The Blood Traitor (The Prison Healer, #3) — Chapter no 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Kiva awakened slowly, her eyelids feeling weighted down. She fought to open them, blinking once, twice, three times until her blurry vision cleared enough for her to see where she was.

Silverthorn, whispered an exhausted part of her mind, the small window in her private room revealing the familiar garden sanctuary at the center of the healing campus.

Part of her wondered how she had come to be there, her weary thoughts attempting to fill in the blanks of her memory, all while making her aware of the muted ache in her middle. But the other part of her was more insistent, demanding that she focus on the person sitting in the chair beside her bed — the last person she expected to see there.

Because it was Caldon.

He was paler than a corpse, his golden hair a tousled mess, but his cobalt eyes were sparkling as he drawled, “I leave you alone for a few

hours, and look what happens.”

Kiva stared at him.

Stared and stared and stared.

And then her face crumpled and she burst out crying.

He swore and leapt up from his seat, sliding onto her bed and carefully — so very carefully — drawing her into his arms.

“We talked about this,” he said into her ear, one hand moving soothingly up and down her arm, the other holding her close. “No tears while I’m hugging you. That’s our rule.”

“I th-th-thought you w-were d-d-dead,” Kiva blubbed, the muted pain in her middle becoming less muted as her body heaved, but she couldn’t hold back the tide of what she was feeling. Everything she’d repressed upon learning of Caldon’s death rose to the surface, fear and horror and anguish, all now overcome by relief so acute that she could barely breathe.

“I nearly was,” Caldon said quietly, using his voice and his touch to comfort her. “I’ll tell you what happened, but only if you calm down. Your

body needs to rest, and if you get too worked up, Healer Maddis is going to

storm in here and yell at me again.”

“A-Again?” Kiva asked, hiccupping.

“I’m technically not supposed to be out of bed,” Caldon shared. “But Jaren was needed at an emergency Royal Council meeting, and I promised him you wouldn’t be alone, even if sitting here has been as entertaining as watching paint dry.” His eyes caught hers, mirth filling them as he said, “You drool in your sleep — did you know?”

Kiva didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. But she was finally able to stop her tears and ask, her voice hoarse with disbelief, “How are you here?

Galdric said —”

“Ah, yes, Galdric.” Caldon’s eyes darkened. “Aunt Ariana told us what the rings did to him. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.” His anger fled as quickly as it had arrived, and he answered, “I’m here because of Tipp. He saved my life.”

That wasn’t what Kiva had expected, especially since it was Tipp who had told her of Caldon’s demise. He hadn’t been acting — she’d seen the grief in his eyes, the tears streaming down his face.

“He didn’t know he’d saved me,” Caldon said, noting her confusion. “I think he cracked one of my ribs when they went to collect my body and found me breathing. For someone so small, he sure is strong. Like a leech.”

“But, how?” Kiva asked, still not understanding. “Galdric said he used necros venom. There’s no cure for that. He said — He said —” She strained her mind, feeling fatigue press in on her. “He said Tipp tried to give you water. There’s no way that —”

“It wasn’t water,” Caldon said. “Do you remember when we were at the Midnight Markets, how Tipp snuck away while you were getting the ring?”

Kiva wouldn’t forget that night in a hurry, and she nodded.

“Well, while you were off serenading the moon or whatever the hell you were doing, we ran around in a panic looking for him, only to find him back with the Mystican. Apparently, they enjoyed quite the conversation, which included her handing him a vial of liquid and telling him to put it in his waterskin ‘on the morning of the ninth day,’ and that he was to use it ‘when the snake strikes.’ Poor kid thought he was out of his mind and didn’t tell any of us, not wanting us to think he was crazy for listening to her. But he kept track of the days and followed her instructions, and then when Galdric got a lucky slice in” — Caldon lifted his shirt to reveal a white bandage just

beneath his rib cage — “and gloated about the venom, Tipp realized that was what he’d been warned about, and he tried to force the entire contents of his waterskin down my throat.” Caldon’s face shadowed. “That wasn’t pleasant, let me tell you. But I choked down a few mouthfuls before Galdric hauled him away.” He shrugged and finished, “And now, here I am.”

