Chapter Twenty-One
Kiva had no idea what happened over the next few hours, her mind withdrawing into itself to protect her bleeding heart.
As they rode through the desert, she was aware of Tipp chattering at her side, heedless to her inner turmoil, but the others weren’t so ignorant.
They’d all watched her disappear into the oasis with Jaren, only to return alone. Whatever they’d seen on her face had told them everything they’d needed to know.
Caldon had tried to talk to her, his voice soothing and concerned, but she’d brushed him aside by asking to continue her magical training while on horseback. He’d seemed surprised, before eyeing her closely and seeing how desperately she needed the distraction. And so, as they’d ridden along, he’d intermittently thrown fireballs at her, careful to keep them small and nowhere near Zephyr. Her mount wasn’t thrilled by the magical attacks, but he’d failed to unseat her — despite his best efforts — and he’d eventually grown used to the quick bursts of flames.
It took hours before Kiva was able to meet Caldon’s fire midair, and when she did, Tipp let out a whoop so loud that everyone turned toward
them, Jaren included.
Kiva didn’t look at him.
She hadn’t looked at him since she’d left him beside the oasis, taking a page out of his book and acting like he didn’t exist.
It was easier this way, ignoring him, living in denial. It helped dull the pain, even if nothing could make it vanish entirely.
“I had a thought,” Cresta said, nudging her roan mare closer to where Kiva, Tipp, and Caldon were riding together, shortly after Kiva had successfully met Caldon’s attack.
“We’re in the middle of something,” Caldon told her.
“Kiva needs a break,” Cresta shot back. “She’s exhausted.”
“She’s not exhausted, she’s —” Whatever Caldon had been about to say, he quickly changed his mind, seeing the flash of anguish that Kiva wasn’t able to hide fast enough.
“I’m p-pretty tired m-myself,” Tipp said, standing in his stirrups to stretch his legs. “I’m h-hungry, too. D-Do you think we’re n-nearly close enough to w-windfunnel?”
Kiva could have kissed him for taking the focus off her.
“Soon, kiddo,” Caldon said, before turning back to Cresta. “What thought did you have?”
For that, Kiva could have kissed him, too.
Acting like their brief, uncomfortable moment had never occurred, Cresta said, “I’ve been considering what happened in the arena with those two anomaly warriors, and also how we think Navok is building a magical army.”
She had Caldon’s full attention now. But not just his — everyone else had ridden closer to listen. “And?” he asked.
“I think you and Ash” — she nodded to the princess — “should start using your magic on us during our morning training. If the time comes when we have to face elemental opponents, it’d be good to have more experience defending against them.”
Caldon tilted his head to the side. “It sounds suspiciously like you’re willing to fight with us once we’re done with all this Hand business.”
His tone was light, almost joking, but Cresta stiffened in her saddle and looked away, clearly embarrassed by having revealed that she was beginning to care about what happened to their group — and to Evalon itself. As someone who had been locked away for over five years, it would have been easy for her not to give the first damn about the Vallentis royals and the fate of their kingdom. It wasn’t even her native land, just a place she’d fled to as a child. The fact that she was even thinking ahead to ways she might help them reclaim what they’d lost . . .
Kiva realized then that Cresta had come a long way since they’d first met, and she couldn’t be prouder of her now-friend, even if it was painfully evident that the redhead loathed the attention she was receiving.
Noting as much, Caldon didn’t make her answer. “It’s a good idea,” he said, “but it’ll just have to be Ash. We only have one amulet, so unless we keep passing it around, anyone I attack is going to get burned.”
This time, it was Cresta who tilted her head to the side. “Do you think Navok’s anomalies are going to care about hurting us?”
Caldon had no response to that.
“And besides,” Cresta went on, jerking her chin toward Kiva, “we have our very own magical healer. You keep harping on about how she needs to practice — so give her something to practice on.”
“It’s a clever thought,” Jaren said, causing Kiva to tense. She stared down at Zephyr’s silky mane to keep her gaze from wandering his way. “I could certainly use the training, especially since I’m likely to respond to an elemental attack by reaching for my magic.”
Magic that wasn’t there.
He didn’t need to say it for Kiva to still hear the words.
Her grip tightened around her reins, the leather digging into her palms.
“C-Can I learn, too?” Tipp asked eagerly.
Jaren’s voice was indulging, even teasing as he answered, “That would require you waking up at a time before we have to drag you out of bed and onto your pony.”
