Jovita’s eyes lit up, and she scurried after the king.
“At least stop torturing Damian,” Cas said as they headed for the door. “He’s never talked during torture.”
“Fine.” The king threw the door open, and he and Jovita disappeared through it. The queen followed, sparing a deep frown for her son as she went. Em let out a sigh.
“That went about as well as expected,” Cas said with a nervous laugh.
“That was brave,” she said, meaning every word.
“Thanks.”
She wanted to thank him for stopping Damian’s torture, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it without casting suspicion on herself. Plus, she couldn’t let the opportunity to ask about Olivia pass her by.
“Is it a secret?” she asked carefully. “Olivia’s location?”
“Somewhat. The family knows. Some of the advisers. My father is just being a jerk. She’s at Fort Victorra in the Southern Mountains. Where we meet in case of an emergency?”
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.