Chapter Sixteen
“Wake up, gods dammit!”
At the sudden pain in her cheek, Kiva’s eyes shot open to find Cresta crouching beside her, the redhead’s arm raised as if preparing to slap her again.
Kiva touched her stinging face and demanded, “What —”
A roaring sound cut her off, and she squinted past Cresta through the painfully bright glare, dread filling her at what she saw.
“Get up, get up!” Cresta urged, hauling Kiva to her feet.
But Kiva didn’t need the encouragement; she was already scrambling upright.
She pushed past her dizziness, her mind desperately trying to make sense of where she was — and more alarmingly, why.
Because she was standing in the middle of an arena.
The roar she heard was the crowd — thousands of people crammed together on raised platforms around the edge of the open-air, bowl-shaped space, with ferocious warrior statues rising high to watch over everything, their backs straight and arms crossed as if in judgment.
Nerves prickled Kiva’s skin at the daunting sight, but then her attention moved to the center of the arena — where she stood — and her trepidation only grew. The ground was divided into three parts: an inner ring that was filled with water, the middle ring where she’d awoken having sand underfoot, and — Kiva gasped as flames arose from the earth, filling the outer ring like a
fiery barrier, preventing any escape.
She was trapped.
They were trapped.
Because it wasn’t just her and Cresta in the arena — Ashlyn and Naari were there as well, both having just regained consciousness and were now
hurrying over, their faces tight.
Naari’s especially.
“What the hell is this?” Cresta demanded once the princess and the guard had reached them.
The amplified voice of King Thembi spoke before anyone could answer, echoing around the arena and quieting the crowd.
“Gersot, gersot! Ka tannem vu sentis rayi takaak zeg Arzavaar!”
The Jiirvan words meant nothing to Kiva, but she searched for the speaker, finding him on a private elevated dais halfway up one side of the crammed arena. He was seated beside his brother, both on new scorpion thrones glinting in the sunlight, and at their sides were — Kiva took an automatic step forward at the sight of Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp all tied to solid vertical posts, their arms bound over their heads, their feet barely touching the ground. They were too far away for her to make out their expressions, but she had no trouble imagining their distress. Before she could move any further, Naari’s fingers curled around her elbow, halting her progress. There was a warning look on the guard’s face — warning, and fear.
Thembi kept speaking in his native tongue, so Kiva asked, “What’s he saying?”
It was Ashlyn who answered, “He’s welcoming the audience. Telling them we’re visitors who wish to prove our worth by undertaking the Arzavaar.”
We can’t just give it to you, King Ryuu had said about Sarana’s ring. You have to earn it.
A sick feeling began to bubble in Kiva’s stomach. “What’s the Arzavaar?”
“He’s also saying our companions will be put to death if we fail,” Cresta said. She cocked an eyebrow at Ashlyn. “You left that part out.”
The princess’s jaw ticked. “I saw no reason to panic her. And since when do you speak Jiirvan?”
Cresta shrugged. “There are plenty of Jiirvans in Zalindov. You can learn a lot in five years. I also know some Hadrisan, and all the swears in Odonese, plus some —”
“Excuse me,” Kiva hissed, not caring how Cresta had become multilingual, “but can you go back to the part about them killing —”
“It’s an empty threat intended to excite the crowd,” Ashlyn quickly assured Kiva. “They wouldn’t dare hurt —”
“They would.”
The two words, said low and serious, came from Naari. She then looked straight at Kiva and said, “Whatever happens next, you absolutely must not use your power in here. The kings covet magic, especially in their warriors, but like most people, they believe anomalies are rare — and they’ve certainly never seen healing magic before. If they learn what you can do, they’ll never allow you to leave Yirin. Do you understand?”
Kiva swallowed and swiftly nodded. She didn’t question why, after a week of Naari ignoring her, the guard was now worried about what might happen to her. Instead, she repeated, her voice hoarse with dread, “What’s the Arzavaar?”
Thembi stopped speaking, but then Ryuu started, his words prompting the crowd to shout and clap and stomp their feet.
