Chapter Fifteen
The following days continued much like the first, with the only change being the scenery shifting from Mirraven’s craggy landscape to Caramor’s barren, windswept plains. News of the broken alliance hadn’t yet spread, so they had no trouble crossing the border, and Kiva quickly found that where Navok’s kingdom was largely gray and desolate, Caramor was brown and yellow and equally bleak. It was said that the northern part of the kingdom was much more habitable, especially toward the seaside capital, Terith, but their travel party wasn’t venturing that far, instead skirting the edge of the expansive Wicker Woods and cutting straight across toward Hadris.
As the days passed, Kiva’s body ached relentlessly from being in the saddle for hours on end, only to toss and turn on the hard ground each night.
If the others felt the same discomfort, none of them complained, not even Tipp, who continued to ignore all of Kiva’s attempts to speak with him.
Jaren and Naari also treated her no differently — though Kiva did wonder if, during her morning training, Jaren’s eyes often came to her. But whenever she turned, he was always looking elsewhere, making her think she was only imagining what she wanted to see.
Caldon himself was much more cautious with Kiva ever since her post- stabbing outburst, but while that meant no one else was wounded — namely, Jaren — for the sake of her training, she also had little success with summoning her magic on command, and none at all without first placing her hands on someone. She was increasingly aware of the uneasy concern from her traveling companions, all of whom knew how much was at stake if she couldn’t learn to control her power.
A week after leaving Stoneforge, they finally neared the border into Hadris, and Galdric revealed they were now close enough to Jiirva for him to windfunnel them over the Forsaken Lands and all the way to Yirin.
Despite Ashlyn having been working with the ex-rebel leader every morning, she still hadn’t managed to transport herself more than a few feet, so they would be relying solely on Galdric’s magic. Unlike last time, he was confident he wouldn’t pass out once they reached their destination, claiming
that had never happened to him before, and that the high pressure of fleeing Navok’s dungeons coupled with exhaustion and hunger — and having been beaten by the guards — must have left him weaker than he’d realized.
“Why d-didn’t you just use your m-m-magic to escape when you were f-first locked up?” Tipp had asked him one night around the campfire, with Galdric answering that windfunneling only worked when outside and exposed to the full force of the elements. And besides, his magic couldn’t move him through objects — or walls — only over them.
His response had satisfied everyone except Cresta, who had drawled, “You didn’t answer the kid’s question. Why didn’t you break out of your cell earlier, like how Ashlyn used her power to get you out? You only needed to get outside before, whoosh” — she circled her fingers — “freedom.”
“On my own?” Galdric had returned, one eyebrow raised. “We barely made it out when there were three of us and General Ashlyn was at full strength. I stood no chance against the Gray Guards without help. Wisdom told me to wait and bide my time.”
“Wisdom speaks to me, too,” Cresta had replied, tossing a stick into the flames. “She’s particularly chatty when it comes to you.”
Galdric had been unfazed by her pointed remark, and since he’d given no reason for anyone to doubt his motivations, nothing else was said on the matter. But Kiva had lingered on Cresta’s attitude toward him, wondering how much of it came from the redhead’s years at Zalindov — where trust was a commodity that almost always ended in death — versus how much was just Cresta’s naturally prickly personality trying to stir up dissent among them all.
Kiva still didn’t have an answer after a week of them being in close proximity, so she put it to the back of her mind and instead gave a mental cheer that it was finally time for them to windfunnel to Yirin.
“Everyone, gather near,” Galdric called, waving their group toward him.
Kiva nudged Zephyr closer, ignoring his pinned ears. Despite her best efforts, he still detested her. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he and Jaren were soul-bonded. But he’d carried her across two kingdoms, and even if it was one-sided, she’d grown attached to the hateful beast.
“I’ll win you over,” she murmured, petting his neck to try and settle him
as he pranced agitatedly beneath her.
“Kiva, are you listening?”
She looked up at Galdric’s question to find everyone watching her.
Flushing, she asked, “Sorry?”
“I was saying, this should be smoother than last time since the air currents over the Forsaken Lands aren’t as turbulent as those gusting between Mirraven’s craggy hills, but it’s still going to be unsettling for the horses. Prepare yourself.”
Kiva was about to suggest they dismount before, essentially, flying their horses across hundreds of miles at speed, but before she could, Galdric raised his hands, and a rush of wind rammed into them like a solid wall of air.
