He likes you, Iria had said to her a few days ago. More than likes you. He looks at you as if he’s falling in love with you.
Em swallowed down a wave of guilt. Cas probably didn’t love her. He liked her, maybe, but love? No. Surely not.
The guilt clawed through her chest and into her throat, making it hard to breathe. She didn’t know what was worse—that he liked her, or that she was pretty sure she felt the same way.
The warriors entered the room, followed shortly after by the queen and Jovita. The king came in a few minutes later and grabbed the trade agreement from Iria without so much as a “good morning.”
“I’ll discuss it with my advisers,” he said after a moment.
“They’re not coming this morning?” Iria asked.
“No.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. “You can go. That’s all for today.”
The warriors couldn’t hide their surprise, but they all stood without comment. Iria glanced at Em as she left, a hint of worry in her eyes.
The king stared straight at Em, and she pretended not to notice. If they’d discovered something, they would have captured her immediately, not let her wander into a meeting with the royal family. Right?
“It’s come to my attention that you visited the Ruined prisoner,” the king said.
She tried to swallow without appearing nervous. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to know if he was part of the attack that killed my parents.”
Jovita and the queen shared a look. The queen leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s mostly what we’ve gotten from him,” the king said. “Nothing. Time to give up, I think.”
Em gripped the edge of her chair, her heart diving into her feet.
“But he told me the location of a Ruined camp a few days ago,” Cas said before she could speak.
“And I’ve relayed that to my soldiers, but Ruined camps move all the time. He knew he wasn’t giving us anything important.” The king stood, grabbing the treaty agreement off the table. “I’m losing patience. I don’t usually keep Ruined prisoners.”
“No, you usually kill them right away.”
Cas’s words hung in the air like they’d been shouted instead of spoken calmly.
“Do you have something you’d like to say, Casimir?” The king straightened his shoulders, staring down his son.
Em gently pressed her hand to her waist, where she’d slipped a dagger inside her dress. The leather sheath was warm against her left side. She could get at the weapon in about three seconds, hurl it at the king’s chest, take Cas’s hand, and run as—
She shook the thought away, curling her fingers into a fist and trying to pretend she wasn’t imagining Cas’s hand in hers as they ran away from the castle.
“I think we should reevaluate our policy on the Ruined,” Cas said. “I can no longer support murdering people who haven’t committed a crime.”
The king’s beard trembled, like he was having a hard time keeping his temper in check. “Luckily, I don’t need your support. And no one with any sense disagrees with Lera’s Ruined policy.”
“I do,” Em said.
The king barely glanced at her, like she didn’t count. He stomped away from the table. “I have more important things to do.”
“Damian talks to me,” Cas said, looking over his shoulder at his father. “At the very least you shouldn’t execute him while he’s still talking to me.”
The king’s face twisted, like he hated to admit Cas was right.
“And you keep another Ruined locked away,” Em said quickly. “If you keep Olivia, why not Damian?”
“It’s different,” the queen said with a sniff.
“How so? Is she somewhere very well guarded?” She tried to keep the question light, but her chest tightened in anticipation.
“Not your concern.” The king turned his attention to his niece. “Jovita, join me?”
Jovita’s eyes lit up, and she scurried after the king.
“At least stop torturing Damian,” Cas said as they headed for the door. “He’s never talked during torture.”
“Fine.” The king threw the door open, and he and Jovita disappeared through it. The queen followed, sparing a deep frown for her son as she went. Em let out a sigh.
“That went about as well as expected,” Cas said with a nervous laugh.
“That was brave,” she said, meaning every word.
“Thanks.”
She wanted to thank him for stopping Damian’s torture, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it without casting suspicion on herself. Plus, she couldn’t let the opportunity to ask about Olivia pass her by.
“Is it a secret?” she asked carefully. “Olivia’s location?”
“Somewhat. The family knows. Some of the advisers. My father is just being a jerk. She’s at Fort Victorra in the Southern Mountains. Where we meet in case of an emergency?”
Her entire body went numb, but she managed to barely nod. Olivia. Victorra. Southern Mountains. A year of desperately wondering where her sister was, and Cas had laid it all out for her with one simple question. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him.
Guilt pushed out the happiness almost immediately. His expression was so open and honest that she wanted to scream the truth at him and ask for forgiveness. She wondered what would happen if she came clean and simply asked him to let Olivia go.
Actually, she could guess what would happen—the same scenario that had played out in front of her moments ago. Cas would be reasonable; his father would disagree and do whatever he wanted.
Or Cas would explode, grab a sword, and stick it through her heart. If Iria was right, and he really did like her, it would only make his anger worse. He might lose sight of all reason.
Truth wasn’t an option. She had to stick with her plan, regardless of how he looked at her.
EIGHTEEN
EM WOKE TO the sound of her door creaking.
Her eyes flew open, and she rolled out of the sheets and onto the floor. She sprang to her feet, making a beeline for the dresser that held her knife.
