by Amy Tintera
“What a shame,” Em said drily. She looked at Benito and Koldo. “Do they both know about me?”
“Of course. They can be trusted.”
“I’ll decide that. You didn’t tell anyone else I’m here, did you?”
“No. Not even your own people. It’s strange to keep the Ruined in the dark about this plan, if you want to know my opinion.”
“I don’t. The less people know, the better.” The Ruined wouldn’t have faith in Em or her plan anyway. The looks on their faces would be that much better once they realized she’d succeeded.
“I heard you saved your prince from death on your wedding day. That was a stroke of luck, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.” Em regarded Iria suspiciously. “Wasn’t it?”
“We had nothing to do with it. But we’re trying to find those hunters now, to see how organized the movement is. They may be helpful.”
“Do you have any news?”
“I saw Damian briefly before I left Olso. He’s helping the Ruined cross the border. We’ve succeeded in getting several through, safe and sound. They were on their way to see King Lucio when I left.”
“Why do they need to see the king?” Em asked.
“He’s very friendly, our king.”
She wasn’t going to get a straight answer about that, so Em filed it away to ask Damian about later. She didn’t trust the Olso king in the slightest. He’d agreed to help her because he wanted to seize control of Lera, but had done nothing to help the Ruined when they were being hunted and executed.
“Damian gave me a note to pass along to you,” Iria said.
“Not now,” she said, even though she desperately wanted to read it. “I don’t want them seeing you give me anything.”
“Fine. Would you stop squeezing my hand like that?” Iria asked. “I’m going to need it later.”
“Sorry,” Em muttered, loosening her grip. Breaking Iria’s hand would make a nice distraction, though. Em could break the hand, dart around Iria, and put her in a chokehold. Em was taller than the warrior, so she had a pretty good chance of being able to maintain the hold.
Em beat down the urge. The warriors were her partners. She didn’t need to kill them to keep herself safe.
“There’s no chance of you doing something stupid like killing the king too early, right?” Iria said, her expression growing serious. “I remember you having a bit of a temper.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Em said. “We shouldn’t talk about this here. Come to my room tomorrow morning. Bring the note. I’ll have Aren come as well.”
“Fine. But if I’m going to be stopping by your room, you’ll need to tell Cas that we got along wonderfully. Tell him we’re instant friends.”
Em rolled her eyes. “What should I say we talked about that made us such fast friends?”
“We were talking about Vallos, and how sad you were to leave.”
“Agreed. And I will say that you mentioned how much you love your home, and you were nervous about how the visit here would go, considering the tense relations between Lera and Olso.”
“I’m not nervous.” Iria had a trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and they moved as she wrinkled it.
“Well, now you are. You like me. You’ve decided to confide in me. That’s what I’ll tell him.”
“I don’t actually like you, just so you know.”
“I’m heartbroken,” Em said.
“I do admire this, though,” Iria said, gesturing to Em. “I didn’t think you had it in you, honestly. You seemed a bit whiny when I met you. Sulky.”
The song ended, and Em stepped back and dropped Iria’s hand. The warrior wasn’t wrong, but Em certainly wasn’t going to admit that to her. Three years ago, when they’d met, Em had been bitter about her lack of power and jealous of Olivia’s. “Whiny” was probably putting it nicely.
“Things have changed,” Em said.
Something like sympathy flashed across Iria’s face. “I will keep an ear out for news about Olivia,” she said softly.
“Thank you.” Em turned on her heel. The last thing she wanted was sympathy.
NINE
CAS LOOKED AT Mary curiously as she walked off the dance floor and away from Iria. The warrior was smiling, like Mary had put her at ease. Not an easy feat.
They walked back to his parents and sat next to them for the remainder of the evening. When the king and queen stood to leave, Cas did as well, extending his arm to Mary. She took it as they walked through the room and out the door. The sounds of the party became muffled as the door shut behind them.
His father grinned at Cas and Mary. “Finally time for the wedding night, I presume?”
Cas stiffened as his mother gave her husband a poke in the ribs. The king just chuckled and slapped Cas on the shoulder. He wanted to strangle his father.
Cas glanced at Mary, but her gaze was downcast, her cheeks pink. He had no idea what to say that would make the moment any less awkward, so he said nothing at all as he turned and walked in the direction of her rooms. She followed him silently.
They reached her door and he pushed it open and stepped back, letting her enter first. The skirt of her dress brushed across his legs as she walked past him.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was deathly quiet, and the wooden floor creaked as Mary walked across it. She smoothed a hand over the skirt of her dress. Her hands shook, and her chest moved up and down too quickly, like she was on the verge of panicking.
“Would you rather not do this?” he asked softly.
Her eyes met his briefly, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “I . . .”
He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. Her calm composure was crumbling right in front of him. Her hands shook harder, and she swallowed as if she was about to be ill.
“I would never make you do anything you don’t want to,” he finally said. “We’ve only just met each other. I understand if you want to wait.”
