Chapter Twenty-Two
Kiva felt hollow as she walked with Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp into the Midnight Markets later that night.
Cresta and Naari had left earlier in the evening, choosing to scout ahead rather than rest. Kiva had wished she’d known in time to accompany them, because now she was stuck with a much more intimate group, including the one person she greatly wished to distance herself from. But she did her best to ignore Jaren, instead channeling her energy into keeping her eyes on Tipp. She’d wanted him to remain back at the palace, but their encounter with the king had made her wary about leaving him alone. And while she’d almost offered to stay with him, she was also aware that the dangerous nature of the underground Markets could result in her friends needing her magic.
So there they were, the four of them having just climbed down one of the many public entrances into Ersa’s underground network, with the aboveground hatch having revealed a set of ladders eerily similar to those at Zalindov. They weren’t all like that, Caldon had shared, rattling off other entrances he’d used during past visits — sandstone staircases and even mechanical shafts powered by luminium, along with different trapdoors with more ladders and ropes and pulleys and slides. Ersans had made it all too easy to access their criminal world from all across the city — and to escape it quickly.
“It smells b-bad down here,” Tipp said, wrinkling his nose as they headed along a vast thoroughfare.
Kiva didn’t feel as if she was underground; as long as she didn’t look up at the dark rocky ceiling, it was just like walking through a normal street, with vendors lining the sides of the road, some peddling their wares, others sitting silently behind tables and watching as they passed. There were also a surprising number of Ersans moving from stall to stall, some angling furtively down narrow alleyways and through secretive doors cut into the earth. Kiva couldn’t help being curious about those hidden establishments, what they contained and how they’d been hewn out of the sandstone itself.
She didn’t, however, dwell on the question of how safe she and her companions were, and tried to forget that there was an entire city resting just above their heads.
“Should we split up?” Caldon asked as they walked past a woman who had three snakes coiled around her arms and neck, and dozens more for sale in a glass enclosure. The red streaks in their black scales identified them as necros adders, a single bite from which would cause death within seconds.
Kiva quickly pulled Tipp away when he moved in for a closer look.
“Maybe we should just ask someone where we can find Zofia,” she suggested, not wanting to separate, even if it meant she wouldn’t have to be near Jaren. She’d scrubbed her face before leaving her room, but her eyes had still been red from crying, making her mumble an excuse about them being irritated from the sand when Tipp had expressed his concern. He’d bought the lie — but the look Caldon sent her said he hadn’t.
Kiva hadn’t dared glance at Jaren.
“It’ll be faster to split up, but safer to stay together,” Jaren answered, frowning at the mass of people. “We don’t want to draw attention to what we’re doing, not in a place like this, but Kiva’s right — we’re probably going to have to ask for directions.”
“Ooooh, l-l-look!” Tipp said, pointing to a stall up ahead and beaming.
“An a-apothecary. We should a-ask her. Everyone knows apothecaries h- help people.”
Kiva couldn’t help thinking of Mot from Zalindov, who, while thoughtful and kind to her, had deliberately misdiagnosed his patients so he could test experimental remedies on them, causing multiple deaths. The Midnight Markets were the kind of place he would have thrived at, so Kiva followed Tipp with caution as he skipped toward the woman behind a table covered in vials. Numerous plants and flowers and vines hung along the sides and across the top of her stall, most of which were unknown to Kiva, aside from a few highly poisonous buds that had her eyes rounding. The booth itself had copious stoppered flasks and bottles scattered over every available surface, none of which were labeled, and there was also a preparation area, where the woman was meticulously chopping ingredients and transferring them to a large stirring pot.
All of this Kiva took in quickly, but it wasn’t the woman or her task that held her focus — it was the shelf behind her, stocked high with clear containers full of a familiar golden powder.
Angeldust.
So much angeldust. More than Kiva had ever seen in one place.
Her insides twisted, and she tore her eyes away.
“Excuse m-me,” Tipp said before Kiva, Caldon, or Jaren could stop him. “We’re l-l-looking for Zofia S-Sage.”
The woman didn’t look up, her hand steady on her dagger as she continued to chop, chop, chop.
Jaren stepped forward and spoke in the guttural Hadrisan language.
