Chapter Seven
Brynn was waiting in Kiva’s bedroom when Navok pushed her through the door and left without saying anything.
Clearly, her husband-to-be wasn’t interested in wooing her, but Kiva already knew he only wanted her for one thing — a blood tie to Evalon’s throne. Or perhaps two things, as he seemed to think she was a weapon he could wield against her sister. That wasn’t going to work in his favor. She was almost tempted to linger at Blackmount if only to witness his inevitable confrontation with Zuleeka — but that temptation was nowhere near strong enough for her to risk having to marry him. No, Kiva’s priority was to escape the castle and put as much distance between herself and Mirraven as possible.
“You’re very pale, Lady — uh, Kiva,” Brynn said, rushing to meet Kiva in the doorway and guiding her toward the bed. Her silvery gaze was alert — and concerned — as she asked, “Did he hurt you?”
Kiva was both curious and alarmed by the question. Brynn had warned that Navok was known for his temper, but the idea of him being physically violent hadn’t crossed Kiva’s mind.
“No, I’m fine,” she answered, slumping down onto the velvety blankets and resisting the urge to hug a cushion in comfort. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on her feelings, or to wonder why her mother had offered her to Navok on a platter. Her emotions and questions could come later — what she needed now was a plan.
She also needed Brynn to leave, since despite her intuition saying she could trust the maid, the danger of her being an informant was too high.
Sensing that Brynn was about to ask what had happened in Navok’s receiving room, Kiva quickly said, “It’s been a long day. I’d like to be alone.”
Brynn grimaced down at the blood-red carpet. “I’m sorry, but Madam Merit told me to remain with you. Just in case you need anything in the night.” She indicated a pallet Kiva hadn’t noticed, set up on the far side of
the lavish room. “I promise you won’t know I’m here — unless you call for me.”
No wonder Kiva hadn’t been locked in her quarters, something she’d wondered both times she’d been left there. Brynn would know the moment she tried to sneak out.
Kiva muttered a curse, but then made herself take a deep breath, mentally acknowledging that it was late and her mind was too knotted to figure anything out right now. She still needed to speak with Galdric tomorrow, so she would have to wait until after that to make a move anyway, and then . . .
Then, what? Kiva asked herself. Even if she did escape Blackmount Castle — which the female guard had said was impossible — what was her next move? She needed to return to Evalon, but she might as well try to reach the moon for how far away her home kingdom seemed.
“Begging your pardon,” Brynn said, cutting into Kiva’s grim thoughts, “but I —” She stopped herself with a sheepish look, before trying again.
“I’ve been told I’m far too curious for a maid. It’s my worst trait.” She fiddled with her fingers, then summoned the courage to ask, “You didn’t know about the marriage, did you? You asked earlier when their wedding was. You didn’t realize it was yours.”
The maid might be curious, but she was also shrewd.
“I had no idea,” Kiva admitted. “I thought he was marrying my sister.”
“It’s good news, though, isn’t it?” Brynn asked, her words sounding hopeful but her expression strangely piercing. “You’re a Corentine. Your family now rules Evalon. Marrying King Navok will join the two kingdoms by blood.”
Kiva shook her head wearily. “I told you earlier — my sister stole the crown. It doesn’t belong to us. The sooner the Vallentis family is back on the throne, the better. And trust me, the last thing I want is to marry someone like Navok. He can scheme as much as he wants, but I’ll never help him take Evalon.” Kiva shut her mouth quickly, remembering who she was speaking with, but then realized it didn’t matter. Navok already knew her feelings — airing them to the maid couldn’t make her situation any worse.
Brynn’s gaze remained piercing, and she eyed Kiva for a long moment, before declaring, “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“With every part of me.” Kiva scrubbed a hand over her face. “I’m tired, Brynn. Can we not —”
“Of course. I apologize,” the maid said, hurrying to the wardrobe and returning with a clean set of nightclothes. “I’ll turn down the bed for you.
You’ll need your rest for all that’s ahead.”
Brynn had no idea. But as much as Kiva wanted a fresh mind for the challenges of the next day, after she slipped beneath the blankets, it still took hours of tossing and turning before she finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
A loud pounding on the door woke Kiva the next morning. She shot up in bed, feeling as if she’d barely had a minute’s sleep, her thoughts like cobwebs.