Zephyr snorted, his muscles bunching as if ready to bolt, but Galdric’s magic was faster, thrusting them up into the air. Kiva barely stayed in the saddle as the browns and yellows of Caramor blurred into the reds and oranges of northern Hadris, and then into the golden sands of Jiirva’s sun- drenched lands.
Like last time, Kiva had no sense of how long the journey took, just that it was disconcerting and, despite Galdric’s claim that it would be smoother, still unpleasant. When their group finally touched down on the duned outskirts of a large sandstone city, her head was spinning enough that she stood no chance of keeping her seat when Zephyr reared up and threw her from his back.
Kiva hit the ground so hard that the wind was knocked out of her. She tried to suck in air, to move, but she couldn’t do either, not even when Zephyr reared up again, twisting on his hindquarters — until he was directly above her.
Still recovering from her fall, all Kiva could manage was to raise her arms and protect her head, hearing multiple panicked voices yell her name, the loudest of which was Jaren’s. He was struggling to settle his own spooked mount, his eyes wide and his hand outstretched as if to magic her to safety — but without his power, nothing happened.
And then Zephyr’s hooves began to come down, a thousand pounds of horseflesh falling to the earth, ready to crush Kiva.
She slammed her eyes shut and braced for impact, but then a gust of wind wrapped around her torso, like a giant hand clutching her and sliding her across the hot sand to safety.
Kiva opened her eyes again and stared in amazement at Jaren, but his fingers were now fisted around his reins, and he was looking away from her
— straight at Ashlyn.
Her heart fell at the expression he couldn’t hide fast enough, the disappointment, the self-loathing. It was as if, for a moment, he’d forgotten what the Eye of the Gods had taken from him and was now forced to remember all over again.
Kiva ached deep inside at seeing such a look on his face before he blinked it away. But at the same time, a small, hope-starved part of her rejoiced that his first instinct was still to save her. She hadn’t imagined that, not this time.
“Are you all right?” Ashlyn called, using her wind magic to lift Kiva up to her feet. “Sorry I didn’t act quicker — Spirit nearly threw me, so I didn’t see what happened to you until I heard everyone yelling.”
Kiva dusted sand from her leathers and, now able to breathe again, answered, “I’m fine.” She took a step, winced, and rubbed her hip. “A little bruised, but I’ll survive. Thanks, Ashlyn.”
“Are you sure?” Torell asked, dismounting from his skittish horse and looking her over carefully. “You landed hard.”
Her brother wasn’t the only person staring at her in concern, but the worried face that snared Kiva’s attention the most belonged to Tipp. As soon as he realized she’d noticed his alarm, he quickly glanced away. Even so, just like with Jaren’s instinctive reaction, Kiva’s heart felt fuller than it had in a long time.
“I’m fine,” she repeated to her brother, before repeating it for a third time when Caldon asked as well.
“This horse has it in for you,” Cresta said, leading Zephyr over by the reins.
Kiva hobbled forward and remounted before she could yield to fear.
“He’s just not used to windfunneling,” she said, unsure why she was defending the creature who could have killed her moments ago.
“I’m so sorry,” Galdric said, looking distraught. “I’ve never used my magic on anything but people before, so I didn’t anticipate that being so —”
“Just give me a chance to dismount first next time,” Kiva cut him off, growing more embarrassed by the second. She waved toward the city rising up before them. “I take it that’s Yirin?”
“It is,” Naari confirmed.
Kiva looked at her, surprised she’d been the one to answer. But as Kiva took in the guard’s dark features lined with tension, she belatedly
remembered that this wasn’t Naari’s first visit to Jiirva.
I spent most of my life in a kingdom oppressed by corrupt rulers and full of desolate and hateful citizens, the guard had told Kiva back at the River Palace.
Even Captain Veris had shared a tale about Naari’s journey to Evalon, mentioning how she’d escaped a Jiirvan arena and crossed the Forsaken Lands with nothing but the swords on her back.
Kiva wanted to ask how Naari was handling being back in the kingdom that she’d risked her life to flee from, but the guard shot her a hard look, so she swallowed the words before they could slip out.