“I heard the kid,” the woman replied in the common tongue, with barely a trace of an accent. “What’s in it for me?”
“You would have our gratitude,” Caldon said, offering her a winning smile.
“Gratitude don’t pay the king’s taxes,” she shot back.
Jaren pulled out a small pouch of gold. “No, but this will. For your information — and your silence.”
The woman finally glanced up, holding out her palm. When Jaren handed over the pouch, she weighed it thoughtfully, then opened her mouth to give a stream of directions, none of which Kiva understood, but Jaren and Caldon listened intently before murmuring their thanks.
The apothecary merely went back to her work, ignoring them once more.
They turned to leave, but as they did, Tipp asked, “What’s th-that?” while pointing to a large jar full of what looked suspiciously like blood, inside of which floated a pale — “Nothing,” Kiva said quickly, grabbing his arm and dragging him away, her stomach roiling. Even Caldon made a quiet retching sound, while Jaren rubbed his eyes as they hurried from the apothecary’s stall, as if hoping to erase the image from his mind.
The four of them continued down the thoroughfare, passing everything from exotic creatures in cages to strange weapons that had the princes lingering with appreciation. There were also entire stalls piled high with more angeldust, poppymilk, and other unidentifiable drugs, causing Kiva’s anxiety to spike every time she saw a hint of the glittery powder. She still hadn’t told anyone — especially Jaren — what she’d gone through at Zalindov, the horrors of her addiction and withdrawal. Just seeing the angeldust glinting innocently under the luminium beacons made her heart
race and her palms sweat, with her battling to keep her mind in the now and not fall back into the nightmare she’d barely survived.
“Are you all right?”
The quiet words came not from Caldon or Tipp, but from Jaren.
Kiva stiffened and kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on a shirtless man dancing with a collar and chain around his neck as she answered, “Of course.”
There was a weighty pause, before Jaren said, “It helps if you don’t look too closely. This is their world, it’s their normal. They don’t see it as we do.
And we’ll be out of here as soon as we can.”
He thought she was struggling with the Markets — when really, she was struggling with her memories.
“I’m fine.” Her tone was as detached as his had been for weeks.
“Caldon said this is where the worst of humanity resides, but I spent ten years with the worst of humanity. This isn’t just their normal — it’s mine, too. I’m used to it.”
That was a blatant lie, especially when she recalled what she’d seen in that bloodied jar. But the last thing she needed was Jaren feeling obligated to worry about her due to some misplaced sense of duty. Or worse, guilt.
Another weighty silence came from him, before he tried, “Ki —”
“There you are!” Naari’s voice cut him off, with her approaching from a side alleyway they’d just turned down. “We found Zofia. She’s only a short walk from here.”
Kiva sent a silent thank you to the guard for interrupting whatever Jaren had been about to say, then followed quickly after Naari as she led them through the narrow alley and into another large thoroughfare almost identical to the one they’d just left. This side, however, smelled fresher and sloped upward, with a slight breeze and the distant sounds of music indicating that it led straight into the outdoors section of the Midnight Markets, where the revelry took place.
“Where’s Cresta?” Caldon asked as they passed yet more suspicious stalls.
“Trying to convince the Mystican to hand over the ring,” Naari answered, sidestepping a man and woman haggling loudly in the middle of the road. “Zofia refused to negotiate until we were all there. Somehow she knew there was more than just the two of us.”
A chill crept over Kiva as she considered the strange magic of the woman they were about to approach, and that chill only grew when Naari guided them down another dark alleyway and pushed open a jade door etched into the sandstone, the sign above it in scripted Hadrisan.
“Enter in if you dare, but do so being fully aware, there is a payment to prepare: the heart will tell what you most care,” Caldon read.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jaren muttered, but even so, he followed Naari over the threshold, with the rest of them at his heels.
“Oooh,” Tipp said as soon as the door closed behind them. “It smells m- much nicer in here.”
