Half of Ruby

Chapter 17

Quick author's note here: This chapter might be a little confusing, because it delves into Ronan's background. Remember that we're currently in Salem, Massachusetts, in the (rather sunny) winter of 1692. Ember is sixteen years old, soon to turn seventeen, and Ronan is almost eighteen.

Ember blinked. "You're going to die in a month?" She frowned, surveying Gus—no, Ronan. "You seem healthy. Are you sick?" 

"No," he snapped. "I'm not sick." 

"Then how do you know you're going to die?" Ember crossed her legs as she regarded Ronan. I really don't know anything about him. But the thought now filled her with cold steeliness, rather than shameful misery.

I may be compassionate, thought Ember, willing Ronan to hear her thoughts. I may have a soft spot for humans. But that just makes it harder for me to trust you again.

Ronan sighed. "I have a death sentence hanging above my head, and the one who set it there was my father." 

Ember raised her eyebrows. "Samuel Parris? The one who hates all witches? I can see his blood in you." 

Ronan glared at her. "You've toughened up considerably since our last meeting." 

"Hmm...I suspect you sentencing me to death might have helped." Ember's golden eyes flickered under the candlelight. "So why does your father want to kill you? Besides the obvious, of course." 

His fingernails dug into his palms as his hazel eyes narrowed. "Stop this. You're not the only one sentenced to death." 

"I trusted you." 

"I trusted my father." 

"One of the few things we have in common. We do have more differences, though. Do you want me to list a few? I'm a witch—you're a human. And your kind never fails to remind me of that." 

"Ember!" yelled Ronan. His voice cracked, the sound bouncing off the cement walls like a shower of arrows. Ronan took a deep breath, his hazel eyes flickering around the cell as his anger dissipated. "Ember, just listen." 

In the dim candlelight, Ronan's eyes glowed in a startling miasma of green and brown—a kind of hazel Ember had never seen before. His chestnut hair swept over his tanned skin like waves of golden-brown, glittering under the dim oily light. A smudge of freckles dotted his finely-bridged nose, his high cheekbones. She had to admit that he looked handsome. 

Why isn't he getting mad at me?

Only you can save me. 

Ronan wanted to use her. He wanted to get her on his good side. 

Ember crossed her arms. If I'm playing his game, I'm playing it on my own rules. 

"I'm listening." 

Ronan took a deep breath. "Samuel and Elizabeth Parris had three children together—Thomas, Betty, and Katherine. I'm my father's son, but not Elizabeth's." 

"Your father had an affair?" 

Ronan nodded. "Yes. Father used to run a plantation on Barbados—a sugarcane plantation. In fact, everybody grew sugarcane there. There, he had an affair with a woman and I was the product of it.  We moved to Boston in 1680, after Father hid me for the first five years of my life. Then he married Elizabeth. Elizabeth always treated me kindly, though. She's a rational woman." 

Ember was silent. 

"That was until my father decided that Thomas must inherit his money and property. He did that to placate my stepmother, who was anxious that I, the product of her husband's affair, would inherit everything."