Hurriedly, Naari shared, “Women in Jiirva are considered special kinds of warriors, often more lethal than the men. At ten years of age, every girl across the kingdom is presented to the Rakavan — the Elite Guard — and those who show promise are invited to attend their nearest arena for training. Almost all of them accept, since it’s a great honor to be selected — the greatest a Jiirvan family can claim. The girls with the most potential are then brought here, to the capital. Once they turn fifteen, their training ends, and they’re made to fight each other, for glory and riches — and for the crowd’s entertainment.” Her amber eyes scanned from the water ring all the way across to the fire barrier, then up to the screaming audience, before she finally revealed, “Arzavaar translates to ‘Warrior Trial.’ It’s what those women must undergo if they wish to advance beyond arena battles and become full-fledged Rakavan. It’s how they prove their worth — and it’s apparently how we’ll be proving ours.”
A choked sound left Kiva. “Warrior Trial? But we’re not —”
Something King Ryuu said caused both Naari and Ashlyn to reach for their weapons. The princess handed one of her swords to Cresta, and Naari pulled a long dagger from her belt and shoved it toward Kiva.
She didn’t take it.
Naari moved closer. “Our opponents will be desperate; they’re one battle away from everything they’ve spent years working toward — and once they nominate themselves for the Trial, they only get one chance to claim victory.” Her features were hard as she declared, “The Arzavaar is a fight to the death, Kiva. Kill or be killed — those are our only options.”
Kiva’s mouth dropped open, but Naari wasn’t finished. “If you want to save
Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp, if you want any of us to leave this place, then you need to survive. We need to survive.”
This time, when Naari held out the dagger, Kiva closed her numb fingers around the hilt.
“I can’t use this,” she breathed, staring at the deadly blade. “Not just because I don’t know how, but I’m a healer. I can’t hurt —”
“Just stay close to us,” Ashlyn said, shifting nearer. “We won’t let anyone get to you.”
Neither Naari nor Cresta showed the same level of confidence, their faces grim.
“Remember what I said about your magic,” Naari warned again. “No matter what, you can’t —”
“Friends from Evalon!” King Ryuu’s voice interrupted her, echoing loudly down to them in the common tongue. “In order to claim what you seek, you must first be proclaimed victors of the Arzavaar. Behold, your opponents!”
A near-deafening roar came from the crowd when the flaming barrier parted, revealing six women who stepped into the middle ring, the fire returning once they were through. They each had different skin tones — two tanned, two pale, two dark — but all were dressed in supple red body armor, their leather skirts and breastplates glinting with silver plating, their shins protected by shining greaves, their wrists strapped with metallic braces.
Six against four, Kiva realized, the dagger trembling in her hand.
“Your male companions have been warned not to interfere using their magic, or you’ll be instantly disqualified,” King Ryuu went on, and Kiva had a feeling he didn’t just mean they wouldn’t be given Sarana’s ring, the words fight to the death still ringing in her ears. “However, no such restrictions are upon you — or your opponents.”
One of the warrior-women grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth. At the flick of her pale finger, wind slammed into Kiva, Cresta, Ashlyn, and Naari. Not even Ashlyn could react in time to stop the magic from sending them flying.
“Now, now,” Ryuu tsked as the audience went wild, “we haven’t started playing yet.”
Kiva clambered back to her feet, amazed that none of her friends had stabbed themselves when they’d landed hard on the ground.
“She’s mine,” Ashlyn growled, her eyes slitted toward the still-grinning warrior.
Kiva repressed a hysterical laugh, since obviously Ashlyn should face the anomaly, being the only one of them with elemental magic.
But then a woman with flaming ginger hair smirked and summoned fire into her palm, revealing there to be two anomalies among them. Cresta had warned that the kings valued magical warriors, but this . . .
“Damn it,” Ashlyn hissed. “I’ll have to take her, too.”
Kiva’s heart had been pounding before, but now it was like a hammer in her chest. “If either of you have been hiding magic,” she said to Cresta and Naari, “now’s the time to say so.”
The look on Naari’s face said that only one person among them had been keeping such a secret — and that person was Kiva herself.
Cresta, too, rolled her eyes and stated, “You think I would have stayed so long at Zalindov if I could have magicked my way out of there? Only your prince was stupid enough to do something like that.”
Before Kiva could reply, King Thembi took over for his twin and said, “The rules of the Arzavaar are simple: there are none!” The crowd roared again, louder than ever, and then he declared, “May the best warriors win!
Gantaark!”
