Chapter Two
Kiva looked down at her palms, noting the bloody blisters and torn calluses, but she felt nothing. Just as she’d felt nothing for weeks.
Nothing but cold. Nothing but numb.
She couldn’t summon any concern.
She deserved this.
Penance, she told herself, even if she knew it would never be enough.
“Eat.”
A lump of stale bread was shoved under Kiva’s nose, the hands holding it covered in dust but without any blood. Hands that had seen hard labor for years and were used to wielding a pickaxe hour after hour, day after day.
Warden Rooke had been wrong about Cresta dying swiftly in the tunnels. The ex-quarrier was like a cockroach; Kiva was beginning to doubt anything would kill her.
“Five minutes!” called the nearest black-uniformed guard, his hands on his whip as he swaggered along the luminium-lit underground passageway.
There was no need for the announcement — the lunch break was the same length every day.
“Eat,” Cresta repeated, pressing the bread into Kiva’s hands. They sat in line with the other inmates, their backs slumped against the limestone wall, their tools resting at their sides while they shared a brief moment of respite.
When Cresta elbowed her in the ribs, Kiva mechanically brought the offering to her lips, chewing through the dryness.
“Now drink,” the redhead commanded, and Kiva did so, scooping a handful of murky water from a puddle near her feet. It tasted like dirt, but it washed the bread down and kept her hydrated.
Survive. That was the most she could manage these days, even if she was only delaying the inevitable.
Kiva had always known her end would come quickly in any allocation outside of the infirmary. She wasn’t like Cresta — she couldn’t keep up with the grueling labor indefinitely. Having arrived back at the prison just over five weeks ago, Kiva was surprised she’d lasted as long as she had,
and she knew it was only because of the ex-quarrier. Whether out of pity or something else entirely, once Cresta had seen Kiva through her withdrawal, she hadn’t abandoned her, as Kiva had assumed she would. She wasn’t warm, she wasn’t friendly, and she barely spoke aside from forcing Kiva to see to the most basic of human needs, but somehow in the last five weeks, they’d become partners. If one fell down, the other was there to pull them up — with Cresta doing most of the lifting.
Kiva still didn’t understand why. There was so much left unspoken between them, not the least of which was Cresta’s role as the leader of the prison rebels, and whether she knew who Kiva really was. Prior to Kiva’s escape, she hadn’t, but so much had changed since then — including how there were no longer any prison rebels left for Cresta to lead.
Warden Rooke had seen to that.
Despite so many inmates having perished in the riot — Grendel, Olisha, and Nergal, among others whom Kiva had known — the Warden had still ordered a mass execution afterward. None of Cresta’s circle had been spared the hangman’s noose, with her alone having been reallocated to the tunnels in Rooke’s sadistic attempt to prolong her suffering.
It was the only reason Kiva could think of for why the redhead remained by her side — because in some twisted way, Kiva was familiar, she was safe. And maybe Cresta needed that, having lost almost as much as Kiva.
No, Kiva thought, staring at her bloody hands again, not as much.
It hurt to think his name, to recall his face, but she made herself do so while reaching unconsciously for the amulet resting beneath her tunic, the guards having been ordered not to take it from her upon her arrival.
I want you to have it as a reminder of tonight — of everything you helped make happen, Zuleeka had said through iron bars deep beneath Vallenia’s River Palace.
Even without the royal crest hanging around Kiva’s neck as a constant, choking reminder, she would never forget. It was impossible. She saw him every moment of every day, his blue-gold eyes filled with pain and horror as he realized the truth: that she’d taken everything from him — his throne,
his magic, his heart.
Jaren Vallentis.
The once-heir to the kingdom of Evalon, now forced out of his own palace and on the run — all because of Kiva.
