Chapter Four
Neither Kiva nor Cresta was able to keep track of how long they were locked together in the Abyss. Days passed, enough for Cresta to heal entirely and then join Kiva in her daily exercises, the two of them stumbling around in the dark and tripping over each other.
They attempted to mark the passage of time by the delivery of food, twice a day from what they could tell — more than what Kiva had been allocated before her Trial by Ordeal, but still less than what their bodies required, especially with them training so much. Kiva was constantly hungry, but she took that as a good sign, since for weeks, she’d had no appetite, too consumed by her misery. Cresta’s mother had been right: the more Kiva worked her body, the better she felt, both physically and mentally. She almost enjoyed being locked away with Cresta, whose biting personality kept her on her toes, while challenging her to push herself to her limits and beyond.
And then, roughly ten days after they were locked away, the door to their cell opened.
“Get out here,” came the Butcher’s gruff voice.
Having just finished a set of grueling sit-ups, Kiva was resting against the wall to catch her breath, but at the barked command, she quickly straightened, her heart leaping into her throat.
“Hurry up,” he said, impatient.
Scrambling to her feet, Kiva followed Cresta out of the cell, both of them shielding their eyes from the shock of the luminium lights after so long in darkness.
“Not you,” the Butcher said, grabbing Cresta’s shoulder and pushing her back. “They didn’t ask for you.”
He slammed the heavy stone door shut again, leaving Cresta locked in the cell — and Kiva on her own.
“Move,” he said, shoving her forward. He then scrunched his nose and put some distance between them. “Gods, you’re ripe.”
Normally Kiva would have been mortified, but instead she was delighted that ten days of limited hygiene resulted in the Butcher keeping his distance.
“No time to clean yourself up,” he continued. “They’re gonna have to put up with your stink.”
They who? Kiva wanted to ask. But seeing his fingers clenched around his whip, wisdom kept her silent.
The Butcher led her up the stone staircases and along the gloomy corridors of the punishment block before they finally stepped outside.
Spring had turned to summer while Kiva had been locked in the Abyss, and the bright sunshine was painful enough to make her blink back tears as the
Butcher prodded her onward.
“Keep moving.”
Kiva stumbled as her eyes adjusted to the glare. She was desperate to know where he was taking her, but then dread filled her as he led her across the grounds, past the tunnel entrance, and toward the front gates. The Warden’s personal quarters were situated above the southern wall — had he summoned her? Had he pulled her out of the Abyss only so she might suffer a new kind of torture?
Raising her chin, Kiva was determined to endure whatever he threw at her. If her time spent in the Abyss had taught her anything — if Cresta had taught her anything — it was that her attitude mattered. Rooke only had as much power as she gave him. He could break her body, but he couldn’t break her spirit. Not unless she allowed him to.
For weeks, she’d succumbed to the darkness of Zalindov, enough that she’d wanted to die in order not to feel the agony of her own mistakes. And while her heartache still lingered — and it would remain, until she had the chance to try and make things better — she was no longer controlled by her pain.
She had survived that, and she would survive whatever came next — not just because Cresta would kick her ass if she didn’t.
Fortifying herself mentally, Kiva continued to follow the Butcher past the guards’ barracks and toward the iron gates forged into the imposing limestone walls. This was as close as she’d been to the outside world since her arrival nearly seven weeks ago. Adding the fortnight of drug-induced travel from Vallenia, Kiva had been gone for over two months. Her insides clenched as she wondered what might have transpired in that time, but she
quickly silenced her fears, knowing there was nothing she could do — not yet.
“Wait here,” the Butcher said, stopping just before the gates.
Kiva’s brow furrowed, her confusion growing when he disappeared into the watchtower looming over the prison entrance.
While tempted, she knew better than to bolt. There was nowhere to hide, and if the guards had to search for her, she would suffer the consequences. But even so, her mind was bursting with questions — and they multiplied when she peered through the gates to see four dark horses hitched to a black carriage. It was fully enclosed, with trimmings crafted out of burnished silver and heavy curtains blocking out the windows. On the raised front seat sat two men, one holding the reins, both wearing similar outfits to the Zalindov guards except that their leathery armor was gray instead of black.
Kiva inched forward for a closer look, but she jumped back again when a small group of guards streamed out of the watchtower and headed toward her. Leading them was the Warden — whose thunderous expression prompted Kiva to take another step backwards — and at his side was the Butcher. But it was the three unfamiliar people in gray leathers that held Kiva’s attention, two men, one woman, all studying her with interest.
