Ruined (Ruined, #1)(46)

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 braced 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.