Chapter Twenty-Three
“No,” Kiva gasped, jumping to her feet and backing away. “No.”
Zofia spread her hands in apology. “This is your second fear. The choice is yours as to which you will face.”
“I can’t,” Kiva said, still gasping. “I — can’t —”
The Mystican only sat there, waiting patiently for Kiva’s decision.
“There has to be something else,” she begged, her eyes glued to the golden powder. “Please. I’ll do anything. Anything but —” She couldn’t finish, her terror overwhelming. She sought for calm, but it eluded her. All she could think about was the two impossible choices she’d been given.
You made me fall in love with a lie.
Gods, gods, Kiva couldn’t do it. She couldn’t put him through that.
Couldn’t put herself through that. Kissing Jaren would rip open a wound she hadn’t even begun to heal from. And not just her — it would also hurt him. She knew it. And — gods dammit — that thought alone brought her more pain. They both needed time to accept what was no longer between them, time to move on. Her kissing him would only make that harder.
But the angeldust . . .
Kiva trembled as she stared at the vial sitting innocently on the velvet. It was a small amount, not enough that she would have to go through a full withdrawal again, but given how addicted she’d been only two and a half months earlier, the effects would hit her hard and fast, and leave her feeling dreadful for hours afterward.
It was only one night, though. It would be awful, and then it would pass.
But if she kissed Jaren . . .
Better for her to suffer alone than to damage them both beyond repair.
Further repair.
“Think carefully, Kiva,” Zofia warned, seeing her decision solidify.
“One of these choices is easy, the other hard. But both lead to the same result.”
Kiva was warring too much within herself to comprehend Zofia’s meaning, knowing only that neither of the choices were easy, and both
would have devastating consequences. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “How can this be worth more than gold?”
The Mystican’s beautiful features softened. “I know you’ll find this difficult to believe, but I’m trying to help you. One day, you’ll be grateful.”
Tears burned the back of Kiva’s eyes, a potent mix of frustration and anger and fear. She knew better than to tell Zofia how wrong she was, that nothing good could come of this choice. Instead, she sank back onto the cushion, plucking the vial from the velvet and weighing it in her hands.
The gold powder stirred within the glass when she unstoppered the lid, the familiar caramel scent making her feel a sickly combination of dread and longing. It was the longing that scared her the most, nearly making her seal the vial again. But then Jaren’s hard, unfeeling eyes came to her, and she knew, down to her soul — her tortured soul — that she couldn’t kiss him. He would hate every second, and she . . .
She would not.
And when they were done, nothing would have changed, except that she’d have another memory of his lips on hers, the taste of him in her
mouth, the touch of him on her skin.
She wouldn’t be able to bear it.
The angeldust at least would be out of her system by morning. A momentary inconvenience, she told herself, nothing more.
She knew it was a lie, that she was ignoring the lasting damage it could cause her, the nightmares it would reawaken. The darkness hadn’t managed to claim her last time — but it was still waiting, ready to finish its work.
Even so, she had to make a choice.
And there was only one that she could live with.
Before she could change her mind, Kiva raised the vial to her lips and threw back the contents.
The gold dust coated her throat as she swallowed, dissolving into a caramelly syrup. It took only seconds before she began to feel the effects, her tremors easing, a lightness overtaking her. For the first time in weeks, all her cares seemed insignificant.
Zofia sighed. “You made the hard choice, just so you know. It would have been much easier for you to kiss him.”
Kiva just shook her head at the Mystican’s now-blurry figure, dropping the empty vial onto the table.
“You’ll never be able to move forward until you conquer the past,”
Zofia said softly. “One way or another, you’ll have to face him eventually.”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t be afraid to share your heart, dear one. Only then will you be able to truly heal.” Quieter, she added.
“Both of you.”
The words made Kiva’s pulse skitter, but her fear faded as the room began to spin around her, the fiery candlewicks smudged into flaming lines.
Some part of her knew she should be concerned, but instead she fought to recall why she was there, the memory finally coming to her, indistinct and hazy.
“You owe me a ring,” Kiva slurred, aware she had very little time before the angeldust stole what was left of her wits. She could already feel the dreamlike state taking hold, a relaxed, euphoric sensation liquifying her mind and body.
Zofia reached across the table and took Kiva’s hand, sliding Sarana’s ring down her finger for safekeeping.
Kiva stared at the topaz, mesmerized by how it sparkled in the candlelight, before her rapidly declining mind remembered that her friends were waiting. She stood — and then stumbled three steps before managing to stay upright. A giggle left her, but she slapped a hand over her mouth, knowing she had to act normal, that no one could know. If they learned she’d willingly chosen to take the angeldust, they’d want to know why. And they wouldn’t understand. None of them would.