Hearing the affection in his tone made it almost impossible for Kiva to keep her eyes down. She needed this conversation to be over so he could ride ahead again, needed him to leave.
“Well, m-maybe if dawn was later in the d-day . . .” Tipp said, clearly put out.
“I say we try it,” Ashlyn declared. “Good thinking, Cresta. We’ll begin tomorrow morning.”
Cresta pressed her lips together, fighting her outward response to the praise. She gave a terse nod and rode forward, prompting their group to return to their previous positions, and Kiva’s grip on her reins to relax.
The remainder of their passage through the harsh Jiirvan desert was spent with Kiva continuing to repress her feelings and simply focus on meeting Caldon’s attacks over and over, until Cresta’s earlier assumption came true and she did become exhausted. But at least her fatigue made it easier to quiet her mind and ignore her grieving heart. And when Galdric finally announced that they were near enough to Hadris’s capital for him to windfunnel them the rest of the way, Kiva was too tired to experience anything other than relief that they were nearing the end of their journey.
She did, however, retain her wits enough to dismount before Galdric swept them up in his wind magic again.
Of course, this time Zephyr couldn’t have cared less, acting as calm as a lamb when they touched down on the outskirts of a different kind of desert, the sand an eerie gray, almost black color. Kiva prodded it with her boot,
marveling over the unusual shade, before turning her gaze to the city before them.
Unlike Zadria and Yirin, there were no fortified walls around Ersa, so the inky sand dunes crept right up to the outer edges of the nearest buildings. But it was those buildings themselves that caught Kiva’s attention, because they, too, were a near-black shade, as if forged out of ebony sandstone. Their flat rooftops allowed multiple structures to be stacked on top of each other, rising skyward, and between them were colorful scarves and strings of lanterns stretching through the empty air in a haphazard manner.
“I forgot how dark this city is,” Cresta murmured, eyeing the streets that, even from a distance, appeared gloomy and disordered.
Kiva looked at her, surprised. “You’ve been here before?”
Cresta hesitated, as if debating whether or not to reveal more of her life, before finally sharing, “Once, when I was very young. My mother had friends here, so she brought my sister and me, before —” She looked away, her jaw tightening at whatever she recalled about her sister’s tragic end. Her tone was bitter as she finished, “My father wasn’t pleased that we’d traveled so far without him. He made sure we were all aware of that after we returned home.”
Kiva almost wished Cresta’s father was still alive so he could be made to pay for how he’d treated those he was meant to have protected. Judging by the look on Caldon’s face, she wasn’t alone in her thinking.
But Cresta caught both of their expressions and scowled at them, making it clear she didn’t want their sympathy.
Caldon quickly turned his gaze back to the city. “I have a love-hate relationship with Ersa,” he said. “Aesthetically, it’s unique. But it’s also a bit like opening up an unusual piece of fruit to find the inside is rotten.”
Jaren stepped up beside them, leading his horse, Nightshade, by the reins. “It’s bad form to speak ill of how other rulers run their kingdoms, especially those who, if not our closest allies, are certainly not our enemies.
But I agree that Hadris has suffered under King Sibley’s reign. He’s too busy spending his citizens’ gold on food and drink and courtesans to look outside his windows. Crime is rampant in Ersa, but rather than patrol the streets, his Royal Guard have orders to stay close to him while he carouses all day long. Last time I was here, he seemed to have no idea what was happening in his very city, and certainly not beneath it.”
Kiva diligently kept her eyes ahead rather than on Jaren as he spoke, but peripherally, she was aware of him frowning toward the dark mass of buildings.
“What’s h-happening beneath it?” Tipp asked, squinting down at the sand.
“A labyrinth of twisting, deadly underground streets where the worst of humanity trade everything from poisons to people,” Caldon answered.
Seeing the widening of Tipp’s eyes and his impossible-to-miss curiosity, Kiva made a sound in the back of her throat, and Caldon, realizing his error, quickly added, “They also eat young boys for breakfast. Boil them in a big pot while they’re still alive. So don’t even think about wandering off, because we won’t be coming after you.”
Tipp snickered, seeing right through Caldon’s lie.
“Cal’s right,” Ashlyn said, causing Tipp’s humor to vanish into shock.
“Not about the cannibalism — don’t be ridiculous. But it is a dangerous city, and we all need to stay together. Those of us who are going for the ring, that is. Eidran, are you still seeking out the anomalies?”
