Queen of Ruin Read online

  “We’re not prisoners anymore,” Serina said again, as much to remind herself as the rest of them. Even for her, who’d been on the island for weeks, not years, this truth still felt like a dream.

  She turned to Anika. “Can you organize the sleeping arrangements and help distribute this food? Val and I’ll check on the guards.”

  Anika straightened her shoulders and nodded. She pushed the squeaking cart up the aisle, calling out suggestions to the other crews: Take your injured to the old ballroom. If you’ve got rations or belongings in your camps, bring them with you. We’ve only got so many rooms. You’ll have to pair up.

  When Serina moved to follow, her legs wobbled. She paused to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to collapse now.

  “I can check on the guards by myself,” Val offered, taking Serina’s arm. “Why don’t you rest?”

  Serina shook her head and limped up the steep aisle of the amphitheater, using his grip on her arm to help steady her balance. “Soon.”

  He didn’t argue, which was good, because she might not have had the energy to stand her ground. The truth was, Serina was afraid to slow down. She didn’t want to rest. Didn’t want to stop. If—when—she did, Jacana’s small, broken body would fill her mind.

  If Serina gave herself time to think, she’d drown in regret.

  And Jacana wouldn’t be the only one haunting her. Every time Serina paused, every moment she wasn’t concentrating on the next task, she saw Oracle’s head snapping back when the bullet hit her forehead. She felt the weight of the woman’s body on her shoulder as they hiked to the summit of the volcano. She remembered Slash’s bloody corpse draped across the men she’d killed.

  “Serina?” Val asked.

  “I’m okay.” She realized she was leaning into him and forced her body to straighten.

  They hiked slowly along the path to Hotel Misery, so slowly that when they reached the cracked marble, Anika was already shouting orders and handing out food. They continued on toward the prison compound. The building was deceptive; when she’d first arrived, Serina had assumed that’s where she would be held, in a small cell like a princess in a grim tower. But the population of women sent to Mount Ruin had outgrown the building’s capacity long before her time; now the cells were used for the storage of weapons and rations, and as the guards’ own sleeping quarters.

  The few guards who had survived the uprising had been locked in their “bedrooms,” the rooms reverted to their previous use. The irony hadn’t escaped her. The weight of the keys to their cells pressed against her thigh. She slipped her hand into her pocket and around the cold metal.

  “You told them about the boat,” Val said once they were away from the others. “What about Nomi?”

  “I’m going to go after her, but not yet. Not until everyone else is safely on their way to Azura.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, finding a sore spot. “Anika has family she’s anxious to return to, I think. Maybe others do too. If I’m going back it wouldn’t be right to go alone, to keep the boat a secret.”

  Val scuffed his boot against the rough rock of the path. “It’s small, Serina. Anika could come with us, but no more.”

  “Us?” Her foot caught on a ragged edge of rock, and she stumbled.

  Val pulled her closer. “I go with you. Whenever. Wherever.”

  Serina’s heart turned over. “Won’t they need you to navigate? To negotiate once they arrive in Azura?”

  She wanted him with her when she went to find Nomi. But she wanted every woman on this island to find safety too. She’d assumed Val would have to go to Azura with them. Maybe she and Nomi would follow, if they could.

  “Commander Ricci has maps. Some of these women come from boat families. Even if they can’t read a map, I can show them. They’ll know how to operate the ship.” He rubbed his hand down her back. “And as for negotiating, they won’t need a man for that. They’ll want to speak for themselves.”

  Serina’s throat closed as emotions swirled through her. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice thick. “They will want to speak for themselves.”

  For some time, they walked in silence.

  Eventually, the prison complex rose before them, gray and imposing. Serina could still sense echoes of the terror she’d felt when she’d hiked up the uneven trail from the pier for the first time, this iron-barred monstrosity looming over her.

  Her gaze shifted to the water, blue and sparkling, stretching out to the horizon. From here, she could just see the corner of the pier, and out beyond it—

  “Val.” She gasped, skidding to a stop. Her injured ankle screamed. Her stomach dropped.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  She pointed, her hand trembling. “Val, a boat.”