“You and your guard can see yourselves out,” Zofia said, not moving from her seat. “I wish you all the best, Kiva Corentine. Your future is as bright as the stars.”
What a nice thing to say, Kiva thought, staggering to the door, all of the animosity she’d felt toward the Mystican having been swept away by the angeldust. She only just remembered to drop her drug-addled smile before she stepped back into the smoky room, prepared to tell the others of her
success.
But only Naari was there.
Kiva’s euphoria dimmed, before the angeldust pulled her under more fully. It didn’t matter that her friends were gone. It was good they were gone, since it meant they wouldn’t try to question her. But then she saw the look on Naari’s face, and a hint of unease managed to slip through her deepening haze.
“Did you get the ring?” the guard asked.
Knowing her words would come out slurred, Kiva held up her hand in answer.
Naari seemed relieved, but her features remained tense. “Don’t panic, but Tipp snuck off. We should have been watching him more closely, especially with how interested he was in the Markets, but we didn’t expect him to slink away. The others are looking for him. I waited to tell you, but we need to go join the search.”
Kiva nodded, her head flopping on her neck. She knew she should be alarmed, that the last place a curious eleven-year-old should be running amok was the deadly Midnight Markets, but the drug made her worry seem fuzzy and senseless. Tipp would be fine. They should just let him have his fun. She almost opened her mouth to say so, but Naari took her silence for dread and sent her a reassuring look before exiting Zofia’s store, assuming
Kiva would follow.
Kiva did.
But then she didn’t.
Because once they reached the crowded thoroughfare, Naari hurried off in one direction, while Kiva paused to listen to the music in the distance.
Pretty song, she thought. Even her mental voice sounded slurred, with her now fully yielded to the angeldust. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so light, so happy, so free.
Kiva grinned and skipped forward, heading away from Naari and up the sloping incline toward the fresher air. The sounds of strings and drums grew louder with every step, making her want to dance and sing. So that was what she did, somehow finding herself aboveground and nestled between tall dark buildings full of color and bright with luminium lights, people everywhere jumping and spinning to the music.
A delighted sound left Kiva when hands tugged her forward, sweeping her into a tide of arms and legs as she twirled from person to person, dancing on her own and with groups, her head thrown back with elation.
Everything was so beautiful, the crescent moon like a smile in the sky.
She stared at it for a long time, stared and stared and stared, before the music carried her away again.
She didn’t know where she was, and even better, she didn’t care — about anything. All was right in her world. There was no Zuleeka and no Navok, no magic-stealing dagger or magic-giving rings. No warring
families, no angry princes, and above all, no broken hearts. It was just Kiva and the music, along with cheering people and rainbow colors and bright lights blurring around her.
But then a hand latched on to her arm, yanking her firmly out of the mass of twirling, joyous bodies.
“What do you think you’re doing?” came Jaren’s furious voice, as he continued dragging her away from the crowd.
“The moon is smiling. We have to smile with it,” Kiva slurred, stumbling after him. And then into him, when he stopped suddenly. “Oops,” she said, giggling. “We bumped.”
From one blink to the next, Jaren was directly in front of her, his face mere inches away, his blue-gold eyes right there as he examined her closely.
“Beautiful,” Kiva whispered, reaching out to touch him.
He jerked backwards before her hand could make contact, his gaze slitting with realization. “Are you high?”
Kiva peered upward at the tall sandstone buildings. “High,” she said, pointing. “Very high.”
Jaren cursed loudly. “I can’t believe you. After everything —” He bit out another curse, then grabbed her arm again. “Come on. We found Tipp back with the Mystican — he’s fine. Everyone’s headed to the palace.”
“Not the right palace,” Kiva said, tripping as Jaren guided her along the dark street, the festival noises fading behind them. “The River Palace is the right palace. The River Palace is home.”
His fingers tightened, as if he was surprised. It didn’t hurt, but it reminded her of something.
“You shouldn’t touch me. No, that’s not right. I shouldn’t touch you.”
Her face scrunched before clearing again, a triumphant cry leaving her as she said, “You don’t want me to touch you. That’s it.”
“Quiet, Kiva,” Jaren said in a hard voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Angry again.” Kiva blew out a breath. “I’m always making you angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Jaren stated, leading her down another alleyway. “I’m livid. What were you thinking, taking — what was it? Silverwish?
Bloodwraith?” He leaned closer and sniffed, before edging back again and saying with clear disgust, “Angeldust. Unbelievable.”
Everything was swirling around Kiva, the colorful scarves like fluorescent bats flapping their wings. Something on the ground caught her attention, and she clapped gleefully. “Happy kitty!”
