Ruined (13 page)

“
PLAN NUMBER ONE
.” Em put one finger in the air as she paced across her bedroom. “We simply try to keep him alive until we're ready to launch the attack. Then the castle will be ours anyway, and Damian can go free.”

Aren nodded, leaning against the wall and staring out the window. The sunlight streamed across his face and onto his blue guard shirt. “He'll have to endure torture for a while,” he said softly.

“I know.” Em swallowed. “Plan number two. You volunteer for a shift down there, kill the other guard, and you and Damian make a run for it.”

“If he's in any shape to run. Not to mention that me freeing Damian and disappearing will cast suspicion on you.”

She moaned, pushing her hands into her hair. “Forget plan number two. Or! Revise it. Make it look like Damian killed the other guard, used his Ruined magic to get out of the cell, and escaped by himself.”

“He'd still have a tough time getting over the castle wall. And evading the guards once he's free.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” she asked, exasperated.

“No. Is there a plan number three?”

“I find out where Olivia is as soon as possible, and all of us get out of here.”

“That's the worst one yet. Destroying your cover before we're ready to launch the attack makes this all for nothing. They'll heighten their defenses.”

“I never said they were good plans. And I don't hear you throwing out any ideas.”

He turned so his back was to the wall, lifting his head to the ceiling. “Plan number four. Let Damian die.”

Em grabbed one of the bedposts, squeezing it almost to the point of cracking.

“Don't look at me like that,” Aren said. He blinked several times, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes. “It's taking all my willpower not to rush down there and kill everyone even in the general vicinity of his cell. But all of this is bigger than him. You know that.”

She eased her fingers off the bedpost. “I know that.”

“Plan number one. It's the only option. Get them to hold off as long as you can.”

“Maybe he can give them a few pieces of information, pretend to be useful so they're less inclined to kill him,” she said. “I want to talk to him. Can you volunteer for a shift in the dungeon?”

“Sure. They haven't assigned guards for the overnight shift yet.”

“Is there more than one down there overnight?”

“Two. But I can use my Ruined magic to tie his stomach into knots. He'll be too sick to stay.”

“Good. Tell me when we're ready.”

Em walked across the south lawn that night, glancing over her shoulder for the fourth time. She hadn't told Cas she was going to visit Damian, and she didn't want him spotting her and tagging along. Cas and his parents would find out she'd visited him, but it was better to explain later rather than ask for permission now.

She descended the steps to the dungeon, lifting the hem of her light-purple dress. The world grew darker the farther down she went, the only light coming from the lanterns lining the walls every few steps. The walls were bare and gray, nothing like the bright colors of the castle. It was cool and quiet, and she was suddenly reminded of home. It looked more like Ruina in Lera's dungeon than anywhere else she'd seen.

She saw Aren first, leaning against the wall, keeping watch on the stairs. Another guard was a few paces from him, and he straightened when he spotted Em, surprise coloring his features.

She took the last step, pulling a breath into her chest and forcing every muscle in her body to relax. She screwed her face into a calm expression.

Damian was lying on the ground, his head turned to her. Dirt coated his arms and neck, his face was horribly swollen, and his hand had been bandaged. They'd taken care of his wound after cutting his finger off?

“May I help you with something, Your Highness?” Aren asked. But his attention was on the other guard. The man frowned and touched his stomach.

“I'd like to speak with the prisoner,” she said. “Is it safe?”

“It's safe, Your Highness, but—” The guard made a retching sound, clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Go,” Em said, moving away from the stairs. “Get some fresh air.”

The guard nodded, sprinting past her and up the stairs. Damian's laughter echoed through the dungeon.

“Aren.” Damian shook his head. “You did a little more than was necessary there.”

“If I can't use my fist to punch him the stomach, I might as well use my magic.” Aren moved to the stairs, leaning forward to keep watch.

Em rushed forward, wrapping her fingers around the bars of Damian's cell. He sat up slowly, wincing. He was more relaxed than she would have expected, blowing his dark hair out of his eyes and smiling his crooked smile.

“Nice dress.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Seriously. I haven't seen you in a dress in over a year. They suit you.”

“Damian, stop. What happened?”

His smile faltered, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. “The hunters know we're crossing into Olso. They're all over the border. We were still managing to get through, but they picked off some of us. They captured me, and I got the special privilege of torture before my death.”

“Think of information you can give them,” Em said. “Something small. If we can keep you alive long enough, we'll be able to release you after the warriors take the castle.”

He pushed off the ground, getting to his feet with a grunt. “I doubt I'll last that long.”

“That's why you need to give them a few things. Even if they're lies, it will take time for them to confirm it. Play along.”

“Play along.” He laughed, wincing as he put a hand to his stomach. “Ow.”