Through hazy eyes, she watched Brynn hurry to answer it, but the door swung open before she reached it and King Navok walked straight through.
Kiva had a split second to consider her reaction. Feeling vulnerable in bed, she wanted to stand, but she recalled her silky attire and hated the thought of being on display before him. She tugged the blankets up to her chin, shooting him a glare that told him exactly what she thought of his early morning visit.
Brynn, Kiva noticed, had pressed herself into the wall, her gaze lowered and her posture tense, as if she hoped to melt into the nearest tapestry. Kiva
wanted to do the same herself.
“You’re still in bed,” Navok observed.
Even knowing it was unwise, Kiva couldn’t help baiting him. “Am I?
Are you sure?”
The king was no less attractive in the light of day, even while scowling at her. “Get up,” he ordered. He spun on his heel and called over his shoulder, “If you’re not in the throne room in half an hour, I’ll return for you. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”
He disappeared out the door, gone as fast as he’d appeared.
Kiva released a shaky breath, then pulled herself out of bed as Brynn approached.
“I should have woken you,” the maid said, wringing her hands. “But you had such trouble sleeping, and I —”
“It’s not your fault,” Kiva assured her. “Do you know what he wants?
The wedding” — she choked on the word — “isn’t until tomorrow.”
Brynn gathered fresh clothes for Kiva and bustled her into the bathing chamber. “It could be anything. His sister and Prince Voshell are due to return today. Perhaps they’re already here and he wishes for you to meet them?”
Kiva hoped that was it. She was curious about the royals, especially the woman Mirryn had fallen in love with. But even so, the disruption would be costly. Every minute she lost was another it would take for her to find a way to flee the castle.
Brynn was efficient in helping Kiva don another gown, this one black.
The material clung to her flesh, emphasizing the curves she was slowly beginning to regain and the hint of muscle she was working to build.
“Are there any normal clothes I could wear?” Kiva asked, frowning at yet another lewd slit up her leg. Aside from that, she was grateful not to have as much flesh on display this time, though the bodice did stretch diagonally across her chest and up over one of her shoulders, leaving the other bare.
“I’m sorry,” Brynn said. “His Majesty —”
Kiva sighed. “Let me guess: he chose it himself.”
“Just wait until you see what he picked for your wedding gown,” the maid muttered, her tone full of disgust as she began working on Kiva’s hair.
The words prompted a sick feeling inside Kiva, but the way they were said gave her pause. “You don’t like Navok much, do you?”
Instead of looking afraid and jumping to his defense, Brynn surprised Kiva by snorting. “He’s not the kind of person who inspires likability. Not even his sister enjoys his company, and she’s the sweetest, kindest person you’ll ever meet. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about him, then nothing will.”
Kiva’s respect for the maid was growing by the second. Carefully, she asked, “You said last night that you’ve only been here for a few months.
Has he . . . done anything to make you have that opinion of him?”
Brynn stilled her fingers and shifted around to meet Kiva’s eyes. “No, nothing like that.” She indicated her maid’s outfit. “Dressed like this, I might as well be a piece of the furniture. I could be his long-lost mother and he wouldn’t know because he’s never deigned to so much as look at me. In his mind, servants are beneath him, so he treats us as such — like we don’t exist.” Her eyes turned mischievous as she shared, “There have been too many times when I’ve been cleaning his rooms and he’s continued
meetings, unaware that I was even there. You would not believe the things I’ve heard.”
As if she hadn’t just admitted to having potentially treasonous knowledge, Brynn returned to Kiva’s hair, styling it into a complicated updo with glittery beads placed intricately among the layers.
“Isn’t it a bit . . . much?” Kiva asked weakly, looking in the mirror.
“You’re betrothed to a king,” Brynn said, hustling her from the bathing chamber back into the bedroom, where a breakfast platter brimming with fruits and pastries had been delivered. “This is nothing.”
Kiva pulled a face before turning to the food. She had no appetite, but since her plans that day included escape, she knew she should fuel up for the long journey back to Evalon.