Turning her eyes to the city, Kiva looked beyond the impressive outer wall to the sandstone buildings within. The architecture was unlike anything she’d encountered before, with golden towers interspersed between behemoth yellow stone statues of armored men and women throwing spears, raising swords, and drawing bows. Jiirvans were known to the rest of Wenderall as being warriors, but Kiva hadn’t realized their capital would epitomize that in its appearance. Even with the scorching sun overhead, a shiver traveled down her spine at the fierceness emanating from the city.
Her trepidation only intensified when she noticed an elevated area inside the wall, right at the center of Yirin, upon which sat a palace — and beside it, what was unmistakably one of Jiirva’s famous arenas.
Kiva glanced at Naari again, concerned, but the guard revealed no hint of what she was feeling.
“What’s the plan?” Caldon asked, shielding his eyes from the glare as he took in the city. “Sarana may have been friendly with Jiirva’s ancient rulers, but Ryuu and Thembi aren’t known for their hospitality. Are we really just expecting them to hand the ring over?”
King Ryuu and King Thembi were Jiirva’s brother-kings, Kiva had learned on their journey. They weren’t as close with Evalon as their ancestors had once been, but they also weren’t enemies. What that meant for the outcome of their mission, no one knew.
All eyes turned to Galdric, and he said, “As I’ve already told you, the rings were only given away for safekeeping. Since you’re Sarana’s heirs, they have no reason not to return what is rightfully yours.”
He sounded confident, but when Kiva looked around, she could see she wasn’t the only one with doubts.
“How far away is the Jiirvan anomaly settlement?” Eidran asked Galdric, perhaps the first words he’d uttered in days.
“From what Navok told me, a few hours’ ride, give or take,” Galdric answered.
Eidran nodded, then said to the group, “I’ll meet you at the palace later.” To Galdric, he added, “You’re with me.”
The ex-rebel leader looked like he wanted to argue, but Ashlyn said, “You’re the only one who knows how to find the anomalies. Go with Eidran. That’s an order.”
Galdric’s face fell, but he murmured his agreement.
Ashlyn turned to Torell and Cresta. “You go with them, too.”
Cresta’s eyes slitted. “You just want us out of the way.”
The princess didn’t deny it, and Cresta harrumphed in response. But Torell didn’t seem to mind being given a task. Or perhaps it was because the task had been given by Ashlyn. Kiva had watched the two generals interact over the last week, and despite Ashlyn’s initial distrust of her brother, something had shifted as Tor had continued to prove respectful and courteous. They sparred together every morning; they even rode beside each other for most of the day, every day, sometimes talking and laughing quietly, sometimes enjoying the silence of each other’s company. Kiva wasn’t sure if she was reading into something that wasn’t there, or whether it was even her business if it was there. Nor did she know if she should warn her brother away from Ashlyn — or warn Ashlyn away from her brother. Despite Caldon’s one-sided lust for Tor, Kiva had assumed her brother and Rhessinda had been on a path for something more than friendship . . . but given the way she sometimes caught Tor looking at Ashlyn, she wasn’t certain about anything anymore.
Since Kiva couldn’t even handle her own romantic life — or lack thereof — she knew better than to get involved in anyone else’s. Right now, she was just grateful that whatever was going on between Torell and Ashlyn meant he followed Eidran without debate as the spy nudged his horse away, with Cresta and Galdric trailing much more reluctantly behind them.
Once they were small figures disappearing beyond the sand dunes, Kiva and her remaining companions rode straight for the colossal arched entrance into Yirin, where beige-armored guards demanded that they halt and state their business. Upon learning who they were — and that three
Evalonian royals were with them — an escort was provided, leading them all the way up to the palace.
By the time they reached their destination, Kiva’s eyes stung from how bright it was inside the city, with the sun bouncing off everything from the roads to the walls to the rooftops, turning it all gold and yellow and cream.
Even the people were dressed in light-colored clothes, though most of them quickly scampered away when they caught sight of the guards.
The palace itself was awe-inspiring from up close, a twisted gathering of conical spires bordered by the largest statue-warriors Kiva had yet seen, their weapons raised as if in battle. Goose bumps pebbled on her flesh thanks to the nearest one, whose hateful eyes gave the illusion of following her.
“Cheery place,” Cresta murmured from Kiva’s side after they’d all dismounted and the royal servants had led their horses away.
“You’re from Mirraven,” Kiva murmured back. “You should be used to this kind of cheery.”