  TWO

  NOMI

  NOMI STOOD ON the boat’s heaving deck, her heavy golden gown streaked with blood, and cried as the dark shadow of Mount Ruin rose before her. This wasn’t the triumphant mission to save her sister that she’d envisioned. Nomi was heading for her own small cell, her own imprisonment. Asa had promised Nomi he’d reunite her with Serina, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Not until she’d watched Asa slice his blade across his father’s throat.

  Maris, Nomi’s fellow Grace, had seen it too, unfortunately. So Asa had sent them both away as prisoners, all so he could maintain the illusion that his older brother, the Heir, was the real murderer. A few feet in front of Nomi, Maris sagged against the gunwale, her straight black hair a snarl, her red dress soaked with sea spray. She slumped over the edge and stared into the water rushing by. Maybe she would have jumped overboard if her wrists hadn’t been shackled to the boat. She hadn’t said anything for a long time.

  Nomi opened her mouth to offer something—a reassurance, another apology—but the wind stole her breath. Maybe it knew all she had were empty words.

  They were close to Mount Ruin now, close enough to see the chipped concrete pier. Nomi swallowed a gulp of sea-soaked air.

  The sailors moved to the bow of the boat, where Malachi lay. The Heir was a crumpled shadow on the deck, his burgundy velvet coat stained with his own blood and the blood of his father, the Superior. Asa had killed the Superior and tried to kill Malachi too.

  All because Nomi had trusted Asa, had believed he would make a better Heir, a better Superior. She’d been wrong.

  The sailors bent over Malachi’s still form.

  “Don’t touch him!” Nomi screamed hoarsely, as she’d screamed a dozen times during the crossing, praying with every shout that they’d listen, that they’d notice his chest rising and falling. Asa had ordered them to throw Malachi overboard when he stopped breathing.

  But he hadn’t stopped.

  “They said to throw him over when he died,” one of the sailors was saying, the deep rumble of his voice barely audible over the constant thrust of the steam engine. “But he ain’t dead yet and we’re almost there.”

  “The prison don’t know about our orders.” The other sailor scratched his stubbled chin. “Less questions if we get rid of him now.”

  Nomi shouted again, but they ignored her.

  “It’s too late,” Maris said, her dead-white cheeks whipped by her hair and her dead-dark eyes burning. At some point, they’d both lost their masks from the masquerade ball. Nomi couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the pinch of the stiff fabric across her nose. She couldn’t believe the Heir’s ball had been only hours ago. Only hours since she’d told her brother, Renzo, to run instead of help her frame Malachi. She’d known by then that Asa wasn’t to be trusted, but she’d had no sense of what he was capable of. She did now. She hoped Renzo had listened. She was certain Asa would kill him if he found him.

  The sailors heaved the Heir to their shoulders. Malachi coughed weakly—“Can’t you see he’s still alive!” Nomi yelled—and his eyelids fluttered and opened, and he was awake and sputtering, and then he disappeared overboard.

  A sob ripped from Nomi’s chest.

  Her chai
ns clanked as she yanked herself toward the sailors, straining against the shackles. The skin at her wrists tore and bled. “You killed him!” she screamed, over and over. The sailors ignored her, and maybe they should have. She didn’t know if she was speaking to them or herself.

  You killed him.

  This was her fault. She’d trusted the wrong brother. Asa had promised freedom, for Nomi and her sister. He’d promised an end to the Graces, a change to the laws of Viridia. He’d said he would let women have rights, let them read… he’d told her exactly what she wanted to hear. And she’d fallen under his spell. It had been easy, too easy to believe Malachi was as cruel and volatile as his father… because Asa had convinced her. But it had all been a lie. Asa was the cruel one.

  The murderous one.

  Malachi’s words haunted her. I’ve no desire for an unwilling Grace. I will force you no longer. It was one of the last things he had said to Nomi, releasing her from her obligation. He wouldn’t force her to be a Grace.

  And now he was dead.