And it wasn’t just Jaren. There were others she cared about who now suffered because of her choices: Naari, Caldon, Tipp, even her brother, Torell. She had no idea what had befallen any of them in the weeks since that night when everything had been torn apart.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Naari lying in a pool of blood after being struck by Zuleeka’s death magic; she saw Caldon looking down at the barely alive Jaren before screaming at Kiva to flee, his loyalty to his family at odds with his love for her; she saw Tipp’s devastation when he realized she’d lied to him for years, followed by his small body crumpling after a blow from Zuleeka, who had claimed he’d be a liability until Kiva had a chance to explain — a chance she’d never been given. He’d been placed in the care of Rhessinda, who had promised to watch over him, just as she’d promised to care for Torell after he’d been stabbed during the skirmish with their Mirraven abductors. But it wasn’t the abductors who had nearly killed
him — it was Zuleeka.
It was always Zuleeka.
Everything that had happened could be blamed on Kiva’s sister, who had partnered with Mirryn Vallentis to overthrow Evalon, the princess having been coerced by Mirraven’s King Navok to turn on her own family for the sake of her love for Navok’s sister, Serafine.
But despite knowing all of that, Kiva still blamed herself. Because she was the reason they’d succeeded. She’d told them everything they’d needed to steal the throne, betraying everyone she loved in the process.
Betraying Jaren.
He was never going to forgive her.
She was never going to forgive herself.
People like her didn’t deserve forgiveness.
They deserved death.
It was only fitting that she was back in Zalindov, awaiting her end.
There was no escaping this time — no one was coming for her. She was on her own, just the way it should be.
She’d earned that, the suffering, the pain. But even so, there was no punishment in the world that could mend what she’d broken. That was something she had to live with — and soon enough, die with.
“Time!” called the nearest guard, with the word being echoed by other guards spaced further along the tunnels. “Back to work!”
Kiva heaved herself up to her feet, aware of Cresta at her side, as always. Once, Kiva had dreaded encountering the other girl around the prison, her antagonistic attitude and penchant for stirring up trouble making Kiva steer clear of her. And despite whatever stalemate they’d reached now, Kiva would never forget that Cresta had once threatened Tipp’s life, claiming she would kill him if Kiva failed to keep the Rebel Queen alive.
Kiva hadn’t needed the motivation, seeing as Tilda Corentine was her own
mother.
Or she had been, once.
Tilda was dead now.
Kiva hadn’t been able to save her.
She hadn’t been able to save her father, either.
Or her brother, Kerrin.
Half of her family, gone.
Despite their deaths not being her fault, Kiva was plagued by the knowledge that the healing magic in her blood could have kept them from the everworld, if she’d had the chance to use it. If she’d had the courage to
use it.
She’d failed them.
And now she was paying the price.
For that, and for so many other things.
“What are you doing?” Cresta murmured. “Dig.”
Kiva blinked, realizing that while her fellow prisoners had reclaimed their tools, she was just standing there, staring at her hands again.
Hands that were covered in blood.
And filled with power.
If she wanted, she could summon the magic to the surface, calling it forth in a blaze of golden light. Or, with one wrong thought, one wrong desire, she could summon the death magic inherited from her ancestor, Torvin Corentine. The same magic that had cursed her mother and corrupted her sister. It was inside her now. It had always been inside her.
Kiva shuddered and balled her hands into fists.
“Pick up your axe,” Cresta hissed.
As if through a haze, Kiva looked across at her, noting the urgency puckering her serpent tattoo. And then she saw the reason for Cresta’s concern: the guard who had just rounded the corner and was heading straight for them.
It was Bones.
A latent survival instinct caused Kiva to swiftly collect her axe and swing it toward the limestone.
Along with the Butcher, Bones was one of two guards whom she had come to truly fear during her ten years at Zalindov. The pale, black-eyed man was wild and unpredictable, usually found with a crossbow over his shoulders, patrolling atop the outer walls or posted to the guard towers.
That he was underground now . . .
Kiva’s skin crawled as he approached, waiting for him to pass.
He didn’t.