“But — But —” Kiva couldn’t wrap her head around the story, and settled on repeating, “There’s no cure for necros venom. Not in all of Wenderall.”

“Exactly,” Caldon said. “In Wenderall. But the Mystican isn’t from Wenderall, is she?”

Wonder filled Kiva as she thought about Zofia Sage and her uncanny mental magic, how she’d hailed from across the ocean. “Unbelievable,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry to say this, Sunshine,” Caldon said, “but Tipp has pushed you off the top of my ‘favorite people’ list. Don’t take it personally.”

Kiva leaned more of her weight against him and said, with feeling, “He’s up there on my list, too.”

Caldon’s eyes warmed, and he kissed the top of her head. “I still feel half dead, but you’re the one we were all really worried about. It was touch

and go for a few days there.”

Kiva stilled. “Days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for the better part of a week,” Caldon revealed. “The blade ruptured your liver or your lungs or — something else in there. Internal bleeding, Maddis said. They worked around the clock to keep you with us.”

His words were light, but Kiva could hear the fear in his voice — the same fear she’d felt when she’d thought she’d lost him. She pressed her cheek to his chest, wincing at the renewed throb in her stomach. It was aching more now, aggravated by her crying attack, but even so — “Are you sure there was internal bleeding? It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Caldon grinned. “That’ll be the drugs. Not poppymilk,” he said quickly.

“Cresta told them about your history with angeldust, and they decided it was best to avoid anything addictive. I don’t know what they gave you, just that it’s meant to dull the pain and make you drowsy. I’m honestly surprised you’ve managed to stay awake for this whole conversation.”

Kiva was feeling sleep tug at her, but Caldon had just reminded her of something else, and she forced her eyes to remain open.

“Cresta — she’s —”

“A Kildarion?” Caldon said, his grin widening. “That was a delicious little secret to keep, let me tell you.”

Kiva gaped at him. “You knew?”

He rolled his eyes. “When are you going to realize that I know everything?”

“But — how?” she spluttered. “And why didn’t you say something?”

“Firstly,” he said, “it wasn’t my secret to share.” His pointed look made Kiva bite her lip in acknowledgment of the secrets he’d kept for her. Then he went on, “And to be fair, I didn’t know at first. There was always something familiar about her, something I couldn’t put my finger on, but I only started piecing it together partway through our travels. The way she moved, the way she looked . . . How some of the foreign rulers reacted to seeing her, as if they couldn’t figure where they might have known her from, her family resemblance subtle but enough to trigger interest.” He snorted and added, “Never mind that she’s fluent in more languages than I am, and she fights like she was born with a blade in her hand.”

Now that he’d laid it all out, Kiva felt even more foolish for not realizing. She opened her mouth to ask a million questions, one of which was what Cresta’s royal status meant for Caldon personally, given the way their relationship had appeared to be slowly developing during their travels.

But before she could get a word out, the door to her room opened and Healer Maddis appeared.

She paused at the entry, her gray eyebrows shooting together.

“Uh-oh,” Caldon muttered. “Caught.”

He didn’t move, though.

The Matron Healer sighed, long and loud, before walking over to them and saying, “You’re meant to be resting. Both of you.”

Caldon indicated their prone bodies. “How much more resting can we be?”

Maddis ignored him and looked at Kiva. “Good to see you awake, dear.”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she replied quietly, almost shyly, her respect for the head of Silverthorn only growing each time they met.

The healer waved away her gratitude. “How are you feeling? Any

pain?”

“A little,” Kiva answered honestly.

Maddis pulled a vial from her white robes. “Drink this. All of it.”

Knowing better than to argue, Kiva reached for it, alarmed by how weak her arm felt. How weak her entire body felt. That weakness didn’t fade when she swallowed the tonic, grimacing at the bitter, earthy taste, but she did feel near-instant pain relief, the throbbing in her stomach returning to a dull ache.

Her eyes began to close of their own accord, the medicine stealing her consciousness, but she fought to listen as Maddis said, “You’ll need to stay here under observation for a few more days, and then you’ll have to be very gentle with yourself for a while. But you should make a full recovery.”