  The boat hit the pier with a shudder. Nomi’s legs buckled, but the stiff brocade of her gown held her up. The sailors removed Maris’s shackles, and then Nomi’s. She spit in the closest one’s face. He pushed her toward the gangplank, making her stumble. Maris kept her back mercilessly straight, but her cheeks were streaked with tears. Nomi couldn’t bear it. Maris should never have been a part of this. She shouldn’t be here with Nomi. She’d done nothing to deserve this suffering but witness someone else’s crime.

  But Maris was right. It was too late.

  The sailors yanked Nomi and Maris onto the dock. A prison guard waited at the edge of the pier, his hat drawn low over his eyes.

  “This is a smaller ship than usual,” he said gruffly. “A smaller load too. Only two prisoners?”

  The sailor gripping Nomi’s arm shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

  “And the rations?” he asked when the sailors deposited Nomi and Maris before him.

  The other sailor scratched the back of his neck. “Rations? We were told to bring these girls here. No one said anything about rations.”

  “You’ve got their intake papers?” The guard put his hand out, impatience creeping into his voice.

  Nomi wondered what would happen if she screamed out the truth—that Asa had killed the Superior and sent them here to keep them quiet. The guard probably wouldn’t care.

  “Got no papers,” the sailor next to her said, shrugging. “This lot came from the palazzo. Don’t know how it’s usually done, but we were told very specific to bring ’em here. Which we’ve done.” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “Now they’re your problem.”

  The prison guard stared narrowly at the blood on Nomi’s dress and then at Maris’s white cheeks. Was he worried it was some kind of trap? As if they were a threat.

  Finally, with a curt nod and another long glance at the boat, he dismissed the sailors. Nomi’s lungs constricted, bound by her corset and the horror coursing through her. She put her hands on her waist, wishing she could rip herself out of this dress, these mistakes, this life. Her fingers found a hole in the fabric; it took her a moment to remember that Asa had stabbed her too. He would have killed her, just like he killed Malachi—a sob lodged in her throat—but for the corset that was slowly killing her now.

  In her mind, the Superior’s icy eyes stared at her, his throat running with blood.

  “Come on,” the prison guard said roughly. When he grabbed Maris’s arm, she whimpered.

  Nomi glanced back once at the boat and the choppy waters off the edge of the pier. The sailors were watching her, even as they readied for their trip back. There was no sign of Malachi. Nomi turned and followed Maris and the guard, her feet dragging. The only thing keeping her from throwing herself off the pier and into the churning ocean was the hope that she would see Serina soon.

  Please.

  The guard moved quickly, pulling Maris up the steep path. He glanced back at Nomi often, his other hand on his firearm. His expression warned her not to fall behind.

  Daylight warmed the blackened cliffs that framed the path, and soon Nomi was sweating, her dress heavy as iron. The footing didn’t help; the strange, swirling rock caught at her impractical shoes. Twice she twisted her ankle.

  Before her, the prison rose out of the rock like a cancerous growth, its steel-grated windows and concrete walls unnatural above the graceful whorls of volcanic rock.

  Someone stood in front of the building’s barbed-wire fence. At first, Nomi thought it was another guard. But there was something—she couldn’t quite see around Maris—there was something familiar—

  “We’re out of sight of the boat,” the guard said. He released Maris’s arm. “You’re safe.”

  “Safe?” Maris asked incredulously, shifting to put distance between them. The way opened before Nomi, fully revealing the figure waiting for them.

  The woman flung her tail of hair over her shoulder, a move so familiar Nomi herself often subconsciously mimicked it.

  Shock exploded through Nomi’s body, electrifying every nerve ending. She forgot about the guard, the sailors, Renzo, Maris, Malachi.

  All she saw was her sister.

  “Serina!” she screamed.

  She lifted her skirts, dodged Maris, and ran.

  “Nomi?” Serina gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief, just as Nomi’s arms crashed around her.

  The force of Nomi’s embrace knocked Serina back a step. But Nomi couldn’t seem to calm down. She couldn’t let go.