Cresta’s gaze turned inward, sweat glistening on her snake tattoo as she said, “It wasn’t always so terrible there.”
Kiva barely processed her reply, because while it had taken a few seconds, she blinked and realized — “What are you doing here?” Ashlyn demanded, stealing the words from Kiva. “Why aren’t you with Eidran?”
Cresta shrugged. “I snuck away to follow you. This will be much more interesting.” She blew an obnoxious kiss at Ashlyn, who was now scowling at her, then winked at Caldon when he couldn’t hide his snort.
“You might want to reconsider antagonizing the people who can send you back to Zalindov when this is all over,” Kiva said dryly.
Cresta’s eyes lit with humor. “They wouldn’t dare.”
Before Kiva could reply with another warning, a group of servants dressed in pristine white tunics ushered them into the palace. Kiva felt filthy in comparison, her skin damp from the heat, her hair a straggly mess, and her outfit, once as white as theirs, now covered with travel dust. But she followed the example of her royal companions and held her head high as they walked past giant pillars and through shining arches until they reached a lavish, airy room. The ceiling was high above them, and where normally a wall would have stood, the space led out to a large balcony overlooking the yellow city, straight to the cliffside ocean in the distance.
Unnerved by the opulence, Kiva followed her friends up the gilded carpet runner, at the end of which was a pair of thrones shaped like scorpions, their stingers curled over and ready to strike. Reclining in the daunting seats were two men with sun-kissed skin who, like their servants, were wearing white, but their outfits glittered with richly detailed embroidery. Their faces were streaked with gold paint, and both had long black hair pulled back behind crowns made of — Kiva swallowed as her group halted before the thrones, instinctively
knowing the answer.
Bones — the crowns were made of bones.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Naari nudge Tipp and Cresta, the three of them dropping into bows — Cresta’s so shallow that it was borderline offensive — and Kiva quickly followed suit. Jaren, Ashlyn, and Caldon remained upright, with Jaren stepping forward to address the kings.
“Thembi, Ryuu, thank you for welcoming us into your city on such short notice,” he said with a respectful nod to the brothers — twins, Kiva now realized, seeing that they were identical, though one had a beard and the other was clean-shaven. “It’s been far too long since we last saw each other.”
“Indeed it has, Deverick,” the bearded twin said, his accent thick, like honey trickling over sand. It was difficult for Kiva to determine their ages, but she guessed they were in their early forties, their eyes cunning and physiques muscled, indicating they didn’t just train warriors, but they were warriors. “We have to admit, your visit is a surprise, given the rumors that a new queen now rules your kingdom.”
Jaren didn’t so much as blink. “You should know better than to listen to rumors,” he said smoothly. “My father recently passed into the everworld, but my mother remains at the River Palace, with my sister merely assisting with her queenly duties during this time of mourning.”
Nothing he said was a lie, and yet, Kiva marveled at his ability to spin the truth — though his jaw did clench slightly when he mentioned Mirryn.
Royal politics were beyond Kiva, but even she recognized the danger of giving the Jiirvan kings confirmation of the volatile situation in Evalon.
“That is a relief,” the clean-shaven king — Thembi — said. His voice quieted as he added, “Though Ryuu and I are very sorry to hear about Stellan. He was a good man.”
Jaren concealed the depth of his grief, and only said, “He was.”
Kiva hadn’t heard him speak about his father at all since Caldon had told her the news. She desperately wanted to reach for his hand, but even if they hadn’t been standing before foreign warrior-kings, she knew he wouldn’t be receptive to her compassion. Or to her touch.
“Please forgive our intrusion,” Ashlyn said, stepping up beside Jaren.
“We would have sent a messenger, but since we were already en route and don’t intend to stay long, it was quicker to arrive unannounced.”
Ryuu brushed aside her words. “Jiirva has always been a friend to Evalon. What brings you to our golden city?” His gaze flicked beyond the Vallentis royals to where Naari, Cresta, Tipp, and Kiva stood. “And who are your friends?”
Ashlyn offered vague introductions, with Tipp giving a merry wave when his name was shared, and Naari ducking her head and keeping her eyes firmly on the carpet. Kiva doubted the kings had cared about one escaped teenager back when Naari had fled, but she understood the guard’s desire to avoid their notice.