Kiva didn’t need to know Jiirvan to realize that he’d just yelled the equivalent of “Attack!” because the six warriors sprinted toward them, their swords and spears and shields raised. The air anomaly thrust out her hand as she ran, attempting another attack, but Ashlyn was ready this time, and countered the move with a slash of her arm, causing the sand between them to erupt in an eye-stinging flurry. The ginger-haired woman similarly tried to send a burst of fire their way, but Ashlyn choked the air from the flames, snuffing them out before they could cause any damage.
For a moment, Kiva felt a glimmer of hope. The Jiirvan anomalies had never battled a Vallentis princess before — a Vallentis general. It might be two against one, but Ashlyn had a bloodline’s worth of experience — and power — in her favor. Plus, she alone wielded two elements, which she quickly put to use, cracking open the earth and forcing the six warriors to change their trajectory by leaping to the side, giving Kiva and her friends an extra moment to prepare.
But then the two anomalies glanced at each other, sharing an invisible signal before launching simultaneous attacks directly toward Ashlyn alone,
stealing her focus and allowing the four other warrior-women the chance to approach.
Naari and Cresta didn’t hesitate, rushing forward to meet their opponents with weapons raised, while Ashlyn sent darts of wind and twisting vines toward her two magical foes, only to have them blocked and burned.
Do something! screamed Kiva’s inner voice. Help them!
But she was frozen in place, fearing she would only get in the way and cause one of her friends to become hurt.
Frantic, her gaze swung from Ashlyn and her elemental battle, to Cresta and Naari as they met the four warriors strike for strike, the crash of steel ringing around the arena. It wasn’t just swords they were defending against — a broad-shouldered woman fought with a fearsome spear that was a cross between a sickle and a scythe, while her freckled companion had a metal chain in one hand and a spiked mace in the other. Only the final two women — one of whom had gold threaded into her armor, and the other wore a horned helmet — used weapons more evenly matched against Kiva’s friends, but they fought with enough ferocity that even Naari, who had undergone the same warrior training as them, was struggling to maintain her defense. And Cresta — As Kiva watched, Cresta lost patience with the broad-shouldered, spear- wielding woman and gave a war cry before bending at the waist and ramming straight into her midsection, tackling her to the ground. Their weapons dropped in the fall, leaving the two of them to wrestle unarmed, neither gaining a foothold. But Kiva wasn’t worried about the scrappy ex- quarrier — she was concerned because it now meant Naari had three warriors all focused on her.
For too long, people had been saving Kiva. She’d only survived the Trial by Ordeal because Jaren had protected her. More recently at Zalindov, Cresta had looked out for her. Even at Blackmount Castle, Ashlyn had helped free her. Naari, Caldon, Torell — all of them had saved her from one danger or another. She’d always had to rely on them — but no more. She might have no fighting experience and limited physical training, but right
now, her friends needed her.
Naari needed her.
Terrified but determined, Kiva tightened her grip on her dagger and sprinted forward to where Naari was battling the three women. As she ran,
she saw the helmeted warrior fumble her footing, opening up her vulnerable side. Naari took immediate advantage, thrusting her blade in a quick jabbing motion, once, twice, three times, and the woman went down with a pained scream, which quickly tapered off into silence as she stilled on the ground.
Kiva’s heart clenched as the warrior’s eyes closed, Naari’s words repeating in her mind once more: Kill or be killed. Those are our only options.
Later, Kiva would have time to process the senseless violence happening in the arena. For now, she had to remain alive long enough to do so — and make sure her friends did, too. Because Cresta still wrestled with the broad-shouldered woman, grunting and groaning as they each landed hits, while Ashlyn continued to defend against fire and wind in her elemental battle, and Naari still faced both the mace-and-chain-wielding woman and the one with the gold-threaded armor.
It was the latter whom Kiva targeted, racing to block the golden warrior from striking out at Naari’s unprotected back. Fueled purely by desperation, she leapt the remaining distance just as the woman pivoted, her crystal blue eyes gleeful as she raised her sword to meet Kiva. In turn, Kiva stretched her dagger out as she soared through the air, ready to meet the woman’s blade.
But then, suddenly, Kiva wasn’t leaping toward the golden warrior anymore, because a gust of wind caught her mid-flight and flung her away — right into the inner water circle.