She swallowed, scanning his dirty clothes. “Are you all right?”

“Never better.” He leaned his forehead against the bars. “Is Prince Casimir being kind to you?”

“Yes.”

He raised his bandaged hand. “Cas comes in and pretends to be nice after his father tortures me. They must figure one strategy will work.”

Em grasped her necklace, the words on the tip of her tongue.
He's not pretending.
Damian raised his eyebrows, questions all over his face.

“Cas doesn't have the stomach for torturing and killing the way his father does,” Aren finally said, when Em didn't. “He'll grow into it.”

Or not, since he'll be dead in a few weeks.
Em couldn't say those words either. They sat in the pit of her stomach. Damian's baffled expression didn't do much to make her feel better.

“I'm glad he's being kind to you, at least,” Damian said quietly, so only she could hear.

“Give the information to Cas, not his father,” Em said. “Show that you respond better to reason than torture.”

“They'll still kill me, Em. The king isn't going to keep a Ruined for more than a few days.”

“I'm going to get you out of this,” she said fiercely. “I won't let them execute you.”

He shook his head, his expression turning serious. “You can't stop it without making them suspicious.”

“The Ruined can't lose another leader. They're looking to you—”

“They're looking to you too, they just don't know it yet. When they realize what you did to save Olivia, they'll worship you as much as they do her.” He lifted his head from the bars. “Have you found out where she is?”

“Not yet. But I've gained Cas's trust and—”

“I think you've gained more than his trust.” Damian's lips
turned up. “But I'm not surprised, to be honest.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she snuck a glance over her shoulder at Aren. He'd disappeared into the stairway, giving them some privacy.

“You're here to save thousands, not break me out of a Lera dungeon,” Damian said.

She stared at her feet, nodding as she blinked away tears.

“If I can think of something to tell Cas, I will. An old location of a camp, maybe. But they're still going to kill me, Em.” He wrapped his fingers around hers through the bars. “We knew we risked our lives with this plan. I honestly didn't expect to make it out of this war alive.”

“
I
expected you to make it out alive.” She took in a ragged breath. “I thought you'd be there when we went back to Ruina. I thought that you and I . . .” She thought she had more time to figure out what was between them. She
needed
more time. She needed her friend beside her.

“I appreciate that optimism.” His fingers gripped hers tighter. He jerked his head. “Now go. I don't want that guard telling the king you were down here forever.”

She wiped a tear off her cheek, forcing a smile before she headed to the stairs. Aren strode to the cell, leaning his head close to Damian's to speak to him.

She didn't care about the risks. Whatever it took, she would find a way to save him.

CAS RAISED HIS
hand to knock on Mary's door, a flutter of nerves exploding in his stomach. He cracked a knuckle as he waited for her to answer.

No one answered the door, and he stepped back. A maid approached from the other end of the hallway with a handful of linens, and she paused when she spotted him.

“Have you seen Mary?” he asked.

“I believe she's in the sparring room, Your Highness.”

He murmured a “thanks” and headed down the stairs to the back of the castle. Laughter spilled into the hallway.

He stopped at the open doorway of the sparring room and found Iria with a dull sword in her hand, Mary across from her.

Mary wore a determined expression as she took a step to
the side, her sword extended in front of her. The trainer, Rulo, watched them from the corner of the room.

Iria lunged first, and Mary lifted her sword to stop the attack. He leaned against the door frame, watching as they circled the room, the swords noisily crashing against each other. An Olso warrior wasn't an easy opponent, but Mary's skills with a sword were almost unmatched.

“I heard she went to visit Damian last night.”

Cas jumped at the sound of the voice to find his mother leaning against the wall on the other side of the door. She was out of view from the two women inside, which wasn't a coincidence.

“Mary?” he asked.

“Yes. Did she ask you if she could do that?”

“I . . .” He watched as Mary ducked Iria's blade. “She doesn't really ask my permission to do things.”

“She should.”

He snorted. “Really. You ask Father for permission regularly?”

The queen's lips twitched. “I see your point.” She peeked around the doorway. “She's very good. Odd for a girl from Vallos.”

“Talent, I guess.”

“That's not talent. That's hard work and training. The kind of training they don't usually have in Vallos.”

“Why do you sound suspicious?”

“Not suspicious. Just impressed. Does she ever talk about her training?”

“No. But I've never asked.”

“You know what I think is sad?” the queen said. She talked slowly, in that way she did when she was saying one thing but meant another. “She didn't bring any portraits of her family with her.”

“I think they all burned in the fire when the Ruined attacked.”

“I figured. I thought I might try to track one down, as a surprise. I've sent someone out to work on it.” She smiled at him. “But don't tell her. I don't want to get her hopes up if I can't find one.”