The spy nodded and answered, “Different strategy this time. If Galdric’s information is correct, this community lives closer to the city than the last, but it’s nearly sunset, so we’ll head there now and find an inn to stay at overnight, acting as if we’re just passing through. People are chatty when they’ve had a few drinks. Once they’re comfortable with us, we’ll try to get some answers out of them.”
Ashlyn nodded her approval and looked to Galdric. “You’re with him again.”
Galdric seemed resigned to this now, aware that he was the only one who could lead Eidran to the anomaly settlement, but regretting having ever said so.
“Who else is going with them?” Ashlyn asked.
Kiva noted the difference between this time and last time when the princess had ordered Cresta and Torell to follow Eidran — even if Cresta had disregarded the command. It was yet more proof that the two were now considered part of the team, rather than a rebel general and an escaped prisoner.
“I’ll go,” Tor offered. Seeing Kiva’s questioning look, he admitted, “Just looking at this city makes me feel claustrophobic.”
Eidran glanced around the group and said, “I think we need a woman with us, too. Three men traveling together make people nervous.”
Especially when two of those men were built like warriors, Kiva thought.
“I also think it should be you, Ash,” Eidran continued. “They might be more willing to talk if they see someone else who can use elemental magic.”
Ashlyn considered for a moment, before turning to Jaren and Caldon.
“Can you two handle Sibley without me?”
“I always hated the way he looked at you when we were younger — like he was undressing you with his eyes,” Caldon said, his tone full of disgust. “I’d prefer it if you’re not with us.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jaren answered Ashlyn’s question. “I’ve dealt with Sibley before. He’s unpleasant, but only because he thinks everyone should celebrate life the way he does. That, and —” He coughed, and Kiva snuck him the briefest of glances to see his cheeks flushing slightly.
“That, and the last time you saw him, he tried to trick you into marrying all sixteen of his daughters,” Caldon finished for Jaren, chuckling as he clapped his cousin on the back.
“Sixteen?” Torell said, gaping. “Their poor mother.”
“Sibley doesn’t believe in monogamy,” Ashlyn explained. “Most Hadrisans don’t. His children are from different women.”
Torell looked embarrassed to not have realized as much, but even Kiva had been doing the math in her head until Ashlyn’s explanation.
“We’re losing daylight,” Naari said, impatient at their dallying. “Eidran, Galdric, Tor, and Ash will head to the village, and the rest of us to King Sibley to get the ring. Assuming all goes to plan, we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning and head south to Valorn.”
Kiva felt weary just thinking about how far away their next city was — and how much they still had to do before returning to Vallenia — but reminded herself to focus on one challenge at a time. Hadris didn’t have any arenas, so there would be no battles for them to undertake in order to get the second ring. They simply needed to ask King Sibley for it, and then enjoy — or perhaps endure — a night of his hospitality, before they could be away again.
But as their group parted ways, Kiva couldn’t ignore her fear that there would be some new complication to keep them from reaching their goal.
She told herself she was being paranoid as they wound a path through the grimy streets toward the palace at the opposite side of the city, but the feeling remained with her. It was almost a relief, since it helped keep her distracted from Jaren and everything she was desperately trying to bottle up inside.
When they finally reached King Sibley’s abode, Kiva marveled at the view, since his palace was built atop a cliff looking down at a massive shipyard and out over the expansive Corin Sea. While it was made of the same dark sandstone as the rest of his city, the outside of his residence was splashed with color, with scarves and flags and banners of all shapes and sizes flapping in the wind from almost every available surface.
“It l-looks like a rainbow v-vomited on it,” Tipp observed, his head cocked to the side. A wide grin stretched across his face. “I l-love it.”
“Just wait until you see the inside,” Caldon said, wrinkling his nose.
“Your eyes are going to feel like they’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, after being stopped at the gates by a group of guards who quickly allowed them entry and ordered that their horses be taken care of, they were then escorted into the palace, proving Caldon’s assertion true.
Kiva cringed at the interior decorating, noting the clashing colors and tasteless portraits, some of which were so lewd that she covered Tipp’s eyes as they walked past.
“No one is that flexible,” Caldon muttered as they hurried by one particularly graphic painting.
“Speak for yourself,” Cresta muttered back, causing him to make a choked sound.
Kiva just kept her gaze down and her hands firmly over Tipp’s face until the guards delivered them into a receiving room and left them with instructions to wait for the king’s steward.
Glancing around, she fought to control her expression as she took in the shockingly blue couches with bright orange cushions over a lime green rug, paired with sunshine yellow carpet and fuchsia wallpaper. The only relief was that, while there was an overabundance of portraits on the walls, at least all the people in them were clothed.