Ignoring her queasy stomach, she consumed a full meal, finishing only when Brynn declared it was time to leave. The maid then guided her through the castle once more, both of them remaining silent as they walked, lost in their own thoughts.
“Any warnings this time?” Kiva asked as they approached a large set of gilded doors, with yet another pair of Gray Guards standing like statues on either side.
Instead of answering, Brynn touched a finger to the amulet Kiva wore around her neck — a bold move on Kiva’s part, since the king had already expressed his displeasure regarding it. But he’d given her until their wedding to wear it, and she didn’t care if she was flaunting her true loyalties in his face.
“I’ve heard tales about the Vallentis crest,” Brynn said. “Claims that it can hold protective magic.”
“It can,” Kiva confirmed. “But it’s drained. There’s no power in it right now.”
Brynn’s face tightened. “Then to answer your question: all the warnings I gave you last night, and any others you can think of. Navok might look pretty, but he’s dangerous, and whatever he wants with you . . .” The maid shook her head. “Just be careful, Kiva. He won’t tolerate disobedience, not even from his betrothed.”
Seeing Brynn’s serious expression, Kiva’s stomach clenched.
“You’d better get in there,” the maid said, though she looked unhappy about leaving Kiva alone. “I’ll be waiting in your room when you’re done.”
While Kiva appreciated the solidarity, her mind jumped to the possibility of sneaking away between seeing Navok and returning to her quarters. Perhaps she could offer an excuse to her guard escort, and then — Galdric, Kiva remembered, swearing inwardly. She still needed to visit the dungeons before she could leave.
Foiled for now, she turned from Brynn and walked toward the Gray Guards, who opened the doors at her gesture. Her insides fluttered as she strode down a scarlet carpet runner that covered black marble tiles and traveled the length of the room, all the way up to a raised obsidian dais holding a crimson-and-silver throne. Numerous banners hung from the ceiling, each with a red background and a black panther standing on its hind legs, claws striking and teeth snarling. On the wall behind the throne was the Kildarion crest: the same panther paired with its mirror opposite, both facing a shield with two swords crossed in the center. Large arched windows interrupted the other walls, all looking down the mountain toward the city. The view captured Kiva’s attention for the briefest of moments before her eyes locked with Navok’s, the king seated on his throne and watching her every move.
“You took your time,” he said when she halted in front of him.
She held his gaze — and didn’t curtsey. “I’m not late.”
Navok didn’t move, one elbow resting casually on the arm of the crimson velvet, his fist pressed to his cheek, his legs stretched out in front of him. Despite his relaxed posture, there was a tension about him, enough that Kiva instinctively backed up a step.
A smile curled his lips, as if her reaction pleased him.
“I want to see what you can do,” he said. “Show me.”
Kiva blinked. “Pardon?”
Navok waved a hand toward her. “Your magic,” he clarified. “I wish to see it. Now.”
A disbelieving laugh bubbled up from Kiva. “Just like that?”
The king’s brown eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask again.”
Kiva’s humor fled, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you
injured? Sick?”
“No.”
“Then what, pray tell, would you have me heal?” Her voice revealed how foolish she thought his request was.
Navok’s expression darkened. “Last chance, my bride.”
Kiva scowled and couldn’t keep from snapping, “Don’t call me that.
And I’m not going to use my magic for you. Even if I wanted to — which I don’t — that’s not how it works.”
The king rose and moved toward her so fast that she scrambled away, but he was quicker, grabbing her forearm and ending her retreat. His grip was like a steel band around her flesh, enough that she whimpered, feeling her bones crunch together.
“We don’t know each other well yet, so let me make something clear,” he said, leaning in close to hiss the words into her ear. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. You don’t argue — you obey. Is that understood?”
His fingers tightened enough that tears burned Kiva’s eyes, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to let him see her pain.
“I asked you a question.” His voice was low, menacing. “Answer me.”
Despite the fear flooding her, Kiva replied, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to argue?” She knew it was unwise, but she’d faced too much in her life to be bullied by a power-hungry king. Navok was to be her husband — regardless that she had no intention of going through with the marriage — and misguided or not, he’d already admitted to needing her for his inevitable confrontation with Zuleeka. That meant she should be safe from him, relatively speaking.