Instead, he stopped directly behind her, his hand shooting forward until his fingers curled around her axe, tugging it away.
Cresta slowed her digging, tension emanating from her as she kept one eye on Kiva and the other on Bones, her hazel gaze screaming a warning.
Kiva swallowed and turned to face him.
“Hello, healer,” he purred.
The gleeful look in his eyes pierced through the numbness she’d felt for weeks, causing fear to flood her veins. Before, as the prison healer, she’d had a modicum of protection from guards like Bones. Not just because she was the only person who could competently provide their medical treatment, but also because she’d had the favor of the Warden. While that hadn’t guaranteed her safety, she’d never faced some of the horrors many of the other prisoners had suffered through.
As a tunneler, she no longer had that protection. And she certainly didn’t have Rooke’s favor anymore.
Bones moved a step closer, and Kiva automatically shifted backwards, her shoulders colliding with the limestone. The inmate to her left hesitated, but then he continued to dig, faster than ever, as if not wanting to draw attention to himself.
But on Kiva’s right, Cresta stopped digging entirely.
“Can we help you?” she asked, leveling a look at Bones.
He barely glanced at her. “Get back to work, Voss.”
It didn’t bode well that he knew Cresta’s name — guards rarely addressed prisoners by anything other than their identification numbers.
Moving his free hand to rest on his crossbow, Bones smirked at Kiva and said, “Let’s take a walk.”
He threw her axe to the ground and reached for her, causing Kiva’s stomach to somersault. But before he could make contact, Cresta wedged her way in between them.
“I like walking,” the redhead said conversationally. “Where are we going?”
Bones slitted his eyes toward Cresta. “This is your only warning.”
She was unmoved, remaining between them like a human barrier.
“Cresta —” Kiva attempted, but her mouth was too dry to continue.
“If Kiva gets to stretch her legs, we should all get to stretch our legs,”
Cresta stated, heedless to the danger. Perhaps reveling in it. “Fair’s fair.”
Bones cocked his head to the side as he considered her. “Normally, I’d be curious to see how this plays out. But I’m not in the mood today.” He looked past her and signaled to a pair of tunnel guards, who quickly approached, before his eyes flicked back to Cresta. “You can start digging again, or they can make you. Your choice.”
Kiva’s anxiety grew when Cresta remained defiantly in place, prompting the new guards to grab her, one on each side.
Mirth flashed across Bones’s face as he watched Cresta struggle in their arms, but then he turned back to Kiva. “You. Come with me.”
Kiva shot a panicked glance toward Cresta, only to realize that the redhead was about to do something foolish — like attack the guards — so she quickly croaked out, “It’s fine. I’ll be back soon.”
She wasn’t sure if that was true, since she had no idea what Bones wanted, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Cresta getting punished on her behalf. If the ex-quarrier pushed the guards any further, then Kiva didn’t want to consider what consequences she might face.
Holding Cresta’s eyes, Kiva silently begged her to stand down, until finally she stopped struggling and gave a terse nod of agreement.
A relieved breath left Kiva, but then her body locked when Bones spun on his heel and strode away, calling over his shoulder, “If I don’t hear your footsteps behind me, the next place you’ll be heading is the morgue.”
Cresta shook off her guards and gave Kiva a hearty shove forward, saying, “Bones doesn’t make threats — he makes promises. Hurry.”
“But you —”
“Will do as he said and be a good little tunneler,” Cresta said sourly, pushing Kiva again. “Go.”
With one final Why aren’t you moving? look, Cresta returned to her place against the limestone wall and resumed digging. The two guards watched her closely, but Kiva knew the redhead was smart enough not to give them any more trouble. Cresta had already risked much by challenging Bones, who had earned his nickname from callously snapping the bones of prisoners, sometimes for no reason other than that he was bored.