“That's nice of you.”

“Don't sound so surprised, Cas.” She squeezed his arm as she walked past. “She's about to beat that warrior. And I suspect King Lucio sent the best.”

Cas turned to look. Mary leaned away from Iria's attack, knocking her arm away as she jabbed the dull tip into the warrior's chest.

“I win,” Mary said breathlessly.

Cas returned his gaze to his mother to find nothing but empty hallway. He caught a glimpse of her skirts as they disappeared around the corner.

Iria laughed, drawing Cas's attention back to them. “I will get you next time.”

“Or you could get me right now, if you'd like to go again.” Mary spread her arms wide in invitation.

“I'd like to go,” Cas said, stepping out of the doorway. The women turned, Mary's smile faltering as their eyes met.

“Your Highness, I didn't see you there,” the trainer said,
straightening and adjusting his collar. “Would you like me to get your practice gear?”

“No, thank you,” Cas said, stepping into the room. Mary's gaze followed him as he came closer.

“You know, I was told by castle staff that you don't allow people to watch you practice,” Iria said, her hands on her hips, the sword dangling from two fingers. “They say it's so no one knows your secrets and tricks.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I told them it was probably because you were terrible and didn't want anyone to know.”

He laughed, holding his hand out for her sword. “Let's see then, shall we?” He looked at Mary as Iria dropped the dull blade into his hand. “If you'd like.”

“If you promise not to let me win.”

“Why would I let you win?”

A hint of a smile appeared on her face again, and he decided he would never let her win at anything, ever, if she was going to look at him like that.

“And let's not tell my father I let you stay while we did this,” he said to Iria as he rolled his sleeves up.

“It's your father who doesn't want people to watch you?” Mary asked.

“He thinks a royal's skills in battle are better kept a secret.”

“He may be right about that.”

He walked across the floor to stand in front of her. “I never thought I'd hear you say my father was right about anything.”

“Don't tell him I said so.”

“Never.”

She began to lift her sword, then stopped, cocking her head. “What battle is he preparing you for? You don't need a sword to battle the Ruined.”

“He used one against Wenda Flores.”

“I guess he did.” She arched an eyebrow. “Had you ever met a Ruined before Damian was captured?”

“No.” He glanced at Iria, uncomfortable having this conversation in front of a warrior. He held his sword out in front of him. “Are we sparring, or are we talking?”

Mary lifted her sword, narrowing her eyes.

Iria counted them down, and Mary made the first move. He easily blocked her.

She was deliberately being slow and careful at first, to assess how he handled himself. He could see it in the way she watched him. It was interesting, considering her temper seemed to get the best of her in other situations.

He lunged forward and she went back, the metal of their swords sounding off the walls as they met. He tried to back her into a corner, but she ducked suddenly, darting around to the other side of him.

Her eyes raged with something he didn't quite understand as their swords met again. It was more than anger, and he couldn't tell if it was directed at him. He hoped it wasn't, because if it had been a real sword in her hand, she might have killed him.

He moved forward, obviously quicker than she had been
expecting, because she stumbled and he lightly struck her on her left arm.

“One,” Iria said.

She took a step back, her breathing heavy. They circled each other, and he waited for her to lunge first again. When she came at him he met her blow, moving forward and back as she attacked.

He'd only ever sparred with his trainers and Galo, and it was different with Mary. He was distracted by the way a piece of hair had escaped from its knot and hung down her cheek. The pink in her cheeks. The sound of her breath.

She spun when he almost touched the sword to her chest, and he lifted his eyebrows, impressed. She grinned.

He ducked as she lunged at him again, the blade barely missing his head. He darted around and grabbed her hand, spinning her into his chest. He held down her arm as he lifted his blade to her throat. She gasped, snapping her head to the right. He could feel her sucking air in and out of her lungs against him, and her arm was warm and soft beneath his fingers. Her dark eyes burned into his, lighting up like they were on fire. He found himself staring at her lips, wishing he knew what they felt like on his.

“Should we leave?”

Iria's voice snapped him out of his trance, and he quickly released Mary. Her gaze was downcast, and she was rubbing the spot where he'd touched her arm.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” Iria said. Somehow she always managed to make “Your Highness” seem like an insult. “Clearly
you have nothing to be embarrassed about. When it comes to sword fighting, that is.”

He gave her an amused look. “Thank you, I think.”

“I think I'd like to spar with you more often,” Mary said. “You're better than Iria.”

“I'm standing right here,” Iria said.

“You know he's better than you,” Mary said with a laugh. She focused on him again, a hint of a challenge in her expression. “I think he's used to being better than everyone.”

“Galo often gives it a very good shot,” he said, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Would you like to go again?”

“Absolutely.”