She tried to smile at him. A lump had formed in her throat, and the smile probably came out more like a grimace. She watched as Damian said good-bye to Aren.
“I should make it back to the Ruined camp by tomorrow evening,” Damian said, stopping next to one of the horses pulling the wagon. He glanced at Em. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tell them you’re trying to find Olivia? They should know there’s a chance their queen may return.”
Em shook her head. “Not yet. They voted you as their leader, and they need someone to depend on now. Let’s not get their hopes up yet.”
Regret flashed across Damian’s face at the word “leader.” He was a good one, despite his young age. But he only had the position because the Ruined had turned their backs on Em. She might have been heir to the throne with her mother dead and sister missing, but she was useless. Powerless. Not fit to lead, a Ruined had said when they demanded Damian take over a year ago.
“Keep them safe,” she said. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Damian climbed into the wagon, putting his right fist to his chest and tapping it once. The fist tap was the official Ruina salute to the queen, and something no one but Damian and Aren had ever done for her. Em blinked away tears.
She lifted her hand, waving good-bye, and Damian did the same. The Ruined marks on his hand and wrist were visible, a reminder of why he couldn’t even consider coming with them. The marks let the world know he was a Ruined with power. Em lacked power, so she also lacked Ruined marks.
It was completely dark now, and Damian’s figure disappeared quickly, the clomping of hooves echoing through the night.
She turned back to Aren, who was pulling his collar away from his scarred neck. Aren had barely escaped the burning Ruina castle alive, and much of his upper body told the story. They also hid the story of his Ruined magic, as the fire had burned away all traces of his Ruined marks. His marks had been beautiful—white against his dark skin, the thin lines twisting together and creating spirals all over his arms and back and chest.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
She grasped for her necklace and rubbed her thumb over the silver O. No. She’d been planning this for almost a year, but she’d never be ready.
“We should be able to make it to the Lera border by morning,” Aren said as he walked to the carriage and climbed up. He gestured behind him. “Do you want to ride in the carriage like a real Vallos princess?”
Em headed for one of the horses. “Not yet. I’ll ride a bit ahead and scout the area. I’ll get in when we approach the Lera border.” She swung one leg over the horse and settled onto the saddle. She glanced over at Aren to see her friend watching her, his head cocked to one side. “What?”
“Your mother would be proud, Em.” He bowed his head slightly at the mention of their dead queen.
“I hope so.” The words came out as a whisper. She was certain her mother would be furious that Em had allowed her younger, powerful sister to be taken by the Lera king. Em was supposed to protect Olivia, and she’d failed.
But she would make it right. She would save her sister, and kill the man who had taken her and murdered their mother.
Make people fear you, Emelina. Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Stop worrying about what you don’t have and start focusing on what you do. Make people tremble when they hear your name. Fear is your power.
Wenda Flores had never known the days when the Ruined were feared for their powers and revered as gods, but she longed for those days. She wanted nothing more than to make the humans bow down in terror.
Em lifted her head, fixing her gaze straight ahead.
No one feared Emelina Flores, the useless daughter of the most powerful queen Ruina had ever known.
But they would.
TWO
CAS LEANED BACK, barely avoiding the sword aimed for his neck as he spun away from his opponent. His foot caught on a rock and he stumbled, throwing his arms out to keep from falling on his face.
His opponent’s sword poked his chest. That was unfortunate.
“Dead.” Galo grinned as he withdrew the dull blade. “Feeling tired, Your Highness?”
Cas took a step back, running a hand through his hair. The sun beat down on them in the castle gardens, and his hair was damp with sweat. “I am a bit tired. It must be from winning the first four times.”
The guard spread his arms wide. He was still breathing heavily from the fight. “I like to lull you into a false sense of security first. Then I really start trying.”
Cas laughed, transferring his sword to his left hand to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt. His jacket lay on the ground, covered in dirt they’d kicked around while sparring. His mother wasn’t going to be pleased.
“Let’s go again,” he said, lifting his sword.
“Perhaps you should rest a moment.” Galo placed his palms on his thighs, letting his sword dangle from his fingers. He let out a long breath. “You look exhausted.”