulls at his lips. “I barely know him, after all, but I can tell you that I’m glad to be out of those woods.”
Knox’s eyes flick to Aras in surprise, judging his reaction to my blatant dismissal. It’s the only clue that tells me I’ve done right. That I might make it out of this mess without ruining Aras’ last wish.
“But who am I to care anyway?” I continue, calling Knox’s attention back to my face. “Whatever Aras promised you is none of my business. Honestly, my only concern at this point is rest. I take it Bates is capable of escorting me to my room?”
A smug smile lights Knox’s face. I can just imagine the ends of his mustache curling up and turning into the wild whiskers of a cat. His gray eyes shine with a devilish pride, and I can only hope that I’ve managed the unthinkable. That I’ve lied, and this wicked man believed it.
“Who knew that such disappointments could be filled with such delightful surprises?” he croons before slapping a very stony Bates on the shoulder. “You heard the princess. Take her to her rooms.”
Bates nods. I try to catch Aras’ eye one more time before I’m pulled from the room, but the quick arm of Bates wraps around my elbow, pushing me toward the door without a single look back.
“Don’t push your luck, Brave,” he whispers through his teeth. “Aras has made his deal, and you’ll have to leave it to him to settle it.”
A small whimper threatens to escape into the air, but I clench my jaw shut, cutting it off before the pitiful sound has the proper chance to form. Holding my breath and forcing my feet to follow one behind the other, I cling to Bates’ side and fight against the urge to turn around and run back into Aras’ warm arms. Just as we make it to the looming, red door, Knox’s voice rings out across the grand room, and my boots finally pull to a stop.
“Any last words, Aras, before we make good on your promise?” he asks, knowing good and well that I can still hear.
Beside me, Bates’ arm strikes out like a coiled snake, lunging for the door. He’s just pushed me into the hall, the door almost slammed shut, when Aras’ words finally reach my ears.
“Look to the stars, Little Bird,” he says.
Fifty-Seven
Numb. That’s what I am.
It’s the art of feeling nothing, but I don’t care. For what’s the point of feeling when it hurts too much.
“If you want to live, Brave, you must at least try.”
That’s what I think Bates keeps telling me as he mostly carries my limp form down the window-lined hallways. Or at least, I assume they’re windows. I only believe that because our walk is fil
led with intermittent bright lights that blur against my clouded tears. I can’t blink fast enough to clear them away, but I also don’t care if they drown me.
Numb. Yes, that’s what I feel.
After a few minutes, hours, or days, I’m not sure, Bates finally pulls me to a stop outside a broad wooden door. Bracing me up against the wall to assure I don’t fall, he pulls on the latch and leads us into a cloud of white. I say cloud because I think that’s just where I very well may be.
The massive, wooden bed sits directly in the middle, covered with stark white sheets and matching pillows. Even the beams are colored to follow suit. The stone floors are layered with thick, white rugs, scattered decoratively throughout the room. The tall windows shimmer with sheer white curtains, and even the vanity and giant armoire stare back with their white, clean slates.
It’s suiting though, this blank, colorless room. For it is just like me.
“If you need anything, there is a button beside your bed. If you press it, it will ring your handmaiden. Her name is Sireen, and she will help you with anything you please.”
With anything I please? Does that include bringing back the second man in my life who I never wanted to lose? I should probably press that button now.
“Brave,” he says, his low voice sounding eerily close to sympathetic. “Even when all seems lost, it is not. I learned that from your mother, and you’d do well to learn it, too.”
For the first time since I left Aras to lose his soul in that evil room, my chest caves with the feeling of something new.
Surprise.
Spinning on my heel, I stumble, only to find that Bates has already shut the door and let himself out. Though I’m left in silence, the room hums with the rough sounds of my breath as my lungs battle to keep me filled with air, and I find myself in a new cage. But this time, my cage is the purest of whites with the smallest of wires.
It is a cage from which I don’t know if I’ll ever escape.
Turning from the door, I run to the first thing I see. A tall, clear vase, filled with white flowers that sing of days anew. Except I don’t want to hear their song. Not when all of my new days will be here. Grabbing the vase with shaking hands, I throw it across the room, only to become even more desperate when the sight of its broken glass doesn’t ease my pain.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 41