Kiva could barely breathe from the overpowering scent of incense, and she had to waft a hand in front of her face as she squinted through the smoke haze to take in the room. Candles, not luminium orbs, illuminated the space, at the center of which was the only piece of furniture: a wooden stool, upon which sat the most beautiful woman Kiva had ever seen. Her skin was as dark as the sandstone surrounding them, a rich ebony covered with silver tattoos in an unrecognizable rune language, the ink traveling from her hands up along her arms, even circling her neck, before disappearing beneath her simple homespun tunic. Her hair and eyes were also the same remarkable shade of silver, the latter shining with an unnatural glow as she smiled and beckoned them closer.
Cresta was already standing there, her arms crossed, her face set into a scowl, indicating she’d had no luck retrieving the ring while Naari had been gone.
“Welcome,” the Mystican said, her soft accent unlike anything Kiva had heard before, lulling and melodic. “How may I be of service?”
Cresta grumbled under her breath about how she’d repeatedly said what they were there for, but the gentle smile didn’t leave Zofia’s face. Kiva wondered how old she was; she appeared young, but there was an agelessness about her, something in her unusual gaze that spoke of untold wisdom.
Caldon gave Jaren a hearty shove forward, prompting Jaren to turn and glare at his cousin before clearing his expression and approaching the beautiful woman. “I’m —”
“Prince Deverick Jaren Vallentis of Evalon,” Zofia said, her smiled widening. “It’s a pleasure, Your Highness. Although I suppose that’s not your title right now, is it? Still, that is undoubtedly who you are.”
Jaren looked at Naari and Cresta, but they shook their heads, their solemn faces indicating they hadn’t shared anything about him with the Mystican.
Another chill snaked down Kiva’s spine, this one causing her to shiver.
She hung back as the others edged closer to Zofia, instinct telling her to keep her distance.
“If you know who I am,” Jaren said, unwavering, “then you know why I’m here. King Sibley gave you a ring that was never his to give. It belonged to my ancestor — and now it belongs to me. I’d like it back, please.”
Zofia cocked her head to the side, her silver hair tumbling smoothly over her shoulder. “I sympathize with your plight, princeling, but I cannot hand it over for free. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“We w-won’t tell anyone,” Tipp said, staring at the woman as if she were an ancient goddess.
Her eyes gentled, and her tone softened even more as she looked at him.
“You have a kind heart, dear one. Your mother would be proud.”
Tipp jerked, and Kiva moved unconsciously forward, stopping only when she saw that Jaren was already reaching out to place a comforting hand on the young boy’s shoulder.
“What do you want in return for the ring?” Jaren asked in a voice that made it clear the woman was to leave Tipp alone. Even words said with care could still cause damage — Kiva knew that more than most.
Zofia looked thoughtfully at the prince, pressing a finger to her lips. She then turned her musing gaze to Caldon, then Naari, then Cresta, before finally glancing past them all and finding Kiva. The silver in her eyes flared, her lips tipping upward as she declared, “You have a tortured soul.”
Her smile widened. “Come with me.”
Kiva’s heart skipped a beat when Zofia stood and moved toward a door at the back of the room.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaren stated in an unyielding tone.
Zofia didn’t even turn around. “She is if you want your ring. Your beloved is going to provide the payment for it.”
Your beloved.
Gods, that hurt. Pain tore through Kiva, enough that she had to close her eyes against it, but they shot open again when she felt a hand on her arm, a
gentle, achingly familiar grip.
“You don’t have to go with her,” Jaren said quietly, urgently. “We’ll find another way.”
Kiva yanked her arm free and moved backwards so fast that she nearly stumbled. Her reaction caused his face to tighten, but she quickly turned away, unable to bear being so near to him and the mixed messages he was sending.
I don’t even know who you are — and frankly, I don’t want to.
She couldn’t afford to forget what he’d told her, how he truly felt when he wasn’t being the Jaren who was concerned for her welfare. It was in his nature to protect her — something he couldn’t help. But it was an instinct, nothing more.
You and I will never have to see each other again.
There was no hope left for the two of them, Kiva knew that now. He’d made it clear. But their mission hadn’t changed, and she was determined to do her part in aiding its success, even if that meant paying whatever price the Mystican required.
“Kiva,” Caldon said as she stepped forward. “Are you sure —”
“I’m sure. I’ll be back soon.”
She had no idea if that was true, but she sent a confident smile to Tipp, one that wobbled only slightly as she moved it to Cresta and Naari and Caldon, taking in their anxious faces, before heading toward where Zofia waited at the doorway into the next room.
