Ruined - Amy Tintera Page 0,49

Get them to hold off as long as you can.”

“Maybe he can give them a few pieces of information, pretend to be useful so they’re less inclined to kill him,” she said. “I want to talk to him. Can you volunteer for a shift in the dungeon?”

“Sure. They haven’t assigned guards for the overnight shift yet.”

“Is there more than one down there overnight?”

“Two. But I can use my Ruined magic to tie his stomach into knots. He’ll be too sick to stay.”

“Good. Tell me when we’re ready.”

Em walked across the south lawn that night, glancing over her shoulder for the fourth time. She hadn’t told Cas she was going to visit Damian, and she didn’t want him spotting her and tagging along. Cas and his parents would find out she’d visited him, but it was better to explain later rather than ask for permission now.

She descended the steps to the dungeon, lifting the hem of her light-purple dress. The world grew darker the farther down she went, the only light coming from the lanterns lining the walls every few steps. The walls were bare and gray, nothing like the bright colors of the castle. It was cool and quiet, and she was suddenly reminded of home. It looked more like Ruina in Lera’s dungeon than anywhere else she’d seen.

She saw Aren first, leaning against the wall, keeping watch on the stairs. Another guard was a few paces from him, and he straightened when he spotted Em, surprise coloring his features.

She took the last step, pulling a breath into her chest and forcing every muscle in her body to relax. She screwed her face into a calm expression.

Damian was lying on the ground, his head turned to her. Dirt coated his arms and neck, his face was horribly swollen, and his hand had been bandaged. They’d taken care of his wound after cutting his finger off?

“May I help you with something, Your Highness?” Aren asked. But his attention was on the other guard. The man frowned and touched his stomach.

“I’d like to speak with the prisoner,” she said. “Is it safe?”

“It’s safe, Your Highness, but—” The guard made a retching sound, clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Go,” Em said, moving away from the stairs. “Get some fresh air.”

The guard nodded, sprinting past her and up the stairs. Damian’s laughter echoed through the dungeon.

“Aren.” Damian shook his head. “You did a little more than was necessary there.”

“If I can’t use my fist to punch him the stomach, I might as well use my magic.” Aren moved to the stairs, leaning forward to keep watch.

Em rushed forward, wrapping her fingers around the bars of Damian’s cell. He sat up slowly, wincing. He was more relaxed than she would have expected, blowing his dark hair out of his eyes and smiling his crooked smile.

“Nice dress.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Seriously. I haven’t seen you in a dress in over a year. They suit you.”

“Damian, stop. What happened?”

His smile faltered, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. “The hunters know we’re crossing into Olso. They’re all over the border. We were still managing to get through, but they picked off some of us. They captured me, and I got the special privilege of torture before my death.”

“Think of information you can give them,” Em said. “Something small. If we can keep you alive long enough, we’ll be able to release you after the warriors take the castle.”

He pushed off the ground, getting to his feet with a grunt. “I doubt I’ll last that long.”

“That’s why you need to give them a few things. Even if they’re lies, it will take time for them to confirm it. Play along.”

“Play along.” He laughed, wincing as he put a hand to his stomach. “Ow.”

She swallowed, scanning his dirty clothes. “Are you all right?”

“Never better.” He leaned his forehead against the bars. “Is Prince Casimir being kind to you?”

“Yes.”

He raised his bandaged hand. “Cas comes in and pretends to be nice after his father tortures me. They must figure one strategy will work.”

Em grasped her necklace, the words on the tip of her tongue. He’s not pretending. Damian raised his eyebrows, questions all over his face.

“Cas doesn’t have the stomach for torturing and killing the way his father does,” Aren finally said, when Em didn’t. “He’ll grow into it.”

Or not, since he’ll be dead in a few weeks. Em couldn’t say those words either. They sat in the pit of her stomach. Damian’s baffled expression didn’t do much to make