CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kiva was pacing the courtyard after finishing her drink, time having slowed to a crawl. There was no sign of her siblings yet, but she couldn’t sit around waiting all day. If the innkeeper wasn’t going to come through for her, she would just have to find someone else to ask.
Decision made, Kiva threw her cloak back on, but just as she started toward the tavern doorway, heavy footsteps met her ears, and a tall figure hurried out from the darkness.
Kiva’s shoulders slumped with relief at the sight of her brother, who wasted no time in closing the distance between them.
“Are you insane?” he asked, hugging her tightly. “What were you thinking, coming all the way here?”
“Nice to see you too, Tor,” Kiva said, trying to keep the hurt from her voice.
He pulled back to look at her, his emerald eyes roaming her face, and then he renewed his embrace, sighing quietly beside her ear.
“I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “Of course I’m happy to see you. But it’s so dangerous. How did you get away from the palace? Did anyone follow you? Have you —”
Kiva drew away, unable to keep from smiling. “You were never such a worrier when we were kids.”
“I’m not a worrier now.” Torell looked pointedly at her and amended, “Except for when it comes to my baby sister, who I love more than the world and want to make sure stays safe.”
Throat tightening, Kiva noted, “I’m not much of a baby anymore.”
“You’ll always be my baby sister,” Tor argued. “Whether you’re seven or seventy, I’ll never stop wanting to protect you.” He moved a step backwards.
“Now, why did you risk coming here, Mouse? Did something happen?”
Mouse.
Little mouse.
Her father’s nickname for her.
Kiva had to blink back tears, having forgotten that Tor used to call her that as well. It took her a moment before she could respond, “Something’s wrong with me. I need to talk to you and Zulee, somewhere private.”
Torell held her gaze before he nodded and grabbed her hand, leading her back into the tavern. His skin was firm, his fingers callused, bringing Kiva’s attention to the deadly array of weapons strapped to him, just like last time.
Her brother, the warrior.
So different from the young boy who had picked wildflowers with her and chased butterflies in the meadow beside their cottage, from the child who had nursed an injured fawn back to health and declared he would spend his life aiding sick animals. There was no trace of that gentle boy in the hard young man leading Kiva through the gloomy tavern, every part of him edged and lethal. At least physically. On the inside, she still saw traces of the brother she’d always felt closest to.
The first time Kiva had used magic, it was Tor whom she had gone to for comfort, her parents having never shared about Tilda’s bloodline in the hope that none of their children would inherit her healing power. Kiva still remembered begging her mother for stories of the ancient royals Sarana Vallentis and Torvin Corentine, just as she remembered wishing for her own magic.
When the golden light had exploded out of her one day, it was Tor who had held her close as their mother finally shared her secret, warning that a target would be painted on Kiva’s back if anyone learned the truth of what she could do; it was Tor who had wiped the tears from her eyes and promised he would keep her safe, that nothing would ever happen to her.
He hadn’t been able to keep that promise. Not as a child.
But something told Kiva that the man he’d grown into would fight until his last breath if it meant protecting her from harm.
“Pull your hood up,” Torell ordered quietly as they reached the tavern exit. He dipped his chin in farewell to the barmaid, but there was no sign of the innkeeper. Kiva would just have to thank him when she returned.
“I have a mare in the stable,” she said as he led her toward a dark horse tethered to a wooden hitching post. “Should I —”
Before she could finish, Torell swung onto his mount, hauling her up behind him, her legs catching uncomfortably on his bulging saddlebags.
“Keep your face covered,” he told her, “and hold on.”
Kiva’s hood flew back as they took off at a gallop, but she didn’t dare
loosen her grip on him, certain she’d fall straight off the rear of the horse.
Reaching the edge of the village, Tor steered them away from the main road and into the dense trees, dodging branches and splashing through creeks at an alarming pace. When they finally slowed, Kiva was breathing heavily and clinging to him with a white-knuckled grip.
“Are you trying to kill us?” she cried, slapping his shoulder.
Torell had the audacity to chuckle. “Olix knows these woods inside and out. We were perfectly safe.”
“One misstep and we could have broken our necks!”
“You know I’d never let that happen,” Tor said. “Is your hood still up?”