Kiva plunged beneath the surface, stunned. At first, she thought Ashlyn must have been trying to keep her safe, but that notion soon vanished when she kicked her way upward only for another gust of wind to shove her straight back down again.
Fear coursed through her as she broke through the surface again and again, barely able to inhale enough air each time before she was pushed under once more. During one of her attempts, the briefest of glances across the sand revealed Ashlyn was oblivious to her plight, fully distracted by the ginger-haired anomaly, who had transformed the fiery outer ring into a giant flaming python. It was taking all of Ashlyn’s focus to keep from being burned alive, with her using both wind and earth magic to try and smother the serpentine inferno. All the while, the air anomaly was grinning her
jagged-tooth smile in Kiva’s direction, keeping her in her underwater prison.
But then it became clear that the elemental warrior had been toying with her, and now she was done, because when Kiva was next forced under, a solid air barrier kept her from resurfacing.
At all.
Within seconds, Kiva’s lungs began to burn, prompting memories of the water Ordeal and when Queen Ariana had attacked her at the River Palace.
She’d nearly drowned in both instances — just as she was drowning now.
Not like this, Kiva begged as she punched her hands into the invisible barrier. Somehow, she still had the dagger gripped between her fingers, but it did no good against the anomaly’s magic.
Pain spread down her throat and across her chest, her heart galloping as her restricted airways convulsed. She needed air. She needed air. But she was surrounded by water, with no escape.
Jaren’s face came to her then — Jaren, who had dived deep into the quarry and breathed life back into her. Jaren, who had fought off his own mother to protect her and then held her all night afterward.
This time, Jaren couldn’t help her.
Kiva didn’t even know whether he would if given the choice.
But — no. That wasn’t true. Because despite all the heartache she’d caused him, it wasn’t in his nature to let anyone suffer, including her.
Maybe even especially her. He would always save her — she knew that like she knew her own name. And the thought of never seeing him again, of surrendering her life to this miserable Jiirvan arena and dying before she had a chance to make things right between them, was too much for her to bear.
Her lungs were screaming for oxygen now, her vision blackening at the edges, but Kiva mustered the last of her strength and propelled her body upward, smashing her daggered hand into the air barrier — only to find it was no longer there.
She broke through the surface, coughing and gagging, meeting no resistance as she swam laboriously to the edge and hauled herself onto the sand. There, she spat out water and sucked in painful, choked breaths, acutely aware that her friends were still fighting for their lives. Because of that, she only allowed herself five seconds to recover before standing shakily to her feet.
A quick glance revealed Cresta had overcome the broad-shouldered warrior, who was now lifeless on the ground, leaving the ex-quarrier to partner with Ashlyn against the fire and air anomalies, explaining why Kiva had suddenly become free. Cresta had no magic, but she was fearlessly using her blades against the warriors — even throwing some wicked star- shaped knives she must have pilfered from her fallen opponent. Together, she and Ashlyn were taking ground, even with the python having been transformed into a flaming whirlwind, fueled by both anomalies combining their magic.
Naari, however, was beginning to struggle against the freckled chain- wielding woman and the golden warrior, both of whom were relentlessly brutal in their attacks, their weapons like blurs. The guard was bleeding from multiple wounds, some alarmingly deep, and it was clear that her strength was failing.
For the second time, Kiva set aside her fear and lunged forward, water and sand flying off her as she sprinted toward her friend. But no matter how fast she ran, she was still a few strides away when the freckled warrior managed to wrap her chain around Naari’s boot, giving it a vicious tug, while at the same time, her mace came down in an overhead swing.
Kiva’s heart stopped as Naari stumbled and barely managed to raise her arm in time, her prosthetic hand taking the brunt of the spiked weapon’s attack. Another tug of the chain and, unbalanced, she was forced down to her knees, leaving her in a dangerous position — one that, while her sole focus was on protecting herself from the freckled woman’s follow-up blow, meant she was wide open for the golden warrior to slash her sword straight
toward her unguarded back.
It was a lethal strike.
But it never made contact, because Kiva arrived just in time to intercept the attack, blocking the woman’s blade. Acting on instinct, she thrust her dagger upward, intending to force the warrior back in order to give Naari a chance to regain her feet and take over again.
But the golden warrior misinterpreted Kiva’s move and dashed forward rather than away, twisting to the wrong side — And causing the upward trajectory of Kiva’s dagger to plunge straight into her chest.