Jaren tugged her back before she could try to pet it. “That’s a dead rat.”
Kiva pouted as he pulled her away. “Sad kitty.”
“Everworld help me,” Jaren muttered.
“I’m tired,” Kiva said, and right there in the middle of the dirty, dark alley, she folded her knees and collapsed. When Jaren swore again, she squinted up at him and noted, “You curse a lot more now than you used to.”
“I wonder why,” he said under his breath.
The next thing Kiva knew, she was in his arms, with him striding quickly through the darkness.
“So strong.” She sighed contentedly and nuzzled her face into his neck.
“So perfect.”
His arms tensed around her, but he didn’t reply. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, his familiar scent loosening something deep inside her that not even the angeldust could soothe.
“Miss you,” Kiva whispered against his skin, causing his tension to grow. “So much.”
From that point on, time held no meaning for her, the drug distorting everything she knew, until she became aware of other people around them, and a room that was way too blue. She tried to focus again just as she was lowered onto something soft, with her arms being pried away from their
death grip on Jaren.
“No,” she whined. “Come back.”
He ignored her and stepped away as the others came into view, their voices reaching Kiva as if from a dream.
“What do you mean, she’s high?” Caldon demanded.
“Come on, Tipp,” Naari murmured, “let’s go look for King Sibley’s kitchens. I could use a midnight snack.”
“But Kiva —” Tipp started, until Jaren quietly interrupted, “She won’t want you to see this, buddy.”
Cresta, meanwhile, was swearing loud enough to be heard in Evalon.
Kiva was vaguely aware of Naari leading Tipp out of their suite, but her own eyes remained locked — blurrily — on the ex-quarrier. “I had to do it,” she slurred. “I didn’t have a choice.” She laughed. “Well, I did. But I didn’t.”
“What’s she on about?” Caldon asked.
“She’s been rambling nonsense ever since I found her,” Jaren said, his tone still bristling with irritation. “You won’t get anything out of her — she needs to sleep it off.”
“This isn’t like her,” Caldon defended Kiva. “Something must have —”
“Shut up, both of you,” Cresta snapped at them. “You have no idea what she —”
“NO!” Kiva shouted, sitting up, the room tilting around her. The spike of panic left as quickly as it had arrived, but she remained cognizant enough to say, “Don’t tell them.”
“You can shut up, too,” Cresta said, pushing Kiva back down and crouching in front of her. “I got you through withdrawal once, I’ll damn well do it again. But as a so-called healer, you should have known better than to dabble with angeldust when you barely survived your last
addiction.”
“I didn’t want —”
“What are you talking about?” Jaren spoke over Kiva, his eyes no longer filled with fury, but dangerously alert. Caldon, too, had stilled at his side. “She’s never used angeldust before.”
“That was true, until her psychopath of a sister — and yours, for that matter — ordered that she be kept drugged for the whole journey from Vallenia to Zalindov,” Cresta shared bluntly. “She was so addicted when she arrived that it took weeks for her to function again. I still have nightmares about her screaming at me to put her out of her misery. And given how rabid she was, I’m not ashamed to admit I considered it.”
Both Jaren and Caldon looked as if they’d been slapped.
Some part of Kiva was feeling panicked again, but the angeldust quickly numbed her distress. She decided the best thing to do was ignore them both and speak directly to Cresta, which she did, slurring, “Don’t worry, I didn’t take much.” She then yawned loudly and snuggled down into the couch, exhaustion combining with the drug to lull her into a perfectly relaxed state. Her eyes closed, and since she could no longer see anyone, she promptly forgot that the two princes were in the room, continuing to speak only to Cresta as she explained, “I had to do it or the pretty mind reader would have made me kiss Jaren. That was the payment she wanted — I had to face one of my two fears: him or angeldust. I didn’t
want to take it. It nearly killed me last time. But Jaren hates me. He would have only hated me more if I’d kissed him.”
She rolled onto her side, unaware of the dead silence now ringing in the room.
Kiva’s thoughts were scattered as she mumbled, “I didn’t even get to tell him about Kerrin. I saw him die, did you know? My little brother — he was only five, and he was killed by the Royal Guard. Captain Veris held me back, so I didn’t have a chance to heal him. I didn’t know I could throw my magic then. If I’d known, I could have saved him.” Kiva yawned again. “I like Captain Veris. I shouldn’t, but I do. I shouldn’t like Jaren, either. Or Caldon. Or Ashlyn. Or any of them. But they’re all very likable. You feel the same — I can tell. Even if you don’t want to. I’m not sure why that is.