“That’s good news,” Kiva said, her words coming out mumbled and slurred.

She wasn’t able to hold on to her awareness after that, with the last thing she heard being Maddis’s voice coming from far away as she said to Caldon, “Don’t make me tie you to your own bed, young man.”

Followed by his cheeky, “How scandalous.”

And then Kiva succumbed to sleep with a smile on her lips.

The next time Kiva woke, still tired and achy, it was dark outside her window. She thought she was alone, until a figure approached her bed, the faint luminium lights revealing a snake tattoo and a face speckled with partially healed cuts and bruises.

For a long moment, Kiva and Cresta just looked at each other.

And then Kiva said, “If you want me to bow, you’re going to have to help me up.”

Cresta’s relief was visible, with her slumping down into the chair beside the bed, a weighty breath leaving her as she said, “I think that terrifying healer woman will march in here and drag me out if you move so much as an inch.”

Kiva’s lips twitched at the thought of Cresta — fierce ex-quarrier, now- queen Cresta — being afraid of Healer Maddis.

“I think you can handle her,” she replied, shifting slightly, then wincing at the pain.

Another long pause fell between them, before Cresta sighed and said, “I wanted to tell you.” She pressed her lips together. “No, that’s a lie. I didn’t want anyone to know, because I never intended to do anything about it.”

She pulled her tangled red locks away from her face and admitted, “I knew I wanted to save Serafine, to protect her — that was always my intention.

But I didn’t have to challenge Navok to do that.”

“Then why did you?”

“It’s your fault,” Cresta said, suddenly scowling. “You and the stupid

angeldust.”

Kiva’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“In Ersa.” Cresta pitched her voice higher to mimic Kiva. “You’re a good friend, Cresta. I’m sorry you lost your family, but I’m glad you’re a part of ours now. I hated you for saying that, because you made me realize it was true. I’d tried to keep you all at a distance, but I’d failed.” Her scowl deepened. “Before that, I didn’t give a damn about the Vallentis family. Or Evalon, for that matter. But getting to know you all — you made it impossible for me not to care. And when I realized that my own brother was hellbent on using you and killing them, I knew I couldn’t just sit by and let that happen.” Her scowl faded into a guilty look as she confessed, “I didn’t know for sure until I saw him on the bridge, though. That was when I realized that even if I had no idea what I was doing, Mirraven would still be better off ruled by anyone but him.”

“For what it’s worth,” Kiva said quietly, “I think you’ll make a great queen.”

Cresta scrubbed a hand over her face. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Serafine will help you,” Kiva said, certain the compassionate princess wouldn’t leave her sister to the wolves.

“I’m counting on it, especially since one of the first things I’ll have to do is reach out to Caramor and fix the mess Nav created with them,” Cresta said, looking frustrated at the very thought.

Kiva’s eyes rounded. “You’re not going to make Sera marry —”

“Gods, of course not,” Cresta said quickly. “But she and Vosh have been friends since they were babes. If anyone can soothe Caramor’s ruffled feathers, it’s Sera. And Mirryn is going to help, too — she’s had a lifetime of scheming and politics, which will undoubtedly come in handy where we’re going, even if I’ll always have to watch my back around her.” In a mutter, she added, “Everworld knows what my sister sees in her.”

“Wait,” Kiva said. “Mirryn’s going with you?”

Cresta frowned. “Didn’t Jaren tell you?”

Kiva indicated her room, grimacing when the move tugged at her stomach again. “I haven’t seen him.”

Cresta looked hesitant, but shared, “The Royal Council charged Mirryn

with treason.”

Kiva stilled. “But she —”

“They’re aware that she had a change of heart and tried to make amends, but they said they needed to set an example,” Cresta explained.

“Serafine begged me to do something, so I suggested exile as the punishment.” She shrugged like it was nothing to her, and finished, “So yes, Mirryn is coming with us to Mirraven. And staying there.”

Relief hit Kiva — for Mirryn, but also for her family. The Royal Council could have sentenced the princess to death; exile wasn’t ideal, but at least she would still be breathing.