The warrior’s crystal blue eyes widened with shock, mirroring Kiva’s own horrified gaze, the two of them looking slowly down together to see
the blade protruding from her torso.
Time stopped, and then the woman was falling, her blood spilling onto the sand to pool beneath where her body came to rest.
A choked sound left Kiva as she gaped down at the golden warrior, her now-blank eyes staring into nothing.
Kiva was no stranger to death. Whether from illness, injury, or undue violence, she’d witnessed far more than her share of people fading into the everworld, especially during her time at Zalindov. But causing someone’s
death?
Kiva had never killed anyone before.
Slick, warm blood covered her hands. They weren’t trembling now — they were frozen. She was frozen.
Peripherally, she was aware of the roaring crowd, of Naari still fighting the freckled woman, of Ashlyn and Cresta pushing forward in their magical battle, with the wind anomaly downed and only the ginger-haired anomaly and her flames remaining. But try as she might, Kiva couldn’t take her eyes off the blood-soaked sand and the warrior with a dagger buried in her chest — Kiva’s dagger.
Everything that happened next was a blur. Naari finally dispatched her opponent and hurried over with dread in her eyes, before she patted Kiva down and realized the blood didn’t belong to her.
Shock, Kiva realized — she was in shock.
Naari soon figured out the same and gave Kiva a rough shake that did little good.
But then Cresta was there, with her and Ashlyn having succeeded against the fire anomaly, their final opponent. The ex-quarrier didn’t hesitate to repeat her action from earlier and slap Kiva across the face.
“Snap out of it,” she ordered. “You’ve seen worse than this, a thousand
times over.”
Kiva had.
But she’d never been responsible for it.
“Cresta,” Ashlyn barked when the ex-quarrier raised her hand to slap Kiva again. “Leave her.”
Naari was standing close enough that Kiva could hear her labored breaths. She was also swaying slightly, and that was what finally pulled Kiva’s gaze away from the golden warrior. Seeing all the wounds Naari had
sustained, Kiva unconsciously reached out to heal her, but the guard saw what she intended and scrambled backwards.
For one second, Kiva was blinded by hurt. She’d just killed someone to save Naari, and still the guard hated her enough to reject her touch. But then Kiva pushed through the haze of her shock and remembered Naari’s warning — that if the kings witnessed her magic, they’d never allow her to leave.
Quickly, Kiva fisted her hands, burying the power she’d instinctively begun to summon. Naari would have to wait to be healed — as would Ashlyn and Cresta, both of whom were covered in burns and minor lacerations, along with raw grazes from wind-whipped sand.
They were hurt, but alive.
All of them.
Kiva didn’t let her eyes drop to the ground, where the six warrior-
women lay.
Kill or be killed, Naari had said.
They’d done what was needed to survive.
But even so, Kiva couldn’t ignore the guilt she felt — nor could she forget the stunned look of horror on the golden warrior’s face as the life had drained from her.
Bile burned the back of Kiva’s throat, but she swallowed it down, knowing she couldn’t reveal what she was feeling — not here, with thousands of people watching. She had to remain strong, just for a few more minutes.
And then, when she was alone, she could let the floodgates open.
On the dais, the kings stood from their thrones and raised their hands in the air, quieting the screaming crowd.
“Dukkar, dukkar!” Thembi declared in his native language. “Tuk ekaan Arzavaar du ventek unt Evalon!”
Another roar from the audience, before the king spoke in the common tongue directly to Kiva, Ashlyn, Cresta, and Naari: “Congratulations to our Evalonian friends for triumphing over the Arzavaar! You have proved your worth as warriors — now come and receive your reward!”
At his words, the fire ring — no longer a flaming python — extinguished, leaving behind scorched earth and a clear pathway out of the arena. Two groups of beige-armored guards appeared, one set heading
toward Kiva and her friends, the rest bearing canvas stretchers to carry away the fallen.
Kiva didn’t watch the second group, especially the pair of guards who approached the golden warrior. She just kept her eyes on her feet and followed her friends as they were led from the arena.
Given Thembi’s invitation, Kiva had assumed they would be delivered straight to the raised dais, but the guards didn’t head into the stands. The screams of the crowd faded as they stepped through a narrow, shaded walkway dissecting the arena walls, and then exited out into the blistering sunshine once more. After that, it was only a short stroll across to the palace, where they were taken to what was apparently to be their guest quarters for the rest of their stay.