“It’s me,” came Iria’s soft voice.
Em squinted in the darkness to where Iria stood by the door.
“What are you doing? What time is it?” Fear slammed into her chest, and she clasped the handle of the dresser drawer, ready to grab the knife. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re executing Damian.”
“Now?” She’d meant to yell it, but the word came out as a strangled whisper instead.
“The king just woke some of the guards. Aren is already out there.”
She flew across the room, shoving her feet into her boots. She knocked against Iria’s shoulder as she wrenched open the door.
“Don’t!” Iria hissed from behind her. “If they see you . . .”
Em didn’t catch the last of Iria’s words as she ran out of her rooms and into the hallway. It was dark and quiet, the curtains still shut tight over the windows. Most of the lanterns lining the hallway were unlit.
She darted to the main staircase, but a tiny voice in the back of her head told her not to rush to the front entrance of the castle in full view of the guards. She spun around, sprinting down the hallway and taking the back staircase to the kitchen instead.
Iria’s footsteps pounded behind her as she ran through the staff dining room and out the door. She was wearing only a white nightgown, and the morning air was cool against her bare arms and legs. The sky was deep blue with the smallest hint of orange beginning to appear on the horizon.
The gardens were empty, and Em looked over her shoulder at Iria. “South lawn?” She received no reply except Iria attempting to grab for her arm. She shook the warrior off and sprinted around the side of the castle, Iria’s footsteps following her.
Aren came into view as soon as she rounded the corner. He was leaning against the wall, his hands br
aced on his knees, his lips moving in silent prayer. She’d walked in on Aren praying many times in her life, though never after the castle burned, with his parents in it.
She drew in a ragged breath and his head popped up, his eyes wide and wet. “You can’t be here.”
“Is he dead?” she whispered.
Aren put both hands behind his neck, ducking his face into his chest. “I don’t know. I can’t look.”
She took a few steps forward. She didn’t want to see, but her feet kept moving anyway. They were slow, heavy with the sinking feeling that there was nothing she could do for Damian now.
She curled her fingers around the corner of the castle, peeking onto the south lawn.
Damian was on his knees near the stairs down to the dungeon. His ankles were tied together, his wrists bound in front of him. A guard was behind him with a blade. The king and queen stood not far away, along with Jovita and a few more guards. Cas was not there.
It didn’t seem as if the king and queen, who had their backs to her, had noticed her presence, but Damian stared right at her. He was filthy and bloody, one eye partially swollen shut.
She couldn’t move. Tears welled in her eyes, but his were clear, his expression grim but steady. His lips twisted into the saddest smile she’d ever seen.
“Em, they might see you.” Iria tugged on her arm. Em wriggled free. Iria grabbed her again. “If they see—”
“Let go of her.” Aren’s voice was a growl, and Iria’s body shot backward, as if suddenly hurled across the lawn by an invisible force. Aren gasped as she hit the ground.
Aren raced across the grass to her crumpled body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m fine.” Iria slapped his hand away.
Em turned back to the lawn. The king made a motion for the guards to proceed.
“Aren.” Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I can’t let him die.”
He was behind her suddenly, his hand finding hers. “You will not die with him.” His voice wobbled.
Damian was still looking in her direction, and she watched as he brought his bound hands up to his heart. He tapped his fist against his chest twice in the official Ruina salute to the queen.
The guard raised his sword.
Aren lowered his forehead onto her shoulder, whispering, “I can’t look.” She could barely hear him through the blood rushing in her ears.
“For the crime of murder and treason, the kingdom of Lera sentences you to death,” Em heard the king say. “May the ancestors see something in you that we did not.”
The king nodded at the guard holding the sword. He lifted it into the air, hesitating for a moment as he found his mark.
The blade crashed down.
NINETEEN
“HE WOULD BE an excellent leader, Emelina.”
Em looked up at her mother, then through the open window to where Damian stood outside. He ducked suddenly, barely missing the ball Olivia threw dangerously close to his head.
“Oops,” Olivia said with a giggle. Her long, dark hair was pulled tight in a ponytail, and it swung back and forth as she bounced on her heels, extending her hand as she waited for the ball to return.
“I guess,” Em said to her mother, turning her attention back to her book. “If Olivia likes him.”
“I meant for you.”
Em looked up, surprised. Wenda Flores stood with her back to the bookshelves, the red, green, and black spines extending far over her head, almost all the way to the ceiling.
She cocked one thin eyebrow at her daughter. “He likes you. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“He’s too powerful to marry someone useless,” Em said with a hint of bitterness.
“Just because your Ruined power never manifested doesn’t mean you won’t pass it to your children. You’re still a royal. You’ll lead the Ruined, and he belongs in that position with you.”
“Olivia will lead, not me.”
“You will be your sister’s most important adviser. You’ll have almost as much influence over Ruina as she will.”