Hearing her response, the king released her, affording her a moment of
smug satisfaction.
But then he raised his arm — And backhanded her across the face.
There was so much power behind his blow that Kiva cried out and fell to her knees, her hand coming up to cover her cheek, her eyes watering all over again. Vaguely, she noticed the handprint-shaped bruise already blossoming on her forearm, but her more immediate concern was the throbbing beneath her eye, the skin over her cheekbone instantly beginning
to stretch and swell.
“Get up,” Navok ordered, merciless.
Kiva bit her tongue to keep from saying something that would make her
situation worse, and shakily stood.
“Now, heal yourself,” he commanded.
Kiva shook her head, not because she was denying him again — she wasn’t stupid — but because her magic wouldn’t work on her own body. “I can’t. It won’t —”
“You still refuse me?” Navok interrupted, incredulous. He didn’t wait for her reply before moving back to his throne. There, he rang a bell, then took his seat again, before saying, “It would seem you need more motivation.”
The look on his face told Kiva that he was past the point of listening even if she tried to explain. She wondered how far she would get if she attempted to flee the throne room. But before she could take a single step, the doors opened and a man walked through them, his skin and hair dark, his eyes like bottomless black pits.
“Tua Carem,” the man greeted the king in Mirravish, bowing deep. Like Navok, he wore black from head to toe, but unlike the king, whose outfit was formal and edged with crimson embroidery, the man’s attire was more like the leather armor Naari would wear, only without any visible weapons.
“Geh nerro eh jakoweh ken darra?”
“Rise,” Navok told him in the common tongue. To Kiva, Navok said, his voice conversational enough that it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d just struck her, “This is Xuru. He has a particular skill set that I find valuable when it comes to my enemies. And, it would seem, my disobedient bride.”
Kiva swallowed, wondering again whether she should risk fleeing. But Navok anticipated her thoughts and called to his Gray Guards, summoning them into the room and ordering them to stand beside the inner doors, blocking her escape.
The king then spoke to Xuru in a string of Mirravish. The look of anticipation that filled the new man’s features caused a coil of apprehension to twist in Kiva’s middle.
Turning back to Kiva, Navok said, “My patience has run out. Show me your magic, or you’ll leave me no choice but to force it from you.”
Good luck with that, Kiva thought, but she knew better than to speak this time, and only nodded and raised her hands. She wouldn’t be able to heal herself, but she could still obey his request and show him proof of her magic, thereby avoiding Xuru and his “skill set.”
But . . . Kiva had never tried to summon her power without needing to heal someone. And the last time she’d attempted it — to heal Cresta in the Abyss — nothing had happened.
Now wasn’t the time to doubt herself, so she clenched her jaw against the pain radiating down her face and called to the magic in her blood. Just a
hint of golden light — that’s all she needed to show him. Then he would leave her alone.
Sweat trickled down Kiva’s spine as she sought to draw her power out, but it was as if it was ignoring her, refusing to rise to the surface. Almost like it knew there was nothing to heal — or even if there was, that it wanted no part in it.
Please, Kiva whispered inwardly, dreading what the king might have Xuru do to her if she didn’t comply. Please.
It felt like a century passed while she tried to coax her power out, to no effect. She was just about to offer some pleading excuse to Navok, when suddenly, she felt it. A tingling in her fingertips, a warming of her hands, and then the slightest tinge of golden light glimmering from her palms. It was nothing compared to the blinding radiance of a full healing, but it was evidence that she had magic, and she looked triumphantly at the king before
it spluttered out into nothing.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that it?”
Kiva remained silent, unwilling to court his wrath again.
“Your mother claimed you were powerful. Incomparably so. And you give me, what? A little bit of a glow?” Navok snorted. “Pathetic.” He jerked his chin at Xuru, speaking to him in Mirravish again, then turned back to Kiva and finished, “Seems you need that motivation after all.”
That was the only warning Kiva received before Xuru raised his hands and thrust them forward. She would have thought the move ridiculous, if not for the fireball that appeared out of nowhere and shot toward her.
Three thoughts came to Kiva as the flames reached her:
Xuru had elemental magic.
He was an anomaly.
And she was burning.
