“Sure,” Olivia lied.
“And you have to leave when you’re done,” Jovita said seriously.
“Of course.”
Jovita studied her like she knew Olivia was lying. She shrugged. “You couldn’t stay, even if you wanted to. It’s just you now.” She swept her arms out dramatically, perhaps to display just how alone Olivia was. “Can’t run a castle all by yourself, can you?” She laughed.
Olivia swallowed down the urge to take Jovita’s head off right then. “Tell me how to get in.”
“You have to promise not to kill me after I tell you,” Jovita said.
“What’s the point? Would you really believe me if I promised?”
Jovita frowned.
“Listen. I’ll let you go, because, honestly, this state you’re in amuses me more than killing you. But even if I did kill you, wouldn’t you prefer to tell me how to get to the castle first? Either way, I’m going to go kill Em and Casimir. You’re in no shape to take your revenge now, so let me do it for you.”
Jovita chewed on her lip, considering.
“Fine, I promise,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes.
Jovita still seemed skeptical, but perhaps she had enough reasoning left to know what Olivia said was true—if anyone was going to kill Casimir, it was going to be Olivia.
“There’s a secret passageway in the kitchen,” Jovita said. “It ends in one of the lookout towers, but it’s totally hidden from view. Even the guards stationed in the tower don’t know it’s there.”
“How do I find it?”
“Pull up the floorboards.”
“Which tower?”
“Southeast.”
Olivia smiled. “Thank you, Jovita. Ester was right about working with you people.” She grabbed the ropes and stood to secure Jovita to the tree again.
“Hey! I thought you were going to let me go.”
“I will,” Olivia said, and she meant it. She turned to walk in the direction of the Olso and Vallos armies. “I just need to wait for the right moment.”
FORTY-TWO
IRIA SAT ON the edge of her bed, considering how many more days she could stay in this room without losing her mind, when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in!” she called.
The door opened to reveal Aren, holding a wad of clothing and a pair of boots. His expression was so bright and hopeful she felt a smile twitching at her lips.
He dropped the clothes on the bed. Sparring clothes. Her smile faded.
“These are for you,” he said, holding up the boots. “I worked with a few of the guards to make something that would be good for running and sword fighting. It’s just a first attempt, so don’t worry if it’s uncomfortable. We can adjust it.”
He held the boots out to her and she slowly took them. She thought she might feel relief, or hope, at the sight of the boots that were supposed to help her, but all she felt was panic. What if they didn’t make anything easier?
“Thanks,” she said, putting the boots on the floor. “But I’m not feeling great today. Maybe we can do it another—”
“No,” Aren said firmly. “Change into sparring clothes.”
Anger flared in her chest. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. The doctor said you can start moving around.”
“No, I mean there’s no point. I’ll never need to use a sword again. I’m just going to . . .” She trailed off. She had no idea what she was going to do.
“What? Stay in this room for the rest of your life?” He pointed to the clothes. “I think those will fit you. They’re what the guards wear, and a girl about your size helped me pick some out. So put them on.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“What? Do you want to see if I’ll strip you down and put the clothes on you myself? Don’t test me.”
She eyed him for a moment. He might have been serious.
She let out an annoyed breath. “Are you just going to stand there? Wait outside while I change.”
His lips twitched. “Fine, but if you’re not out in five minutes I’m coming in again.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh just for his benefit. He laughed as he left, closing the door behind him.
She changed her clothes first, and then sat down on the bed to put on the boots. They were plain and black, but inside the right one was padding that formed to the top of her foot. She stood and took a few steps forward. It felt a bit weird, but it was easier to stay balanced with something in the place where her toes used to be.
When she walked out of the bedroom, she found Aren leaning against the back of the chair in the sitting room.
“Do you even use a sword?” she asked.
“Not well, which is why I’m a good person to start with.”
“That makes me feel great.”
“Do you want me to go get Em? Because I’m sure she’d be happy to spar with you.”
Iria made a face at him, because they both knew she didn’t want to spar with Em. With the exception of Cas, Em was probably better than anyone in the castle with a sword. That sounded like a good way to humiliate herself.
Aren opened the door, and Iria hesitated for a moment. “You have to leave this room eventually,” he said. “No one is going to bite you.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’ve been playing cards with the guards. Trust me, if they’ve forgiven me, they don’t care about you.”
She was still skeptical, but she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. If Em and Aren and the rest of the Ruined roamed the castle freely, then she could too.
They walked down the hallway and turned a corner to the sparring rooms. Aren let Iria step into the room first, then he walked in and grabbed two dull sparring swords from the rack.
“No using your powers,” she said as he handed her one of the swords.
“Of course not.” He paused. “Even if you start to fall? I can stop you before you hit the ground.”
“No.”
“No powers, then.”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to get a feel for the boots. They were rubbing against her heels, but that would be the case with all new boots.
“We’ll start slow.” He shrugged. “I’m always slow, compared to you.”
She raised her sword. He raised his as well and stepped forward.
It only took two blows for Iria to lose her balance. She stumbled backward and landed on her butt, her sword skittering across the floor.
“Well that was pathetic,” she said.
“Then get up and try again.”
He said it kindly, and she was reminded of warrior training, four years ago. A trainer had screamed in her face to get up when she’d fallen once after hours of training. They would have immediately dismissed her for her current attitude.
She used her hands to push off the floor.
They went again, Iria almost poking him in the chest with the sword once, just before she stumbled forward. Aren shot his arm out, grabbing her around the waist before she fell. Her head hit his chest.
“You almost got me that time,” he said.
She looked up to see he was grinning. She extracted herself from his arms, her face warm. “You really are terrible with a sword.”
“I told you.
“Again,” he said, getting back into position.
She steadied herself for a moment, then swung her sword. She was a little slow as she tried to find her balance. The boot was better than she thought, the inserts at the toe of the right foot helping to steady her. It was a little painful, but she found herself steady on her feet much faster than expected.
She took a step back after she pointed her sword straight at Aren’s chest for a third time. “You want to start trying? You don’t have to go so slow.”
“Hey! This is me actually trying.”
She threw her head back with a genuine laugh. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She laughed again.
“I have no use for a sword,” he said with a hint of annoyance, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“Sorry.”
“Sure you are. Do you want me to go get Em? She’s not slow.”
“Yes, actually.” She wasn’t going to get anywhere sparring with someone so slow, and the prospect of practicing with Em suddenly didn’t seem so scary.
“Really?”