Em shrugged, glancing out at Damian again. He caught her eye and smiled. He wasn’t the worst choice. But she also didn’t look at him the way her mother looked at her father. Like the world would go up in flames if something happened to him.
“Em!” Olivia ran to the window, bracing her hands on either side of it. Her eyes were wide with excitement. “They caught another spy from Lera. They’re bringing him now!” She pointed past Damian, where a wagon and horses rolled toward the castle.
“That was fast,” Wenda said, the skirts of her red dress swishing across the floor as she walked to the door. “Have you been practicing, Olivia?”
“Every day,” Olivia said seriously.
“Good.” Wenda smiled at Em. “Your sister is going to take that man’s head clean off his body. Would you like to come watch?”
The memory slammed into Em’s brain just after waking. A sick feeling rolled through her stomach and she darted out of bed, gasping for air.
She’d forgotten that day. It had been shortly before Lera attacked, and the memory had faded in favor of the bigger, more horrifying events that followed.
Em had gone to watch. Olivia hadn’t been able to do it (though she did break the skin around his neck), so a guard had eventually stepped in with a sword. Em had looked away when it happened.
But she hadn’t wondered who he was. She couldn’t even remember his face now. If he was young or thin or if he had a beard. She remembered blood dripping down his neck. She remembered the screaming.
It hadn’t occurred to her at the time that he could have been someone’s Damian. Someone’s friend or husband or father.
She pushed her hands through her hair, tears welling in her eyes. Her room was too dark—the only light coming from the moon shining through the window—and the blackness brought images she didn’t want to see. Damian on his knees. Her mother’s smile.
She hastily pulled on a pair of pants and a loose white shirt. She walked through her rooms and into the hallway, avoiding a maid’s curious glance as she passed. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but the castle still murmured with noise.
Her feet took her to Cas’s rooms. She considered going to Aren, but something about that didn’t feel right. Aren wouldn’t understand this ache in her chest.
Cas answered the door only a few moments after she knocked. His shirt was rumpled and half-unbuttoned, though he didn’t look like he’d been asleep. He tossed his book onto the couch as he opened the door wider.
“Come in. Are you feeling all right? I came by earlier, but your maid said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m fine,” she said as she stepped inside the dark library. Light spilled out from his bedroom, and he led her in that direction.
“You heard they executed Damian this morning?” he asked as they walked through the door. Two candles near his bed were lit, casting a glow over his unmade bed.
“Yeah.” She stopped in the middle of the room, crossing her arms over her chest.
“My father did it on purpose, to show he doesn’t have to listen to us.” Cas turned around to face her. “I wouldn’t have handled this situation the same way, if it were up to me. If my father doesn’t succeed in killing every Ruined in existence, you and I should find a way to make peace with them one day.”
“Peace,” she repeated, the word burning down her throat. She’d never considered peace, for even a moment.
“Does that sound stupid?” Cas seemed unsure suddenly.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not stupid. Your father and Jovita treat you like your ideas are stupid because they don’t like the way your questions make them feel. Remember that, all right? You’re not dumb, you’re not naive, you’re not any of the things they try to make you out to be.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Thank you, Mary.”
She swallowed at the mention of the girl she’d killed, her gaze dropping to the floor.
/> Cas reached for her hand, his tone softening. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she lied. “Just . . . lonely, I think.” The admission was embarrassing as soon as it was out of her mouth, but Cas squeezed her hand tighter.
“I’m glad you came,” he said quietly.
She rubbed her thumb across her necklace. The constant guilt in her chest had started to give way to a fiery ache. It was physically painful to imagine how much he would hate her after he knew the truth.
He closed the distance between them with one small step. He was too close, or not close enough, and she put a hand on his chest.
The room was so quiet she could hear him draw a breath, and she watched as the air filled his chest. His fingers brushed across her neck, and Em knew that if she looked up now, he would kiss her. She was going to let him. She was going to do more than let him, actually, she was going to drag him to her and feel every inch of his body next to hers.
His eyes met hers, his thumb gently nudging her chin up.
She burst into tears.
Surprise crossed Cas’s face as he pulled her into his arms. She closed her fingers around his shirt. She felt like if she didn’t hold on to him, he might start slipping away from her.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly, his arms tightening around her waist.
“Damian’s death made me think. . . .” She took in a shaky breath and let honest words spill out of her mouth. “I’ve seen so many people killed and never given it a second thought. I’ve killed. I planned to kill more.”
She hadn’t just planned to kill Cas. She’d imagined smiling as she sank a sword into his chest.
“I don’t think this is who I want to be,” she said, her voice shaking.
“You did what you had to do,” Cas said.
“I did what I chose to do.” Tears spilled over her cheeks, staining his shirt.
“Then choose better next time.”
It was such a simple statement that she almost told him it was too late. But when she lifted her head and met his eyes, he stared at her with such sincerity that it was impossible to disagree.