Maybe it goes against your churlish Mirraven nature.” Kiva snickered.
“Churlish. That’s a funny word.”
Unable to get comfortable, she returned to her back and flung an arm over her face, her words now muffled as she continued babbling, “Rooke killed my father — I can’t remember if I told Jaren. I was going to mention it this morning, but he didn’t want to hear anything from me. I was also going to say how my family were never rebels before Zalindov — that all happened after I was sent there. I didn’t choose that life. And when I was finally free to make that choice, I still didn’t choose it.” Quieter now, she said, “I made mistakes, but I didn’t mean to make them. And I didn’t get to tell him that, because he didn’t want to listen. That’s why I couldn’t kiss him. I wanted to — so much. But I also know he would have only agreed so we could get the ring. And that hurts. Knowing he wants nothing to do with me kills me. Every time I look at him, I feel like I can’t breathe — it’s like there’s something squeezing my chest and choking my lungs and —”
“Kiva,” Cresta muttered, “maybe you should —”
“I’m in love with him, can you believe it?” Kiva said, laughing. She opened her eyes in time to see Cresta wince and look off to the side, but she didn’t understand why, nor did it stop her from continuing, “Well, I know you can, since you had to put up with me telling you every single day at Zalindov. At least until the withdrawal passed. Then you had to stop me from wanting to kill myself.”
Cresta winced again, deeper this time, her gaze still turned away.
“And somehow, you did,” Kiva said. “Stop me, I mean. You saved me.
You helped me remember I had a reason to live.” Musingly, she added, “If
my heart didn’t already belong to Jaren, I think I’d be in love with you. But then Caldon would be angry at me, and I don’t want anyone else angry at me.” Sad now, Kiva whispered, “I hate that Jaren hates me. But I understand, because after everything I did, I deserve —”
“All right, that’s enough,” Cresta said in an unyielding voice. “Are you done playing the victim now?”
Kiva had trouble focusing on the redhead, but she glared in her general direction and slurred, “I’m not a victim.”
“That’s right,” Cresta stated. “You’re not a victim. You’re a survivor.”
She held Kiva’s blurry eyes. “So start acting like one.”
“But I —”
“Your brother is dead, your father is dead, even your mother is dead — there’s nothing you can do about that,” Cresta said without mercy. “Bad things happen in this world, and you deal with them. You say Jaren hates you, that he wants nothing to do with you? Then you deal with that, too.
But you know what you don’t do?” She didn’t give Kiva the chance to answer. “You don’t give up. You don’t wallow in self-pity. And you don’t, for whatever gods-damned idiotic reasons you have, choose angeldust over a kiss. Everworld help me, I don’t even know where to start with that, but you’d better believe you’re in for a verbal lashing once you’re sober again.”
“But I got the ring,” Kiva said petulantly, holding up her hand. “We need the rings so Jaren can get his magic back.”
“We need the rings to stop Navok from getting them and to save your precious Evalon,” Cresta corrected. “But the bottom line is, you’re more important than any stupid ring, and you put yourself at risk tonight for no reason. If Jaren hadn’t found you —”
“Jaren will always find me,” Kiva said confidently, her eyelids fluttering shut against her will, another yawn leaving her. “He might wish he’d never met me, but he’ll always protect me. He can’t help it. He’s too good. Too pure. None of us deserve him. Especially me.”
“I think I just vomited a little,” Cresta muttered, before exhaling loudly.
In a slightly more compassionate voice, she said, “You’re in for a rough morning, so stop talking and try to sleep while you can. And you’d better pray you don’t remember any of this.”
“Why?” Kiva asked, her slurring more pronounced now that she was beginning to drift off. “You’ve seen me worse than this.” She blindly
reached out to pat the ex-quarrier as she said, “You’re a good friend, Cresta.
I’m sorry you lost your family, but I’m glad you’re a part of ours now.”
The silence that followed her statement was long enough for sleep to tug at Kiva. Whispered voices buzzed in her ears as she fought to remain conscious, one of them Cresta’s, the second a distressed male, and the third also male and distressed — and familiar enough to flood her with warmth.
It was that voice that came closer, murmuring quietly, soothingly, and then Kiva felt gentle fingers trail across her cheek, before she was carefully pulled up into a pair of strong arms.
Feeling safer than she had in months, Kiva cuddled into the warm body with a sigh, whispering a slurred, “Jaren.”
“Sleep, Kiva,” he whispered back.
And then she was moving, before being lowered onto something soft again, with blankets being pulled over her as she was tucked in like a cocoon.
The last thing she felt before finally succumbing to sleep was the impossibly soft press of lips against hers.
That was when she knew — she must already be dreaming.