Kiva’s gaze had remained lowered for the duration of their walk, the change of location passing in a blur. A numb feeling had enveloped her somewhere between the arena and the palace, as she’d tried and failed to justify what had happened — what she’d done. But then all the guards except one backed out the door, and Kiva finally looked up, her dazed vision noting that she stood in a bright, circular room with large white cushions dotting the floor in front of a fireplace, along with a balcony looking not out at the arena — thankfully — but toward the opposite side of the city.
“Their Majesties have declared that there will be a feast tonight in your honor,” the remaining guard said, lingering in the doorway. His accent was so thick that it took Kiva a moment to comprehend his words, and once she did, she looked desperately toward Ashlyn.
The princess’s frustrated expression told Kiva that they wouldn’t just be able to take the ring and be on their way. They would have to play the courteous political game first.
“Bathe and rest, and an escort shall return to deliver you to the banquet hall,” the guard continued. “You’ll find evening attire in your rooms.” He pointed to the closed doors that Kiva had missed in her quick perusal of the suite. Only one was ajar, revealing the edge of a ginormous bathtub in the corner.
With nothing else to say, the guard stepped back through the door and paused on the other side, holding it open.
Kiva wondered if he planned to stand sentry until the feast, but then she heard quick footsteps just before Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp appeared. Only
after they were through the door did the guard close it, leaving them to their privacy.
For a moment, no one said anything as they all stared at each other.
Kiva was more aware than ever of her still-damp hair and clothes, but especially of the now-dried blood staining her hands.
Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp had seen everything.
They’d watched six women die.
They’d witnessed Kiva slaying one of those women herself.
She couldn’t bear to look at them, her shame and guilt causing her stomach to roil and her eyes to burn.
But then she heard a sob, and she glanced up to see Tipp running toward her, tears streaking his cheeks.
Kiva’s mind blanked when his small body collided with hers, the force of it sending her backwards a step. She stood there, stunned, as he wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his face into her chest.
“Y-Y-You nearly died!” he wailed, his voice muffled by her leathery armor. “Y-You nearly left m-me!”
“Tipp,” Kiva whispered, emotion clogging her throat. She returned his embrace hesitantly, fearing he would suddenly remember that he wasn’t speaking to her and push her away. But he didn’t — if anything, his grip tightened.
“I’m s-sorry!” he cried, tilting his tearstained face back to look at her through watery blue eyes. “I’m s-s-so sorry! J-Jaren said I should f-forgive you, that you d-didn’t have a choice and you o-only lied to protect me, but I was j-just so mad! And you n-nearly drowned thinking I h-hate you! I d- don’t! I don’t hate you, K-Kiva! I couldn’t n-never hate you! I l-love you!
Please b-believe me!”
He burrowed his face again as his sobbing intensified. As much as his declaration made Kiva want to cry right along with him, and as much as she wanted to comfort him, she was too shocked by what he’d just revealed.
Her disbelieving gaze shot toward Jaren, only to find him staring hard into the empty fireplace.
Caldon, however, was striding toward his sister, his face pale, but his expression determined. As Kiva watched, he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then shook his head at himself, before reaching out and pulling Ashlyn into his arms.
The stoic princess turned as still as a statue.
And then promptly burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry, Ashy,” Caldon said quietly. “It was always too painful, the thought of seeing you. It always made me think of them, and it was so much easier to act like they — and you — never existed. But watching you today, realizing I could have lost you, too . . . I made a mistake in staying away. It was selfish, and I know I hurt you. Can you forgive me?”
Ashlyn only cried harder, but she nodded into her brother’s chest. “Of course I can, you big, stupid oaf,” she blubbered, before leaning back and punching him in the shoulder. Hard.
Caldon grunted and rubbed his arm, glaring at her. “What was that for?”
“You deserved it,” Ashlyn stated, her silvery eyes still wet with tears, her cheeks red and puffy. But there was a lightness to her expression that hadn’t been there before, a weight now lifted from her shoulders. Despite her words, the princess smiled brightly at her brother and finished, “You actually deserve a lot more, but I’m feeling generous.”
