“Yeah. The side closest to me. Really launch him into it, so it leaves a mark. Ready?”
They shoved Willem down, the right side of his skull cracking against the wood. Em winced at the noise, turning to see if anyone had heard. Nothing.
Willem toppled to the ground, blood seeping from his head and pooling on the stone floor.
“Well, it left a mark.” Aren stared down at the hunter. He pointed at the pins on his chest. “I’ve killed fewer hunters than he has Ruined, though.” He murmured the last line almost to himself.
“Put his dagger back on his belt,” Em said quietly. Aren did as he was told, then stood motionless, staring at the dead hunter.
“I have to—” Em began.
“No, me first,” Aren interrupted. “No one can see you in this area.” He strode to the end of the hallway, the lantern lighting up his face. He jerked his head. “Clear.”
She darted out of the hallway and started to rush past him, toward the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. She turned back suddenly, grabbing Aren’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Aren. I know it isn’t easy for you to be here, and it means so much to me that you chose to come.”
He shrugged, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Of course I came. I never considered the alternative.”
He hadn’t. The night she had proposed the idea, he had immediately volunteered to come with her, and then used a hot stone to burn off his one remaining Ruined mark. He hadn’t even hesitated.
“Go,” he said.
She wanted to stay with him, to sit next to him in front of a fire like they used to do after killing hunters. Aren always retreated into himself after he had to kill. But he never seemed to mind when she sat next to him quietly.
“Stay safe,” she said, letting go of his arm. “Let me know if anyone is suspicious.”
He waved her off without meeting her eye. She took one more glance at him over her shoulder, then pushed the door open and disappeared into the crowd of people.
FOURTEEN
CAS WATCHED AS the wagon rolled onto the south lawn. The guards and the king had been gone a long time with Damian. The sun had sunk low in the sky, casting a yellow-orange glow across the grass.
His father jumped off his horse and strode across the lawn to Cas. It had been a full day since Mary had told him off. The king scanned the area, and he seemed pleased to find that the prince was by himself.
“Did you get any information from Damian?” Cas asked.
The king shook his head. “No. I think it’s highly unlikely this one will talk. He doesn’t respond well to torture.”
Was there anyone who responded well to torture? Cas opened his mouth to ask, but was distracted by the guards pulling a limp Damian out of the wagon.
“He’s not dead, is he?” he asked, glancing sharply at his father.
“Not yet.”
Cas was determined to remain calm. His voice wasn’t going to shake.
“I’m going down there to talk to Damian,” he said.
“If you want,” the king said with a shrug.
“I’d like to offer to let him live if he gives us information.”
“You can offer it, but it would be a lie.”
“Why? You’ve let Ruined live before. Olivia Flores is still alive.”
“Olivia Flores is useful, and still young enough to be controlled.”
Controlled didn’t sound like what his father had said about Olivia’s situation before. Mary was probably right about Olivia being a prisoner, not a guest.
“Where is Olivia?” he asked.
“Fort Victorra. Keep that to yourself. Not many people know where she is.”
The fortress in the Southern Mountains was the emergency meeting place if the castle was ever taken, and had a good supply of cells in the dungeons. They were not nice cells, from what Cas remembered.
“Is she in one of the cells there?” he asked.
“Of course she is. She can’t just roam around freely.”
Cas blinked away the image of a young girl chained up in those depressing cells. He needed to focus on the problem in front of him.
Cas gestured to where Damian was being dragged down the stairs. “What are his crimes?”
The king frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Lera law dictates that all accused are informed of their crimes and allowed a trial before the judge of their province. What are his crimes?”
“He’s a Ruined. That’s his crime.”
“Being a Ruined is a state of being, not a crime.”
His father’s eyebrows lowered, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Excuse me?”
“He hasn’t actually committed a crime. Who’s to say that he ever would have used those powers against anyone if we’d left him alone? If we’d just left them all alone?”
“Yes, I’m sure all the people Wenda Flores tortured felt the same,” his father said flippantly. “The people she captured to let the Ruined practice on? The people of Vallos she slaughtered when she attempted to invade?”