There was nothing lecherous about their glances, and that was the only reason why she managed to keep her trepidation at bay. If anything, they seemed curious — and also disgusted, given her appearance.
“You couldn’t have given her a fresh tunic?” said the woman, her brown hair pulled back in a strict bun. Her accent made Kiva suck in a sharp breath and inspect their clothes again, the familiarity causing a knot of apprehension to ball within her.
The woman was Mirravish. And her armor — all of their armor — was identical to the fighting leathers worn by the group of Mirraven soldiers who had abducted Kiva to bait Jaren — the same Mirraven soldiers sent by King Navok, who had allied with the rebels after their promise to aid him in his invasion of Evalon. It was a deal Kiva’s mother had struck in order to end up at Zalindov — a deal that had also promised Zuleeka as Navok’s bride, binding their two kingdoms by marriage.
Nervously eyeing the gray-clad group, Kiva wondered if she’d made a mistake in not running and hiding, consequences be damned.
“You said to get her,” Rooke answered the woman, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “You didn’t say what condition you wanted her in.”
The woman scowled, but one of her companions, the taller of the two men, interjected with an equally thick accent, “It matters not. We’ll find her something on the way.”
Kiva replayed the words, trying to make sense of them. It sounded as if . . .
But no. Surely she must have heard wrong.
“You understand that if you take her, you’ll be courting the wrath of Evalon’s new queens,” Rooke said, a threat in his voice. “They won’t take kindly to you freeing one of their most valuable prisoners.”
Kiva stared at him, then turned to gape at the gray-clad soldiers, hardly daring to hope. Were they truly there to take her away from Zalindov?
Could her freedom be within reach?
“Queen Zuleeka authorized this herself,” said the woman, still scowling at Rooke. “Kiva Corentine is required for the royal wedding. You have your orders — she’s to be released into our custody. Immediately.”
The royal wedding. Kiva was stunned to hear Zuleeka really was going through with it. She was marrying Navok, a man she’d never met, as far as Kiva knew. The new king of Mirraven was said to be cunning, perceptive, and incomparably brutal — enough that he’d killed his own father to take the throne. How could Zuleeka consent to their mother’s deal, especially if it meant tying herself to someone like that? And — perhaps more pertinently — why was she allowing Kiva to attend the celebration? Had she grown a conscience in the last two months and wanted to make amends? Had Torell found out where she’d sent Kiva and demanded her release? Was there some other reason for Zuleeka’s apparent generosity?
There was no way for Kiva to know — nor did she know why it was Mirraven soldiers who were retrieving her, and not Evalonian guards.
Nothing about this made her comfortable, but if it meant she could escape Zalindov, if it meant her freedom . . .
Kiva would be stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity. It would mean she was one step closer to seeing her friends again — and to earning their forgiveness.
Unable to believe her luck, she turned to the Warden. He was grinding his teeth loud enough for them all to hear, but he gave a jerk of his chin,
indicating his reluctant consent. His dark eyes were full of fire as he locked them with Kiva’s and said, “You’ll be back. And I’ll be waiting.”
He then signaled to the guards on gate duty, a silent order for them to stand down, before he turned and stalked away.
The Butcher followed him, but only after smirking over his shoulder at Kiva and saying, “I’ll tell your little friend goodbye for you.”
Cresta.
Kiva looked in the direction of the punishment block, even knowing it was too far away to see. After everything the ex-quarrier had done, Kiva hated the thought of abandoning Cresta, but she could do nothing as the three Mirraven soldiers ushered her through the iron gates toward the
carriage.
“I have a friend —” she tried to say.
“Quiet,” the woman snapped.
“But she —”
“You can be quiet, or I can cut off your tongue.”
Kiva turned cold, instinctively aware that the woman wasn’t bluffing.
There were numerous weapons strapped to her leathers, and the confident way in which she moved indicated she knew how to use them. Whatever orders she was following, she clearly hadn’t been told to be gentle.
Maybe Zuleeka hadn’t had a change of heart after all — not that Kiva would believe her, even if that was what she claimed when they were reunited.
Turning back just once more as she was hustled into the carriage, Kiva struggled to reconcile all she was feeling. Mostly, it was relief from her unanticipated freedom, concern about her newest captors, and sadness for leaving Cresta behind.
Of them all, relief won, but her sadness dampened it.
I’ll come back for you, she mentally vowed. I promise.
And then the carriage door sealed shut, leaving her alone in the luminium-lit space sitting opposite the taller of the two men, with the woman and the shorter man having mounted horses to ride on ahead,
leading the way out of Zalindov.
Leading Kiva to her freedom.