A sigh rolled through her body, and she nodded so enthusiastically he almost laughed. He’d never had sex with anyone, and doing it for the first time with a girl who looked as if she might vomit sounded miserable.
“May I ask a favor, though?” he asked. “Do you mind if I stay in here for a little while? I’d like my parents to think we consummated the marriage. We’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” He could only imagine the comments from his father. He’d never live it down.
“Of course,” she said. “That’s a good idea, actually.” She gestured to the chair in the corner of the room, and he shrugged out of his coat as he walked over. He draped it on the back of the chair and sat down. She perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing her thumb over the necklace she always wore.
“You seemed to get along very well with that warrior. Iria,” he said, and she nodded. “What did you talk about?”
“Vallos. Her journey here. She’s nervous about how negotiations will go.”
“I don’t think Olso warriors get nervous,” he said with a laugh.
“Anxious, then. Not everyone is as tough as they appear, you know.”
“And not everyone is as weak as they pretend.” He sat back and cracked a knuckle.
“Are you referring to me?” she asked quickly.
“No, actually. It’s something my mother always says.”
“Oh.”
“Were you pretending to be weak?” he asked. “Because I’d hate to see you at full strength.”
Mary laughed loudly, without a hint of self-consciousness. She let go of something deep inside of her when she laughed.
“No,” she said. “I certainly have never had to pretend to be weak. But your mother is right. There’s a benefit to being underestimated.”
“I suppose there is. My father underestimated you at the Union Battle, that’s for sure. He didn’t even hide his surprise well.”
“Your father thinks there is no one greater than himself,” she muttered, then seemed to immediatel
y realize what she had just said. She took in a sharp breath, her gaze snapping to his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t—”
He burst out laughing. “Do you not like my father? Everyone loves my father.”
“Um . . .” She seemed to be searching for the right lie.
“You can tell me the truth,” he said, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward. “We can have some secrets just between us.”
She hesitated, then finally said, “No,” barely above a whisper. “I’m not fond of him.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“It’s like he’s always putting on a show.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s always smiling. And being friendly.” She wrinkled her nose, her lips turning downward in the most hilarious expression he’d ever seen. It was like she was both disgusted and annoyed.
Cas rested his chin in his hand, thoroughly amused. “I hate it when people are friendly. It’s terrible.”
“No, I mean . . .” She laughed. “It doesn’t feel genuine. It feels like an act. Like it’s hard to tell who he really is?”
“Ah.”
“Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” He held her gaze, a warm feeling invading his chest. Perhaps it was wrong to be delighted that she didn’t worship his father like the rest of the world. But he couldn’t help it.
“And your parents?” he asked softly.
Something in her expression shifted. “What about them?”
“What were they like?”
She grasped her necklace, thinking for a moment before answering. “My father was quiet. Everyone listened when he talked, because he didn’t do it very often.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “My mother was the exact opposite. My father used to say that she needed an audience, which was why she married him. He was always her audience.”
“Sounds like your mother and my father would have gotten along.”
Mary tilted her head, pressing her lips together. “In a way, I think they would have. But my mother . . . she had a certain darkness to her. She could go from happy to furious very quickly. Your father seems to have a better handle on his emotions than my mother did.”
A long silence followed her words. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “That they’re gone.”
“Thank you,” she said, without much feeling, like she’d given that response a thousand times. She was silent for several seconds, staring at him like she was mustering up the courage to ask something. “Why did you want to talk about the Ruined?” she asked.
“I’m curious. People don’t talk about them much here.”
“Your father is engaged in a war with them.”
“There are no Ruined in Lera. It’s easy to pretend they don’t exist.”
“Not even Olivia Flores?” she asked. “Your father took her prisoner, didn’t he?”
“I don’t think she’s in Lera. If she is, she’s far away.”
“You don’t know where?”
He shook his head. “She was moved recently.”
Mary twisted her lips around, looking at the wall past him.
“You disagree?” he asked. “With keeping her prisoner?”
She looked at him sharply. “I didn’t say that.”
Her tone held more fervor than he was expecting. “Do you agree then?”
“No.”
He waited, laughing when she didn’t offer anything more. “Is there another option?”
“He could have not taken her prisoner at all.”
Cas lifted his eyebrows. “My father hasn’t talked about her much, but I got the impression she wasn’t so much a prisoner as a guest.”
Mary let out a loud laugh. “A guest!”
“I . . . that’s the impression I got. That she’s helping and healing.”
“A Ruined. Helping you!” She threw her head back like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “After you killed her mother and declared war on her people!”
“I . . . it sounds stupid when you put it like that.”
“It sure does, Cas.”
Her tone held a tone of condescension, and he laughed despite his embarrassment. “Perhaps I didn’t think that through.”
“Perhaps not. Olivia Flores is a prisoner, not a guest.” Her amusement faded, her eyes locked on his. “You should ask your father about her. Find out the truth.”
“I will.” He was suddenly embarrassed that he’d never inquired about Olivia before. How old was she? Fourteen? Fifteen? What exactly was his father doing with her?