Kiva didn’t look at Jaren. Her heart couldn’t take it.
Zofia chuckled as she neared and said to her friends, “You need not fear for Kiva Corentine. She’ll be out momentarily.”
Another shiver traveled down Kiva’s spine, this one stronger, since she doubted Cresta or Naari would have shared her name, either. But she kept her chin high and pushed aside her panic as the Mystican ushered her through the door and closed it behind them.
The room was small, but more comfortable than the previous space, with a pair of large emerald cushions on the ground and a low-lying table between them.
“Please sit,” Zofia invited, gesturing to a cushion as she claimed the one opposite and rested her inked hands casually on the table.
Kiva sank onto the downy seat, relieved that the incense wasn’t as strong in here, though there were still numerous candles around the space,
making it look almost dreamy.
Zofia watched Kiva in silence, before waving her hand toward a shelf along the far wall. Two items immediately sailed toward them, causing Kiva to inhale sharply at the foreign magic, but she reminded herself that Jaren had once been able to do something similar using his wind element.
This was a different kind of power, but just because it was unfamiliar, that didn’t mean there was any reason to fear it.
The Mystican made a humming sound of agreement, as if she could read Kiva’s thoughts and approved of them. Maybe she could, Kiva realized, squirming uncomfortably. But before she could grow too distressed, Zofia placed one of the items at the center of the table.
It was Sarana’s second ring, the band made of gold like the first, but with a large white topaz in place of the ruby.
The air ring.
Kiva wanted to snatch it up and run, but given the magic she’d just seen — and the amused warning in Zofia’s eyes — she knew better than to try.
Instead, she said, “Name your price.”
It was a dangerous request, but the Mystican was no fool — it was obvious how desperate Kiva and her friends were.
“You have a choice,” Zofia said, leaning forward. “There are two things you most fear. In order to reclaim the ring, you must face one of them.”
Kiva dug her nails into her thighs, right over her faded scars. “I have a lot of fears. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Zofia’s mouth quirked up again, her silver eyes flaring once more. That was the only warning Kiva had before images assailed her vision, memories playing out across her mind — her memories. The day she met Jaren, with him covered in blood and near death. The night before the second Ordeal, when she’d slept in his arms for the first time. Their near-kiss in the infirmary’s garden. How he’d jumped into the quarry and breathed life into her. Their fight in the tunnels, and the betraying revelation of who he was.
Memory after memory slammed into her as Zofia sifted through her mind and replayed all their tender moments in Vallenia, his loving touch, his kind words, the way he’d slowly but surely convinced her to choose him over her own family, without even realizing it. He’d earned her respect, but he’d won her love. And when Zofia finally touched on the night of the masquerade, when Jaren had kissed her with such longing, such passion, Kiva finally snapped, “Enough!” She knew what came next, the
devastation that followed that night and in the months since then. She didn’t need to see it again. Didn’t want to see it again.
At her command, the images stopped, and she leaned back on her own cushion, panting as if she’d run a race, glaring at the Mystican.
“He is one of your fears,” Zofia said mildly. “If you choose to pay for the ring by facing him, all it will take is a kiss.”
Disbelief — and dread — strangled Kiva. “What?” she breathed.
“You heard me,” Zofia said. “The ring for a kiss.”
Kiva shook her head, not even having to think about it. “I can’t.”
“You already have,” Zofia returned. “This would be no different.”
You made me fall in love with a lie.
Jaren’s words burned across Kiva’s mind, and she rasped out, “You’re wrong. I won’t force him to kiss me. I can’t do that to him.” He already hated her enough without her adding physical coercion to the list of grievances. “You said this was my payment, not his. What’s my second choice?”
A strange look came over Zofia then, almost like regret. It was enough to make Kiva brace, expecting to have her memories violated again, but the Mystican didn’t delve into her mind this time. Instead, she placed the second item she’d retrieved on the table, right beside the ring.
Kiva examined the small velvet box, relieved to know that, whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than having to kiss Jaren without his consent.
But then Zofia opened the box, and ice instantly flooded Kiva’s veins.
Because inside was a small vial of angeldust.