“Does that mean you’ll be open to frequent Vallentis guests?” Kiva asked, knowing Jaren and the others would still want to see Mirryn, regardless of her betrayal. But as soon as the words left her mouth, Kiva’s thoughts jumped away from the princess, and she couldn’t help cocking her head and adding, “Perhaps a certain handsome prince?”

Cresta brushed invisible lint off her shoulder. “I’ll maybe allow Jaren to visit, especially if you can be bothered to get off your lazy ass to come and see me.”

Kiva’s heart warmed as she read into Cresta’s comment, knowing it was her not-so-subtle way of saying that nothing about their friendship would change, even if they weren’t with each other every day. But she stayed on task to say, “I’m talking about a different handsome prince.”

Cresta wrinkled her nose. “Oriel is a bit young, don’t you think?”

Kiva huffed out a laugh, which she immediately regretted, pain flaring along her torso. She gritted her teeth through it, and said, “You know who I’m talking about.”

There was a pause, before Cresta answered, “I suppose Caldon can visit.

Assuming his head will fit through the castle gates.”

Another laugh left Kiva against her will, and she had to bite back a whimper this time, before managing to say, “You two have such a strange relationship.”

“‘Relationship’ is a very strong word for what we have.” Cresta smirked wickedly. But then she said, almost in warning, “I don’t know what the future will bring for us. Things are more complicated now than before. But —” She looked down at the bed, before meeting Kiva’s eyes again and saying, her voice softer, “We’ll see.”

That was more than Kiva had expected her to admit, so she smiled and replied, “That’s good enough for me.”

Cresta just shook her head and looked to the ceiling, but then she leaned forward and grabbed something off the table beside Kiva’s bed, handing it over.

It was a vial, identical to the one Maddis had given Kiva earlier that day.

“Go on,” Cresta said, nudging her knee. “I saw you wince — you’re in pain. You need to sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping for days,” Kiva grumbled, but she also knew she would heal faster if she rested, so she downed the bitter tonic. Once again, her pain dulled nearly instantly, but so too did her eyes begin to close. “You better not leave for Mirraven without saying goodbye,” she mumbled, sliding down in her bed.

“I won’t,” Cresta said, her voice fading out. “And besides, you and I still have unfinished business to attend to first.”

But Kiva didn’t get to ask what she was talking about before she drifted off again.

The early morning sunshine woke Kiva, and just like the last two times she’d regained consciousness, she wasn’t alone in her room. But this time there were two people with her, one on the chair — Tipp, who was snoring loudly — and one on the bed beside her, holding her close.

Kiva snuggled into Jaren, breathing in his fresh, elemental scent, her heart feeling full. He stirred when he felt her move, his eyes opening slowly before his chin dipped down to look at her.

In a sleep-husky voice, he said, quiet enough to keep from rousing Tipp, “You’re awake.”

Kiva smiled and teased, “Or maybe you’re dreaming.”

His fingers whispered across her cheekbone, his touch so incredibly tender as he said, “Oh, I’m definitely dreaming.” He pressed the softest of

kisses to her temple, before capturing her gaze and saying, “You scared me.”

Kiva felt the pain in his voice, the fear he couldn’t hide, and whispered,

“I’m sorry.”

“What you did —”

“I’d do it again.”

He tensed against her.

“In a heartbeat,” she said, needing him to see how serious she was.

His eyes flashed with emotion — love, grief, terror, relief, and so much more. But then he said, so very carefully, as if he was worried she had forgotten, “Your magic . . .”

Kiva looked at her hands, knowing she would never again see the golden glow, trying to reconcile how that made her feel. For ten years, she had ignored her power, pushing it down as far as it would go. Then, when she’d finally released it, she’d spent months being afraid of it — not just her lack of control, but also the possibility of turning into a monster. It was only recently that she’d come to embrace it, to cherish it. And she couldn’t deny that a part of her would mourn its loss, especially knowing it was gone forever.

But there was a larger part of her that was relieved. Because now there was absolutely no chance that she would yield to the darker side of her bloodline. Nanna Delora had used the Eye of the Gods on herself to take away her own magic; she’d made that choice rather than risk the alternative.

And while Kiva wished she’d been granted the same choice, she knew her sadness would pass.