There didn’t seem to be much to say after that, so they sat in silence for several long minutes, until he decided he had probably stayed long enough. He stood and headed for the door. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cas.”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his heart skipping around his chest. Had she changed her mind? Did she want him to stay? He turned back to her.
She stood, gesturing to her pink dress. “I can’t get it off myself. I’ll have to call my maids in to help me unbutton it, and if you’d like them to think we consummated . . .” She trailed off, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Oh. Of course.” He hadn’t even thought of that.
She turned around, revealing an impossibly long row of tiny buttons down the back of the dress. He stepped closer to her, grasping the top one, behind her neck.
“Are all these buttons really necessary?”
“I wouldn’t know. Your mother sent the dress and told me to wear it tonight.”
“Of course she did.” He moved on to the second button.
Mary lightly grabbed the edge of the skirt, the fabric rustling as it moved. “It’s beautiful. Your mother has excellent taste.”
“I suspect she told you that herself.”
She laughed softly, and Cas could feel her body rise and fall beneath his fingers. “She did.”
He moved down the row of buttons, slowly freeing each one. As the material parted, it began to reveal the bare flesh of her back, and he found it hard not to look. Her smooth olive skin practically glowed, and he was almost tempted to run his fingers down her spine.
The left shoulder of the dress slipped down, and she quickly crossed her arms over her chest, holding it in place.
The buttons ended below her waist, and he swallowed as he undid the last ones. His palms were sweaty and his insides had started dancing in a way he didn’t particularly like.
“Thank you,” she said softly, without turning around.
“You’re welcome.” He forced his gaze away from the open dress, revealing a part of a woman he had never given a second thought to. Now he thought he might like to see that every day.
He strode to the door, grabbing his coat off the chair. He didn’t look at Mary for fear of his face giving away his feelings. “Good night.”
TEN
EM FOUND AREN waiting in the hall the next morning, and she gestured for him to follow her into the sitting room. He peeked around the corner like he expected someone else to be there. When he found it empty, he stepped inside.
“Everything . . . all right?” he asked slowly.
“Fine. How are you?”
He lifted one shoulder in response.
“I asked Cas about Olivia last night. He doesn’t know where she is, but I think I convinced him to ask his father about her.”
“He wasn’t suspicious?” Aren asked.
“Didn’t seem to be.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Em opened it to find Iria. The warrior wore all black today, her wavy hair loose around her shoulders.
“Aren,” Iria said, nodding at him as she walked inside. “Nice to see you again.”
Em shut the door. “Let’s be quick. We don’t have much time before our meeting with the king.”
Iria reached into her pocket, producing a crumpled envelope. She held it out to Em. “For you.”
The outside of the envelope wa
s blank, but Damian wasn’t stupid enough to write her name on a letter and send it to the castle. It had been hastily sealed with a splatter of glue, and she ripped it open, turning away from Aren and Iria. Her name wasn’t on the inside either.
Made it back safely—passengers are gone. Everyone here is excited about the next step, and I wish I could tell them where you are and what you’re doing. But I understand the need for secrecy. Thank you for trusting me. I know it probably wasn’t easy, after everything.
I’m preparing for a trip. Several have already gone safely.
I think about you every day. I hope everyone is being kind to you.
I know you can do this. I never doubted you, not for a second.
She blinked back tears before turning to Iria and Aren. “He got rid of the bodies. He said several Ruined have already made it across the border into Olso safely.”
Iria leaned against the back of a chair, bracing her hands against it. “That’s right. We’ve sent a good number of warriors to the border to help them cross over into Olso, as promised. There are a decent number of hunters on the Ruina side, but hopefully they won’t be a problem. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear a report.”
“And then they’re going to see your king?” Em prompted.
“Why?” Aren asked, his brows knitting together.
Iria threw her hands up. “The two of you, honestly. So suspicious all the time. He just wants to meet everyone for himself. See what they can do. We’re bringing them to Olso to join our army. We need to understand what we have at our disposal.”
“At your disposal,” Aren repeated with an eye roll.
“Ruined have never partnered with anyone before! We need to figure out how to integrate you into our battle plan,” Iria said. “May I remind you that we are the ones helping you?”
“Yes, please remind me.” Aren’s voice turned cold. “Remind me how you all sat back while they rounded us up and killed us. And remind me how I should be grateful now that you’ve decided to step in with no apology, no explanation, no understanding of why Em and I might be a bit suspicious of everyone. Remind me why I should just forget all that and move on, because you’ve decided we’re useful.”
Pink appeared on Iria’s cheeks. Em gave Aren a small, sympathetic smile, and he lifted one shoulder as if to say sorry. She shrugged, a don’t apologize to me shrug. They didn’t need words to communicate about this, didn’t need to be sorry for losing their grip on the anger for a moment. They’d been friends before, but they were bonded together now, bonded by a rage even Damian didn’t understand. He’d reacted with sadness; Em and Aren had clawed their way through the wrath and come out the other side together.