  “Serina. Serina!” Her sister’s name was sweet as an answered prayer in her mouth.

  “How are you here?” Serina asked, her arms curving around Nomi. “You’re hurt. Are you hurt? There’s blood on your dress—”

  “I’m fine. It’s not mine. I’m—”

  “You’re here. You’re here.”

  Apparently neither of them could form a coherent thought. Nomi sank into her sister’s embrace and breathed fully for what felt like the first time in months. Nothing else mattered. The whole world became a blurry, forgotten dream. Nothing was real except Serina holding her close.

  And suddenly, Nomi was weeping.

  “I’m so sorry about the book,” she said into Serina’s shoulder. “I had no idea. I—”

  “Hush, hush. I’m sorry too. I should have listened to you. I didn’t see things the same way, but I do now. I…” Serina’s grip tightened. “So much of what’s happened is because of you.”

  Something inside of Nomi broke. Her sister said it, inexplicably, like this was a good thing, like whatever had happened because of Nomi was good. But Nomi had watched the Superior die. She’d felt the Heir’s blood on her hands. She’d sent Renzo into hiding with a death sentence likely waiting for him. There was no good in this. In her.

  “Oh, Serina. If you knew—” Nomi opened her mouth to tell Serina all that had happened, every shameful thing she’d done.

  “Shh,” Serina quieted her. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You’re safe. We both are.”

  At that, reality started to break through the haze. Nomi loosened her hold on Serina. Her sister’s braid was untidy, her face bruised and swollen. It was such a departure from the perfectly polished, serene version of Serina—the only version she’d ever seen—that Nomi wondered how she’d even recognized her sister.

  “How are we safe, Serina?” Nomi asked, staring at her sister’s wounds. Wounds. Serina’s clothes were torn and stained with blood. Where was her cell? And the guards? The guard who had met the boat…

  She started to turn in his direction, but the look on Serina’s face stopped her, with its mixture of weariness and pride.

  “We are safe,” Serina said. “For now, anyway. The women of Mount Ruin rebelled. We’re not prisoners anymore. We’re free.”

  Nomi’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. She stared again at the purple bruises on Serina’s face. “You’re free? You look as if you’ve been beaten.”

  “I was. But I foug
ht back,” Serina said. “I am a rebel now, just like you.”

  With those radical words ringing in her ears, Nomi noted the new, commanding way Serina held herself, and she remembered the strength of Serina’s embrace. “Not—not just like me,” she said shakily.

  Serina grinned.

  Nomi smiled back, but the expression faded quickly. Serina didn’t know why she was here. She didn’t know what Nomi had done. She didn’t know about Malachi and why Nomi’s dress was covered in his blood.

  “Serina, I—”

  “This is Val,” Serina said, gesturing to the guard. He wore an oddly joyful smile that Nomi couldn’t account for. “He helped us.… He’s… well, not much of a guard, it turns out.” Serina shared a knowing smirk with the young man.

  Nomi gave him a little, awkward wave. She’d been terrified of him only moments ago. Every instinct within her still saw him as a threat.

  “It’s a shame we had no warning about the boat,” Val said, his hand dropping from his firearm. “It was only two sailors.”

  “Only two?” Serina repeated, her eyes wide. “But we could have taken it, gotten out of here now. Why didn’t—”

  “I kill them?” Val asked, a sudden tension running through his frame. “They were innocent, Serina. They weren’t the usual guards—they had no idea what the normal protocol was.”

  Nomi wanted to tell him that the guards weren’t innocent—that they’d just killed the Heir—but she didn’t understand what they were talking about or the stubborn set of her sister’s chin.

  “But we could have been off this island today,” Serina said, sounding both wistful and annoyed at the same time.

  “We’re not ready.” Val glanced at Nomi and Maris. “Had the boat not returned to the palazzo, we would have had mere hours before the Superior sent someone to investigate.”

  Val took a step toward Serina, and something in his expression made Nomi wonder at his relationship with her sister. Why did he look so pained at Serina’s disappointment? “I’m sorry. I had to make a decision quickly.”