In a whisper, Kiva shared all of that with Jaren, finishing quietly with, “I can live with not having magic. But I wouldn’t have been able to live with knowing you’d lost yours again — and everything you would have lost with it.”

The look in Jaren’s eyes caused the breath to catch in Kiva’s lungs. But she pushed through it to add, “And besides, my magic didn’t make me a healer, just as it won’t stop me from becoming a better one.”

Jaren understood her meaning immediately, and rasped out, “Does that mean you’re going to take Maddis up on her offer to study here?”

Kiva reached out to trace her fingers over his lips. “I have a few reasons to want to stay in Vallenia. I suppose that can be one of them.”

The uncertainty and worry faded from Jaren’s expression, his eyes dancing as he said, “A few reasons, huh?”

Kiva leaned up and, ignoring the pinch of pain in her stomach, touched her mouth to his. “At least one.”

He growled in the back of his throat and snaked a hand behind her neck, holding her to him and deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking out to tangle with hers, making her gasp.

But then her gasp turned from pleasure into pain when she tried to shift closer, her stomach screaming its protest.

Immediately, Jaren stilled, his eyes heated but apologetic as he eased her back into a resting position.

“No kissing until you’re all better,” he said in a firm voice.

Given how breathy he sounded, Kiva was absolutely confident she could change his mind. And she would — but maybe in a few days, when she didn’t feel as if her insides were going to tear apart every time she moved.

In an attempt to help cool them both off, Kiva said, “I’m afraid to ask, but . . . what happened on the bridge? At the end, I mean. After I . . . fell unconscious.”

Jaren knew what she really wanted to know, and he answered, his voice as gentle as possible, “Zuleeka is locked in the palace dungeons. She — I’m sorry, sweetheart, but she hasn’t shown any remorse. Tor tried to speak with her, but she just screamed at him, calling him a traitor and shouting at him to go away.”

Kiva closed her eyes and, this time, made herself ask, “What’s going to happen to her?”

Jaren’s arms tightened in comfort as he quietly said, “The Royal Council has sentenced her to Zalindov.”

Deep down Kiva had already known the answer, but it was still distressing to hear. She burrowed her face into Jaren’s chest, wishing things could have turned out differently, but knowing they had no other choice.

Zuleeka had stolen a kingdom. She’d killed people, too many to count. She wasn’t like Mirryn — they couldn’t just exile her and expect her to go quietly. Even without magic, she was too dangerous, too volatile, and as Jaren had said, she was showing no remorse.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Jaren said again. “If there was any other way —”

“I know,” Kiva whispered, not needing an explanation. “I know.”

They fell silent after that, just lying there, holding each other. For the first time since waking at Silverthorn, Kiva didn’t feel the lure of sleep, and she soon began murmuring more questions to Jaren. She asked about the battle, how many people they’d lost, how much damage the palace had sustained, and what the plans were to rebuild. She asked how the Evalonian citizens were feeling about having the Vallentis family back in power, and what his thoughts were on the unexpected new alliance with Mirraven. She asked about the Eye of the Gods and whether the dagger had been secured — to which he confirmed it was now safely in Vallentis possession.

Question after question poured from her mouth, with him filling her in on everything she’d missed while unconscious. In the middle of it all, Tipp woke, and Jaren had to physically restrain him when he launched out of his chair to hug Kiva, reminding the young boy that she still needed time to heal.

They had more visitors then, with Caldon sneaking out of his own room and Cresta appearing suspiciously soon afterward. Then Ashlyn and Torell arrived, both visibly relieved to see Kiva awake — Tor especially, judging by the shuddering embrace he gave her and the way he said she was never to worry him like that again. At her request, he and Ashlyn recounted their side of the battle, and the lead-up to it from when they’d arrived in Vallenia, including Tor saying, with some embarrassment, how easy it had been for him to convince the rebels to fight. Kiva wasn’t surprised — she still remembered her visit to the rebel camp outside Oakhollow, how everyone had worshipped him as their general.

