“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.
“The famous Iria Ubino,” he said. His front tooth was chipped, and in any other situation, she might have found it hard not to laugh when he spoke. Today, the pure hatred in his eyes was anything but funny. “Is it true you marched with the Leran king to Royal City?”
She just stared at him, because there was still a hand over her mouth. Everyone knew the answer to that question.
The guard took a step closer to her, spitting on the ground near her feet. “If you love Lera and the Ruined so much, they should have punished you like one. They execute people for treason.”
Outside the door, Iria heard the scuffle of feet as the prisoners moved to pile their trays and go back to their cells. The chipped-tooth guard held out a hand. The man next to him put a huge butcher’s knife in it.
Iria screamed against the hand over her mouth. She tried to flail out her arms, but another guard joined the woman, holding her wrists tight against her body.
The man held the knife directly in front of her face. “You shouldn’t come in the kitchen, you know. Accidents happen here.”
He hurled the knife at the ground.
Iria screamed as pain exploded through her right foot. The world turned black.
Iria woke up in a white room. It smelled like disinfectant, and when she turned she found a long row of beds. Her body was heavy, her head swimming. Dull pain pulsed from her right foot.
A man leaned over the woman in the bed next to her. He caught Iria watching and straightened.
“What . . .” It was hard to form words.
“I gave you something for the pain,” the man said, walking to her bed. “Had to take your toes off, but you kept most of the foot. If you change the bandages regularly and keep it clean, should stay that way.”
Panic shot down her spine, clearing her head. Most? She kept most of her foot?
She lifted her head. Dizziness crashed over her, but she squinted at the end of the bed anyway. Her foot was wrapped in white bandages. She couldn’t see it.
“You’ll walk with a limp, but it’s not like you’re going anywhere.” The doctor chuckled. “Certainly won’t be running away.”
Iria let her head drop back on the pillow as tears welled in her eyes.
TWELVE
“GALO!”
Galo turned to see Violet racing down the hall, her dark hair flying behind her. She grabbed him by the arm.
“Come with me,” she said.
“What?” he asked, breaking into a jog. “Is Cas all right?”
“He’s fine. It’s Jovita.”
The name sent a spark of terror down Galo’s spine. He’d wondered often in the past few weeks if he should have killed Jovita when it was obvious Cas wouldn’t. She had pulled the rug out from under them so easily in the fortress, when she’d convinced everyone that Cas was insane and then poisoned him. It was impressive, in a horrifying way, and Galo dreaded what she’d do next.
Violet stopped in front of Cas’s office, knocking once before opening the door and stepping inside. Cas was alone, sitting at his desk, and he let out a sigh when he caught the look on Violet’s face. He was no stranger to bad news these days.
“We have reports that Jovita and her loyalists were seen in Olso,” Violet said.
Galo blinked, surprised, but Cas didn’t look the least bit alarmed.
“We already knew that, didn’t we?” Cas said. “Last we heard she was headed for the border.”
“Yes, but there’s more. She was joined by Vallos soldiers. We’re getting word that the Olso army is organizing, and bringing in troops from Jovita and Vallos to launch an attack.”