“The decorator was clearly blind,” Cresta stated, shielding her eyes as if from a glare.
Tipp alone seemed immune to the room, and he bounded straight for the couch where a platter of fruits and cheeses rested on a small table. He began
stuffing his mouth, food spraying from between his lips as he declared, “Do y-you think King S-Sibley will give us a f-feast like in Yirin?”
“Gods, we’d all better hope not,” Naari said under her breath.
“The kind of feasts Sibley offers aren’t the kind you’d enjoy, buddy,”
Jaren said, the tightness around his eyes revealing his distaste for the foreign king’s proclivities.
Realizing that she was looking at him, Kiva quickly turned to study a painting of a large man seated atop a colorful throne, a goblet of wine in one hand, a bunch of grapes in the other. “Is this —”
Before she could finish asking if the painting was of the king, the door opened, and her question was answered for her.
“Deverick, you old dog!” blustered the man from the portrait, and while he wasn’t holding any grapes, there was a full goblet in one of his hands.
He was also considerably more rotund in person, enough that he was nearly waddling into the room, his red trousers and purple vest straining across his portly figure. The only item that fit him properly was the bejeweled crown
atop his head.
“Sibley, thank you for —”
“Come here, my boy, come here!” the king interrupted Jaren, yanking him into a tight, one-armed embrace, the other stretched out to avoid spilling his wine. When he pulled back again, Kiva noted the glazed look in his eyes, along with the ruddy, sweat-damp tinge to his features.
The king was drunk. Or high. Possibly both. But he wasn’t slurring, indicating he’d had plenty of experience at keeping court in such a condition.
“What a fine young man you’ve grown into,” Sibley said, patting the uncomfortable-looking Jaren on the chest. He leaned in and added, “You know, half of my daughters are still —”
“Sibley, always an experience to see you,” Caldon cut in, saving his cousin.
The king turned to Caldon, but as he did so, he noticed the others in the room, his attention shifting curiously from Naari to Tipp, before coming to land on Kiva. He looked her over slowly, licking his lips, until Jaren pointedly cleared his throat. Sibley then hurriedly moved his gaze to Cresta, eyeing her body in a similar manner, though quicker, before his gaze rose to her face and arrested there.
There was no doubting that Cresta was beautiful, but in a fierce, intimidating way. Her serpent tattoo was enough to warn would-be suitors that they would have their hands full with her. But Sibley didn’t seem to get that message, since he continued staring.
Placing her hands on her hips, Cresta drawled, “See something you like?”
The king came back to himself then, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I apologize. I thought you were someone else — someone dead.”
Cresta arched an eyebrow. “Do I look dead to you?”
The king laughed it off and waved a hand in the air, nearly spilling his wine. “Forget I said anything. She was just a child, anyway. And you’re definitely not.” He looked her over again, his eyes lingering on places that had Caldon uttering a warning growl.
The king finally became aware of the mood in the room and quickly looked behind him to where a hunched man lingered awkwardly in the doorway. “Send for drinks, Tanton. My friends and I will celebrate as we catch up.”
Kiva wondered if he’d heard rumors about the takeover in Evalon, but then remembered what Jaren had said about Sibley barely knowing what was happening in his own city. At least that was one conversation they wouldn’t have to endure in their “catch up.”
“Actually, Sibley, this isn’t a social call,” Jaren said. “We’re here for Sarana’s ring. The one she entrusted to your ancestor years ago.”
The king visibly stilled, before raising his goblet and taking a large gulp. Then another. Before draining all that remained.
“My coffers are full of trinkets, dear boy,” Sibley said genially. “I have troves of jewels — necklaces and bracelets and diadems. Swords and daggers and weapons of infinite value. I’m sure we can find something you’d like more than a dusty old ring.”
Kiva tensed, her earlier feeling returning at the panicky look on the king’s face.
He mopped the sweat from his brow and grinned widely at them, swaying slightly as he added, “I can have my steward escort you there straightaway and you can take a piece of your choosing. All of you. Gifts to celebrate our friendship. And then we’ll dine and drink together afterward.
I’ll have the finest of entertainment brought in so we can enjoy —”
“Sibley,” Jaren interrupted the king’s rambling, his voice brimming with command, “where is Sarana’s ring?”
The Hadris monarch lifted his goblet again, grimacing when he found it empty. Only then did he sigh and reluctantly admit, “I don’t have it.”