Rhessinda appeared shortly after that, carrying a gift basket full of chocabuns that Kiva promptly began stuffing — carefully — into her mouth. They helped ease the sadness she felt when Torell shared that he and Rhess would be following Ashlyn back to the central army base at Highworth Keep once the palace clean-up was complete. He claimed it was so they could work together on a strategy to help the rebels assimilate into not being rebels, but Kiva knew it was more than that. She saw it in the way he and Ashlyn kept sneaking glances at each other — and she heard it in the comical way Rhess grumbled about being “that awkward third wheel.” But it was clear that she, too, was excited for their next adventure — and equally clear that she would follow Tor wherever he went, not for any romantic reasons, but purely out of loyalty.

More visitors arrived throughout the morning, with Naari popping in and out a few times to check on Kiva, and even Eidran dropping by once, not saying anything, just nodding and leaving again. Captain Veris also made a brief appearance, though he did so while escorting Queen Ariana and Oriel, who wanted to see for themselves that Kiva was well.

Unfortunately, Healer Maddis decided to check on her then, finding the room bursting with people, one of whom was an escaped patient. Worse, Oriel had brought Flox with him, and the silverbear was currently in the process of building a nest over Kiva’s feet. Maddis took one look at the creature before turning her eyes on the rest of them, then simply pointed her finger at the door. Immediately, everyone began to scramble out of the room — even the queen.

Kiva would have laughed, if not for the sudden exhaustion that hit her in the wake of them leaving, something Healer Maddis tutted about as she forced the contents of another vial down Kiva’s throat.

Before she could drift off, Kiva managed to slur out one last question, asking the Matron Healer if the offer was still open for her to become a student.

“As I told you once before,” Maddis said kindly, “you will always be welcome at Silverthorn.”

Hearing that, tears burned Kiva’s eyes, a deep contentment filling her as she saw the future laid out for her. Just like her dream.

The next few days passed by in a blur of sleep and bitter tonics before Healer Maddis finally declared Kiva stable enough to be released. After that, it took a week for her to walk without wincing, and another two before she was able to commence light training with Caldon — who had returned to full strength much more quickly.

It was agonizing having to wait while her body healed itself, but given the alternative, Kiva was just grateful to be alive.

One month after her release from Silverthorn, Kiva stood in the courtyard of the winter palace, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Not even the picturesque backdrop of the Tanestra Mountains could calm her in the face of what she was about to do. But she knew it was time — she’d already put it off for too long.

“Ready?” Jaren asked, holding out his hand.

Kiva sighed and linked their fingers. “As I’ll ever be.”

Together, they turned to their friends, all of whom were waiting patiently around the courtyard’s fountain.

Caldon, Cresta, Tipp, Naari, Torell, Ashlyn, Eidran — their entire traveling party, minus Galdric, reunited for one final challenge.

Serafine had also ventured with them from Vallenia, as had Mirryn, with this being the Vallentis princess’s last stop on her journey out of Evalon.

From here, they — and Cresta — would be heading north to Zadria, but for today, the two princesses were staying put while Kiva and her friends saw to their task.

It wouldn’t be a pleasant one, but it was something Kiva needed to do.

Torell, too. Even Cresta and Tipp and Jaren and Naari — all of them for different reasons. Only Ashlyn, Caldon, and Eidran had come for moral support, their company grounding Kiva more than anything else.

“Are we doing this?” Caldon asked.

Kiva gathered her courage and nodded, looking to Ashlyn. The general returned the gesture, before waving her hand and summoning her magic.

Jaren had begun to learn the art of windfunneling from his cousin now that his powers were back, but she’d been practicing for longer, and the distance they had to travel today was something only she could manage.

Her wind wrapped around them and lifted them into the air, sending them deeper into the mountains before finally delivering them to their destination.

Kiva stared up at the imposing iron gates and soulless limestone walls, noting that Zalindov Prison was no more welcoming now than it had ever

been.

But she wasn’t there to be welcomed.

She was there to say goodbye.

Zuleeka had traveled separately to them, her sentence mandating that she be transferred by prison wagon, just like all new inmates. It had been Kiva’s idea for them to arrive at the same time, a thought spoken shyly to Jaren one night, as if fearing he would judge her for wanting to see her sister off. But he’d only kissed her softly and promised to make it happen.

