Allied (Ruined #3)(25)
The door opened, and Mateo stepped inside. His face broke into a smile when he spotted Galo sitting on his bed.
“Hey. I was going to come find you as soon as I got changed.” He leaned down and kissed Galo briefly, then walked to the wardrobe against the wall and began unbuttoning his jacket. “I heard Emelina is here. Did you see her?”
“I saw her. Cas pulled me in to a meeting with her.”
Mateo tossed his jacket in the bin in the corner and turned, eyebrows raised. “How was that?”
He swallowed. “Um . . .”
“What? Are you not allowed to tell me?”
“No, it’s not that. I just . . .” He took in a breath. “I volunteered to do something.”
Mateo’s face fell, like he could already tell he wasn’t going to like it. “What?”
“They need a messenger, to travel between here and Westhaven. Someone who can stay with the Ruined for days at a time, then come back and relay what’s happening there.”
“Westhaven,” Mateo repeated. “Olivia killed everyone in Westhaven.”
“Lots of people made it out.”
“Lots of people didn’t.” He threw up his hands. “No sane person would go anywhere near Westhaven right now.”
“Em has a plan. She can protect—”
“When has Em ever stopped Olivia from killing someone?” Mateo interrupted.
“That’s not fair. Aren will be there as well, and he actually can stop Olivia.”
“You seriously trust that jerk to protect you?”
“Yes,” Galo said. “He’s not my favorite person, but he’s proven he’ll protect us.”
Mateo stared at him for a moment. “Cas is letting you do this?”
Galo didn’t try to hide the flash of annoyance he felt. He didn’t need Cas to let him do anything. Cas was his king, and his friend, but he didn’t control what Galo did.
“It was my decision,” Galo snapped.
Mateo’s cheek twitched, like it always did when he was angry. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. Until the Ruined come here. I may be traveling back and forth for a while.”
“Why does it have to be you? Why do you have to save everyone?”
“I don’t have to save everyone. I saw an opportunity to help and I took it.”
Mateo let out a long sigh and leaned one shoulder against the wardrobe. “So why does it have to be you?” he asked again.
“It doesn’t. But I want to do it.”
“And what I want doesn’t matter.”
Galo reached for Mateo’s hand. He really wanted Mateo to understand, to hug him and tell him he was doing the right thing. The brave thing. “Of course it matters. But I’d really like it if you’d support me here.”
“I’m not supporting you when you’re doing something stupid.”
Galo dropped Mateo’s hand, looking at the floor to hide his disappointment. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
Galo stood and pulled the door open. “I didn’t ask your permission.” He walked out the door and let it slam behind him.
ELEVEN
IRIA LIFTED A spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth and swallowed it, trying to avoid the stares directed her way. Even the guards working in the kitchen were sneering at her. She was only allowed out of her cell for meals and brief exercise, and the hateful looks the other prisoners gave her left no doubt that they knew who she was.
It had once been her greatest fear, being assigned to duty in one of the prisons. The mediocre warriors became prison guards, the ones who could barely pass training.
The only thing worse was being an inmate. That ranked at number one on the embarrassment scale.
Long wooden tables made up the eating area, with inmates sitting on the benches. The room was a square gray box with no windows, and guards at each wall. Iria sat alone, a few seats down from a loud group of women.
She’d only managed a few bites of the oats, but she pushed them away. She’d barely eaten anything since arriving at Central Prison a week ago. The food wasn’t particularly good, but mostly, it was hard to eat with her stomach twisted into knots.
A guard at the door shouted for them to finish. Two minutes until they would be marched back to their cells.
Iria grabbed her bowl and walked to the trash cans outside the kitchen. She scraped what was left of her breakfast into the trash and deposited her bowl and spoon in the bin for dirty dishes.
“What’s wrong?” A guard stood just outside the kitchen door, her arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t like it?” She gestured to the discarded oatmeal.
“I’m just not hungry,” Iria mumbled. She turned away.
A hand roughly grabbed the back of her shirt. She yelped as she flew backward into the chest of the guard. The guard clapped a hand over Iria’s mouth.
Fear raced up her spine as the woman dragged her into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed behind them. It was forbidden for the guards to harm prisoners, except in self-defense.
It seemed she was the exception.
Iria twisted against the arms locked around her waist, but the woman held firm, swinging them both around to face into the kitchen. Three other guards stood there, all men. The one directly in front of her sneered.