Caldon’s glare deepened. “I’m going to regret apologizing to you, aren’t I?”
“Too late now,” Ashlyn said, wiping her face and grinning wider. In this moment, even wearing her bloodied armor, she didn’t look anything like a fierce general; she was nothing more than an older sister teasing her younger brother.
“As adorable as this is,” Cresta interjected, not even trying to hide her disgusted expression, “would someone like to explain what happened after we left the arena? Did the kings hand over the ring?”
“They’re presenting it to us at the feast,” Caldon answered, wrinkling his nose as he saw the battle mess his sister had transferred onto his own darker clothes.
Cresta’s eyebrows arched upward. “You believe them?”
“They’re honor-bound by Jiirvan law to reward us for completing the Arzavaar,” Naari said, pressing a hand to her side — where fresh blood was still flowing. “They have to give —”
She didn’t finish before her knees gave out, a pained sound leaving her as she collapsed onto a white cushion.
Kiva and Jaren both lunged forward and reached her at the same time, with him watching anxiously as Kiva examined the worst of Naari’s wounds. Her hands trembled at the sight of dried blood on her own flesh,
but she took a deep breath and repressed everything she was feeling until they stilled again.
Jaren’s proximity made it hard for Kiva to concentrate, when all she wanted was to lean into him and ask why he’d encouraged Tipp to forgive her. But she made herself focus, especially when she realized how deep Naari’s injury was.
“Gods,” Jaren muttered, seeing the same.
“Is that bone?” Cresta asked, peering over their shoulders. “Ew.”
Caldon swiftly wrapped an arm around her torso and dragged her to the far side of the room.
“Is she g-going to be all r-right?” Tipp asked, kneeling on Kiva’s other side. He looked at her and said, “You can h-heal her, can’t y-you?”
The numbness she’d felt since leaving the arena evaporated, replaced by warmth that only grew as the young boy continued looking at her with such trust, such hope. Seeing that, Kiva’s magic rose to the surface effortlessly. It felt as natural as breathing, with it flowing out of her in a glorious golden light, stitching together not just Naari’s largest wound, but all those she’d sustained in the battle.
And not only her — a gasp came from Ashlyn and a surprised oath from Cresta as the glow of Kiva’s magic spread outward from Naari, flooding the room. She glanced up to see both of them staring at their previously burned and grazed flesh in wonder.
“Did you mean to do that? Heal everyone at once?”
The quiet question came from Jaren, and Kiva turned to him, finding him close enough to take her breath away.
“No,” she answered, hoping he didn’t notice how husky her voice was.
“But it was easier than it’s ever been. I didn’t even have to think about it. It just . . . happened.”
A knock on the door kept him — and anyone else — from responding, and they all jumped quickly to their feet. Kiva’s pulse sped up at the thought of someone having seen the unnatural flare of light, but with the bright sunshine outside, even a brief burst from the balcony should have gone unnoticed.
Her shoulders slumped with relief when two white-clad servants entered the room bearing a tray of fruits and cheeses, and an urn full of liquid. They spoke rapidly in their native tongue before bowing and leaving again.
“Refreshments to tide us over until dinner,” Jaren translated.
They all eyed the offering warily, given what had happened the last time they’d accepted the so-called Jiirvan hospitality.
“Pass,” Cresta said, glaring at the food.
Naari, however, walked straight over to the urn and poured herself a drink. Since she was the only one who had refused the yijapilly juice earlier, everyone looked at her with surprise.
“They only drugged us to get us into the arena,” she said after downing half the liquid. “We’ve already earned what we came for. They have no reason to cause us further harm — and their own laws forbid it.” She tipped back the rest of her drink and then refilled it. “It’s safe. All of it.”
That was all Tipp needed to hear before he bounded over and began stuffing his mouth, while the others followed more slowly.
Watching them, a wave of exhaustion hit Kiva, a delayed response to the magic she’d just used — or from everything else she’d endured that day.
Rather than join her friends, she slipped through the nearest door and entered the bedroom beyond. Like the common room, it was bright and luxurious, with afternoon sunshine streaming in through curtains, which she quickly closed, plunging the space into darkness. Only then did she sink onto the heavily cushioned bed and curl into a ball, wishing she could remember the feeling of Tipp’s arms around her, but instead only recalling the life leaving the golden warrior’s eyes.