When Ashlyn was done, Jaren took over again, explaining how Sarana had entrusted a ring to the brother-kings’ ancestors. He didn’t say how important it was or what it did when combined with the others, just that he desired to have it returned to his family’s possession. Kiva watched the kings carefully to see if they already knew the true value of the ring, but their expressions might as well have been carved from granite.
Once Jaren was finished, the twins shared a quick glance, and then Thembi snapped his fingers at the nearest group of waiting servants and spoke to them in rapid Jiirvan. Kiva side-eyed Naari for a translation, but Thembi explained in the common tongue, “Refreshments are on the way.”
“That’s very kind,” Jaren said, “but as Ashlyn mentioned, we don’t intend to linger. I’m sure you can appreciate I’d rather not be apart from my mother for longer than necessary during this difficult time, so we need return to Evalon as quickly as possible.”
Now Jaren was lying, but Kiva schooled her features, praying the others — especially Tipp and Cresta — were doing the same.
“You must at least have something to drink,” Ryuu said, signaling to a pair of promptly returned servants who hurried over on command. In their hands were trays bearing gold chalices, which they quickly gave to Kiva and her companions. “You’re surely parched from your travels.”
Kiva waited until Jaren, Ashlyn, and Caldon sipped their own drinks before she tasted hers. The fruity offering was unfamiliar, but it was cool and refreshing, and brought almost instant relief from the heat.
“Yijapilly,” Thembi said, catching Kiva sniffing the pink-colored liquid.
“It’s a stone fruit native to our kingdom. One that flourishes in the desert, even during summer, when so many others wither and die.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response — from her — so after receiving a barely discernible nod from Ashlyn, she said, “It’s delicious.
Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Seemingly satisfied, the Jiirvan king looked at his brother before they both turned their attention back to the Vallentis royals.
“We know of Sarana’s ring,” Ryuu said without preamble, and Kiva felt relief wash over her, so powerful that it left her dizzy. Galdric had been confident it was here, but he could have been mistaken, or the ring could have been lost in the hundreds of years since the ancient Vallentis queen had bestowed it upon her Jiirvan friends.
“You are correct in your assertion that it does belong to you,” Ryuu went on, “and that it has been passed down from our ancestors with the understanding that one day someone from your bloodline would come to retrieve it.”
“Wonderful,” Caldon said, stepping forward. “If you’ll just hand it over
—”
He stumbled.
It was only a small trip of his feet, but Caldon never stumbled. He managed to keep his legs under him, but he still looked down in confusion, shaking his head as if to clear it.
“What you don’t seem to be aware of,” Thembi said, straightening his bone crown, “is that instructions were handed down with the ring.”
“Instructions?” Jaren repeated, his eyes narrowing.
There was something wrong with his voice, Kiva thought. She rubbed her ears, unsure if it was her hearing or if he really had slurred the word.
“We can’t just give it to you.” Ryuu’s lips curled into a smirk. “You first have to prove yourselves worthy of it. You have to earn it.”
“What does that mean?” Ashlyn demanded, pressing a hand to her head and swaying slightly.
Naari, however, had become as still as a statue, her face turning ashen.
Before Kiva could ask what was wrong, movement caught her eye, prompting her to gasp at the impossible sight of the scorpion thrones coming to life, their stingers shifting in the air as if preparing to attack.
She jerked backwards, her heart slamming against her rib cage. No one else seemed to notice, so she opened her mouth to shout a warning, but then she blinked, and the thrones were lifeless once more.
Realization crashed over Kiva, ice flooding her as she peered into her golden chalice.
Caldon’s stumble. Jaren’s slurring. Ashlyn’s swaying. Her own hallucinating.
Ignoring royal etiquette, Kiva speared her now blurry gaze toward the kings and rasped out, “You drugged us.”
As soon as she said the words, Tipp crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Kiva lunged for him, but her own knees gave out, and she collapsed beside him. She was suddenly so tired that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, barely able to watch as Ashlyn, Jaren, Caldon, and Cresta all toppled, one after the other. Naari, the only one of them who hadn’t drunk anything, drew her blades, but beige-clad guards poured into the throne room before she could make a single move.
“Fear not,” Ryuu said pleasantly, his words sounding far away. “It’ll wear off in time for your Arzavaar. We’ll even make sure you . . .”
He continued speaking, but Kiva’s body fully surrendered to the drug, and she heard no more.