As Kiva looked at the prison wagon halted in front of the gates, she wondered why she’d bothered. Zuleeka had refused to speak with Kiva every time she’d ventured down to the River Palace’s dungeons, turning her back and ignoring her. Torell had argued that it was better than how she treated him, with cursing and screaming, but Kiva wasn’t sure. Nor was she

sure if Zuleeka’s behavior was because she considered them blood traitors, or because of the damage the death magic had caused her. But either way, it didn’t matter anymore, especially not now as the iron gates opened and Warden Rooke appeared from within them, a group of black-uniformed guards at his heels.

Kiva’s fingers tightened around Jaren’s. She could hear Cresta grinding her teeth, could see Caldon placing a comforting arm around Tipp’s shoulders. Kiva hadn’t wanted the young boy to come today, but he’d insisted. He was there for his own closure, he’d said, and Kiva hadn’t been able to deny him that.

“Your Majesties,” Warden Rooke said, stopping to bow when he was a few feet away, looking as if he’d swallowed a lemon. “I received your missive. Are you ready to complete the transfer?”

Jaren turned to Kiva. She released his hand and stepped forward with Torell, the two of them approaching the prison wagon and peering through the bars. Zuleeka sat in the corner, her honey-gold eyes slitted. She wasn’t ignoring Kiva now, wasn’t screaming at Torell. Instead, she said, her voice bitter, “Is this the part where you make me beg?”

Tor moved closer to Kiva until their shoulders were brushing, telling her he was there, that they were in this together.

She might be our sister, but actions have consequences, and one day

soon she’s going to learn that.

He’d had said those words weeks ago.

Today they were coming true.

“No, Zulee,” Tor said quietly. “This is the part where we say goodbye.”

He looked at Kiva, but she and Zuleeka had already said their goodbyes — on the bridge between the River Palace. All that was left was for Kiva to hold her sister’s angry eyes as Tor signaled to the transfer guards, and then keep holding them as the prison wagon rolled forward through the iron

gates . . .

And disappeared from sight.

A shaky breath left Kiva as she turned to her brother. “Are you all

right?”

“No,” he answered. “Are you?”

“No,” she whispered.

But they would be — eventually.

Slowly, they walked back to where their friends were waiting. Rooke seemed impatient for them to leave, but also aware that he was in the company of rulers from two kingdoms, and etiquette demanded that he wait

before being dismissed.

That wasn’t what happened, though.

Because when Kiva reached Jaren’s side, ready to tell Ashlyn that she and Tor were good to go, Jaren stepped forward and handed a sealed letter to Rooke.

The Warden squinted at it before tearing it open and reading the contents, his dark face draining of color. “What is this?”

Kiva had never heard such a tone from him before — like he was afraid.

She looked at Jaren in question, but as she did so, she saw the smirk on Caldon’s lips, the light in Naari’s amber eyes, the satisfied expression on Ashlyn’s face, the beaming smile Tipp wore.

And Cresta . . .

There was no way to describe her wicked glee.

“Alabastor Rooke,” Jaren said, and Kiva stilled at his rarely heard princely voice, “you have been found guilty of crimes against humanity, including, but not limited to, mass genocide. You are hereby stripped of your position as Warden and sentenced to a life term at the very prison in which you committed those crimes.”

Kiva’s breathing turned shallow, disbelief thrumming through her veins.

At Jaren’s signal, Rooke’s own guards stepped forward, causing the Warden’s eyes to flash and narrow.

“You can’t do this,” he spat. “I don’t take orders from Evalon — I answer to all eight kingdoms. You don’t have the power to —”

“He didn’t,” Cresta cut Rooke off, “but since we recently thwarted a tyrant’s plans to conquer all of Wenderall, the rulers of the other kingdoms are, shall we say, grateful.” Her wicked delight grew as she shared, “It was no trouble to ask them each for a favor.” She nodded to the parchment Rooke was clenching in his fist. “All their signatures are there. You can see for yourself.”

He didn’t look down, having already read the page.

“You can’t do this,” he said again, but this time, his anger had reverted to fear.

“We can, and we have,” Cresta said, enjoying herself way too much.

Kiva was still frozen, hardly daring to believe what was happening, that Rooke was finally going to see justice for what he’d done, for all the people he’d killed — including her father.