Caldon swore and demanded, “Who does?”
“I need more wine. Would you like some wine? You, boy” — Sibley pointed to Tipp — “you look like you could use some wine.”
Tipp started. “Um —”
“He’s eleven,” Kiva said flatly. She ignored Tipp’s quiet mumble that he’d be twelve soon, and went on, “He doesn’t want any wine. Now answer the question.”
The king turned to her, his jowls wobbling as he offered what he thought was a charming grin. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m always looking for new treasures to join my harem. I can already tell you’d be a favorite of —” He stopped abruptly when Jaren moved a threatening step forward.
In a low, dangerous voice, the prince asked, “Where is the ring, Sibley?”
Whatever the king saw in Jaren’s expression had him mopping his brow again, even more desperately. But he answered, “I gave it to a woman named Zofia Sage.”
Naari, Caldon, and Jaren all spoke at once, with one asking, “Why?” the other, “When?” and the last, “Where is she?”
Flustered now, the king said, “I invited her here to read my fortune — she’s a Mystican, you see. A damn fine one, and very rare. But she wouldn’t take gold as payment, only that ring. It’s been hundreds of years without anyone from your family coming to claim it — how was I supposed to know you’d show up in my lifetime?” He made a harrumph sound, as if he
were horribly put out.
“How do we find her?” Jaren asked.
“She has a store in the Midnight Markets,” Sibley said, causing Caldon to swear again, with Naari, surprisingly, doing the same. “But be warned, she won’t just hand the ring over. You’ll have to pay — and not in gold. I strongly suggest you take up my offer to visit my troves instead.”
Jaren turned to pace the length of the room. Kiva tracked his movement, part of her wondering what he was thinking, the rest wishing she could
leave his presence to keep from being constantly reminded about what he’d said that morning.
You and I will never have to see each other again.
She winced and wrapped her arms around herself, ignoring Caldon’s concerned look.
“What’s the time now?” Jaren finally asked.
The king looked to the hunched steward, who quickly answered.
“There’s still a few hours until midnight,” Jaren noted, making Kiva realize the Midnight Markets must be more literal than she’d assumed. “We need a place to rest in the meantime. Can you accommodate us?”
It was asked politely, but there was an undercurrent of anger and frustration that the king, even inebriated, didn’t miss. He quickly said, “Of course, of course, it would be my pleasure.” He clapped his hands and called, “Tanton! Take them to the blue suite.” He beamed at Jaren. “Only
the best for my friends.”
Jaren gave a terse nod of thanks.
“I’ll be in the dining hall with some of my lovelies, should you wish to join me later,” Sibley offered. He winked and added, “We’ll be enjoying each other well into the night — you’re welcome to come and make merry with us after your visit to the Markets.”
Cresta made a gagging sound, saving Jaren from having to answer.
None of them bid the king farewell as they followed the hunched Tanton from the room, with Kiva once again covering Tipp’s eyes as they passed yet more indecent portraits. Walking through the sandstone halls, she considered the king, unsurprised that Ersa had run amok under his care.
While Thembi and Ryuu were warriors who commanded obedience from their Jiirvan citizens, Sibley was lacking any sense of authority, more interested in his own comfort than anything else. Despite Jaren being only a prince — and not even that, technically, at the moment — Sibley was still cowed by him. He wasn’t a king who inspired respect, but nor did he seem to care for it.
The further Kiva traveled from Evalon, the more she realized just how fortunate her home kingdom was to be under the rule of the Vallentis family — ignoring, of course, the current circumstances, which she was hopeful would be remedied as soon as possible.
“Here we are: the blue suite,” said Tanton in a grating accent. Kiva had yet to hear the native Hadrisan language since arriving in the kingdom, but
she’d encountered it numerous times in Zalindov, so was familiar with the rough vowels and edged consonants.
Stepping through the door the steward held open, Kiva was unsurprised to see that everything, from the floors to the walls to the ceiling and all of the furniture, was blue. Navy, cerulean, azure, sapphire, turquoise — every shade imaginable was before them, with not even the scenery off the large covered balcony offering any respite, since it looked straight out over the aquamarine Corin Sea glinting in the sunset. But that, at least, afforded some natural beauty, unlike the blue explosion of the room.
“This is ridiculous,” Cresta muttered, glaring at the space as if it personally offended her.
“If you need anything, please ring the bell,” Tanton said, indicating a cord hanging near the door. “The guards will be made aware of your evening plans, so you’ll be free to travel through the gates as you please.”