Guilt churned within Kiva at the thought of what could have happened if he’d lost his patience with the ex-quarrier. But then she remembered he was waiting for her to follow, so with one last glance to make sure Cresta was safely back to work, Kiva hurried after the guard, catching up just as he reached the ladders. He seemed almost disappointed to see her behind him, his hand gripping his crossbow as if he’d been looking forward to using it.
Kiva eyed the weapon nervously, causing Bones to smile, but he only jerked his chin at the ladder shaft and said, “Up we go.” Mockingly, he added, “Ladies first.”
Hyperaware of Bones monitoring her every move, Kiva obediently climbed the rungs. It felt like an eternity before they reached the surface, so many questions popping into her mind, none of which she could ask.
But none of which she had to, because as soon as she followed Bones out into the afternoon sunshine, she saw why he had retrieved her.
Or rather, who had summoned her.
The Warden stood waiting just beyond the entrance to the domed building, his dark face blank as he took in her sweat-soaked, dust-smeared appearance.
She came to a sudden stop at the sight of him.
Five weeks, and she hadn’t seen him once, not since she’d first arrived, her mind having been so drug-addled at the time that she barely remembered the encounter. A flash of teeth revealing his delight, coupled with some jeering words welcoming her back — that was all she recalled.
She’d been so out of it that she hadn’t felt anything then, unlike now.
Her vision turned red as she looked at the man responsible for the
deaths of so many people.
Including, years ago, her father.
“So it’s true — you’re still alive,” Rooke said without preamble.
Kiva didn’t reply, reminding herself that if she tried to physically harm him, Bones would take her down. Caldon had begun training her to fight during her time at the River Palace, but she’d had nowhere near enough
lessons to take on both Rooke and Bones — or even just one of them. Her skills were lamentable, and that was without the weeks of malnourishment and neglect that came with being a prisoner. She had to be smart and bide her time, even if she longed to make him pay for what he’d done.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d last this long,” Rooke went on.
“Especially given the state you were in when you arrived. I’m reluctantly impressed.” His eyes held hers, his diamond scar more menacing than ever.
“Then again, you always were a survivor, weren’t you?”
Kiva raised her chin, but remained silent.
“Nothing to say?” He cocked a brow. “Pity. But I didn’t come to hear you speak. You’ve caused me no end of trouble since you left, Kiva Meridan — or should I say, Kiva Corentine.”
She tried not to react, but her face drained of color, causing Rooke’s expression to flare with triumph.
“That came as quite the surprise,” he said. “Though I now understand why you volunteered for the Trial by Ordeal. Your own mother — how tragic.”
At his taunting words, Kiva clenched her hands hard enough for her fingernails to pierce her skin.
“But none of that would have mattered — I would have left you alone, if not for that prince of yours,” Rooke said, his voice growing heated. “Did you know he tried to remove me as the Warden? He even tried to bring charges against me, if you can believe it. But I don’t answer to Evalon — or not just Evalon. I’m governed by the leaders of all eight kingdoms, and when it comes to orders, the majority rules. Unlike your Prince Deverick, they appreciate my competence here, knowing I keep the worst offenders in Wenderall locked away from the world. How I do that, they don’t care. Or they didn’t — until you and your prince put a spotlight on me.”
Kiva stilled at the dark look on Rooke’s face.
“They might have decided not to act on Deverick’s allegations, but they’re watching me much more closely now,” the Warden said. “I don’t like that. Not at all.”
He leaned forward, the movement slight and yet still ominous enough to fill Kiva with foreboding.
“Since he’s no longer here to feel my displeasure, I’ve decided that, now you’re feeling better, you’ll get to experience it on his behalf.”
Kiva’s foreboding grew as Rooke waved his hand and two of his personal guards appeared like smoke from around the side of the building.
“The Butcher is expecting you, N18K442,” Rooke said as the new guards latched on to Kiva’s arms.
It took a moment for his words to process, but when they did, her heart stopped.
Rooke’s lips stretched into a grin as he finished, “He’s got a special cell prepared, just for you.”