“There’s one more thing,” Jaren said casually. “Your crimes against humanity mean a life term at Zalindov, but your crimes against the crown prince of Evalon” — he indicated himself — “and the new queen of Mirraven” — he indicated Cresta, who gave a middle-fingered salute — “deserve something a little extra.”

“What are you talking about?” Rooke demanded, back to anger once more.

Jaren turned to Tipp. “Would you care to do the honors?”

The young boy grinned, the look unlike anything Kiva had ever seen on his face before, with it eerily similar to the expression Cresta wore. In a loud voice, he recited, “You are h-hereby sentenced to the T-Trial by Ordeal. Should y-y-you survive, you’ll be s-set free. But should y-you fail . . .” Tipp shrugged, his grin still in place. “You know h-how that ends.”

Kiva stood there, stunned, but she didn’t have a chance to process the words — and their almost definite death sentence — before Rooke lunged.

His own guards stopped him, latching on to his arms and hauling him back as he screamed at them, shouting for them to release him, but their grip was unyielding.

Cresta ambled forward, a slow, unhurried approach, but once she was before Rooke, she struck as fast as a snake, yanking his left arm toward her while pulling a dagger from her belt. In the space of a blink, she managed to carve three short, sharp lines across the back of his hand, the blood welling instantly around the Z.

“Now you’ll fit right in,” she said over his furious — and now pained — roars. To the guards, she said, “Take him away.”

They didn’t hesitate, dragging him kicking and screaming through the iron gates until he, like Zuleeka, was out of sight.

Kiva turned woodenly toward her friends, a storm of emotion warring within her.

Jaren moved straight back to her side. “Was that all right? We didn’t want to tell you before, just in case —”

Kiva placed her fingers over his lips, tears welling as she whispered, “Thank you.” She glanced at the others. “All of you.”

“We didn’t do it just for you,” Cresta said, rolling her eyes.

Kiva knew that. Cresta had suffered just as much because of Rooke, if in different ways. Tipp, too, having been at Zalindov for three years. Even Jaren and Naari from their short but memorable stays. All of them damaged by the Warden, some of their scars visible, others hidden. But now no one else had to suffer under him, his reign of terror over.

“You h-have to tell her the r-r-rest,” Tipp said, bouncing on his feet.

“There’s more?” Kiva rasped.

It was Eidran who spoke, his voice a calming rumble as he revealed, “I’ll be taking up the post of interim Warden until we find a suitable replacement for Rooke. While I’m here, I’ll be weeding out any guards who have abused their power, making sure they’re held accountable.”

Bones and the Butcher, Kiva realized, her gaze shooting to Cresta. The redhead only grinned back, none of this being news to her.

“And not just that,” Ashlyn jumped in. “The other kingdoms have agreed — Zalindov needs to change. It’ll take time, but we’ll be implementing proper judicial systems, making sure the punishment fits the crime. Some people will never be allowed to leave” — she didn’t have to say Zuleeka’s name for Kiva to know her sister was in that category — “but for others, coming here will no longer be a death sentence. Soon prisoners will be able to earn their freedom.”

Freedom from Zalindov. Once upon a time, Kiva never could have

imagined such a concept.

But now . . .

“I don’t know what to say,” she said, her voice cracking as she took in her friends, all of whom seemed pleased with her reaction.

Except for Cresta, who drawled, “To repeat, we didn’t do it just for you.”

The reason didn’t matter. For too many years, Zalindov had plagued Kiva’s thoughts and haunted her nightmares. Knowing future inmates might be spared the same suffering, that there could be life after Zalindov . . .

A weight lifted from Kiva’s shoulders, replaced by a sense of rightness, of justice.

But not just that. As she looked up at the limestone walls, she suddenly realized that, with or without the coming changes, Zalindov no longer held any power over her. It was in her past — and it would be remaining there.

She had survived.

Now it was time for her to live.

Feeling that settle somewhere deep within her, Kiva looked at Jaren, at her friends, at her brother, and asked, her voice thick with wonder, with hope, “What happens now?”

It was Jaren who answered, leaning in to whisper three perfect words

right into her ear: “Now, we dream.”