He hesitated, before adding, “Take care in the Markets — they are beyond His Majesty’s jurisdiction. Should you encounter trouble, he will be unable to assist.”
With that warning, he gave a shallow bow and left them alone.
“What’s the deal with these Markets?” Cresta asked, collapsing onto the periwinkle couch.
“And what’s a M-M-Mystican?” Tipp asked, his eyes lighting when he found a tray of pastries in the corner, despite everything he’d just eaten in the receiving room.
“Both are bad news,” Naari answered, her features tense.
Jaren strode toward the balcony, halting where the carpet ended, staring broodily out at the ocean.
“You all right?” Caldon whispered to Kiva.
She feigned confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, not buying her act, but he didn’t get a chance to call her on it before Jaren turned back to them all and said, “The Midnight Markets are a place that I deeply wish we could have avoided.”
Caldon snorted. “You’re just remembering the last time we were there.”
A memory came to Kiva then, of her dinner with the Vallentis family at the River Palace, and the stories they’d shared, mostly to embarrass Jaren — including one about how he’d spent a night dancing at the Midnight Markets after Caldon had spiked his drink.
“I’m really trying not to,” Jaren said tightly. To the rest of them, he said, “There are two halves to the Markets, one that spills aboveground, which is mostly safe and focuses on revelry and celebration — think of it like a carnival, except it occurs all year round.”
“And the o-other half?” Tipp asked between bites of a berry tart.
“It’s part of Ersa’s underground, where everything Cal mentioned earlier takes place — the trading of illicit substances, the buying and selling of human flesh, the hiring of assassins and spies.” Jaren’s brow was pinched.
“It really isn’t somewhere we should go.”
Cresta pulled her feet up onto the couch, stretching out. “And yet, I think we can all guess which side we’ll find the Mystican on.”
Jaren made a frustrated sound of agreement.
“You d-didn’t say what a M-Mystican is,” Tipp pressed.
Kiva, too, was curious, since it wasn’t a term she was familiar with.
“As King Sibley said, Mysticans are incredibly rare,” Naari answered, moving toward Tipp and swiping a muffin off the tray. “They come from across the ocean, mostly Adastria, though some are from Mahari.
Considering how far west we are, Zofia Sage is probably from the latter. I can’t imagine she would have crossed Wenderall and ended up here if she hailed all the way from the east.”
“But what d-does she do?” Tipp asked. “The k-king said she read his f- fortune. Is that even p-possible?”
“No one really knows what Mysticans can do,” Caldon said, shoving Cresta’s legs off the couch so he could sit beside her. He ignored her glare and continued, “Legend claims they’re gifted in the mind arts, a special kind of magic that we know little about here in Wenderall. They’re said to be able to do anything from predicting the future to knowing someone’s innermost secrets. Some can even move objects without touching them, while others can speak directly into your thoughts.”
“Whoa,” Tipp breathed, and Kiva found herself agreeing.
“So what’s our plan?” Naari asked, nibbling her muffin.
“We don’t have a choice,” Jaren said, unhappy about it. “We need the ring — so that means we have to find her, and then pay whatever price she demands.”
“What if she wants our firstborn children?” Cresta asked, frowning. “Or our kidneys?”
“Our kidneys?” Caldon’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
The redhead tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I can probably give her one.
But she’s not getting both.”
“Cresta’s right,” Naari said. “Not about the kidneys — that’s, well, never mind.” She scrunched her face and shook her head. “But she’s right that it’s risky to go in willing to offer anything. We have no idea what the Mystican might want.”
“It’s still a risk we have to take,” Jaren maintained.
No one was pleased, but they all knew there was no alternative. They’d just have to hope Zofia Sage would relinquish the ring for a price they were capable of paying.
Devising a quick plan of action, they all agreed to rest for a few hours in the separate bedrooms connected to the suite before meeting up again close to midnight. Unlike the others, however, once Kiva was alone, she didn’t try to sleep. Having no distractions for the first time since that morning, she could no longer hold back the tide of what she’d been ignoring all day, with every detail of her talk with Jaren replaying in her mind.
You made me fall in love with a lie.
I don’t even know who you are — and frankly, I don’t want to.
And perhaps the worst: You and I will never have to see each other again.
She curled into a ball on her teal-colored bed, her arms around her knees, her wounded heart thumping dully. And finally, she released the tears she’d been fighting for hours, allowing them to flow in silent rivers down her cheeks, all while she begged for the pain to ease.