“No, my hood isn’t up,” she gritted out. “It hasn’t been up since you tried to beat the land-speed record for fastest idiocy on horseback.”
“That’s not a thing,” Tor said, humor threading his tone. “We’re coming up to camp, and I don’t want to risk anyone seeing your face, so pull it back up.” He dug through one of his saddlebags and withdrew a silvery object, passing it back to her. “Put that on, too.”
Kiva was vaguely aware of Tor withdrawing another silvery object, keeping that one for himself, but her focus was on what she held.
Between her fingers was a mask — one made almost entirely of coiled
serpents.
Vipers, if she had to guess.
Leaning around Torell, she saw he also held a mask, his forged into a distinctly canine shape.
“The Viper and the Jackal,” Kiva mused. “They really have no idea who you are, do they?”
“We don’t trust easily,” Torell said, affixing the mask to his face. “Not even among our own.”
Kiva followed his lead, donning what must have been Zuleeka’s mask and raising her cloak again.
“It’s served us well,” Torell went on as they picked their way through the now-thinning trees. “Only those in our inner circle know our identities, the rest of the time we wear masks, even doing day-to-day work around the camps. It was Mother’s idea — all royals wear masks, she told us. But mostly she wanted Zulee and me to be able to move about the kingdom as freely as possible, not having to look over our shoulders all the time.”
There was a sad, wistful note in his voice that had Kiva giving him a gentle squeeze around his middle. She opened her mouth to offer comfort,
but the words dissolved when they reached the edge of the forest, the trees falling away to reveal an immense glade, the view beyond making her gasp quietly in amazement.
Tent after tent lined the clearing, too many for her to count, each one basic aside from some larger structures toward the center of the camp. It was in that direction Tor was steering them, with men and women of all ages calling out greetings as they rode by — addressing him as Jackal — and staring with clear adoration in their eyes.
He was their general, Kiva remembered. He’d fought with them, fought for them. Everything he did was for these people — these rebels.
Their rebels, Kiva reminded herself.
Because these were her people too, all of them devoting their lives to see her family reclaim what was stolen from their ancestor when he was nearly killed and forced into exile. For centuries, the rebel movement had slowly grown, dedicated to taking back the throne on Torvin’s behalf, but never before had they allied with any of his heirs and stood a chance at legitimately removing the Vallentis family from power.
Kiva needed to know how it had happened — how Zuleeka had become the rebel commander, how Torell had become their general. She needed to know why their mother had forsaken her own warnings about the rebels, having always claimed they could never learn that the Corentine bloodline lived on. For so long Tilda had denied her own magic to keep their family from discovery, and yet here Kiva was, at the heart of the movement her parents never, ever intended for them to join.
“Zuleeka’s in the command tent, just up ahead,” Tor said, pulling Kiva from her thoughts. “The canvas is thick enough for privacy — we can talk freely in there.”
Kiva’s palms began to sweat as they came to a halt outside the largest tent. Tor helped her slide down to the ground, dismounting after her and giving Olix a hearty pat on the neck. At his low whistle, a young boy ran over, smiling fondly at Tor before leading the horse away.
“After you,” Torell said, indicating the tent’s entrance.
Straightening her shoulders, Kiva stepped inside, noting the open space that was mostly empty aside from a long wooden table laden with papers. A map of Wenderall was strung along the canvas wall, nearly identical to the one Kiva had seen in the Royal Council room. Movement caught her eye, and she turned to find Zuleeka sipping from a steaming mug, watching her
closely. There was no sign of surprise in her blank features. No sign of warmth, either, especially when she said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Stung, Kiva unfastened her mask and shot back, “If you’d hit me much harder the other night, I wouldn’t be anywhere.”
Torell stopped beside her, removing his own mask to reveal his puzzled expression. “What’s this about?”
Zuleeka didn’t answer him, and despite still being upset about the head wound, Kiva didn’t want to tattle on her sister. Only two days ago she’d decided to try harder at mending what had broken between them, and she was determined to follow through on that — even if they weren’t off to a promising start.
“Nothing,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of time. I came from Vallenia with a friend, and she’s meeting me back at the tavern in a few hours.”
“A friend?” Zuleeka raised a dark eyebrow. “From the palace?”
“Of course not,” Kiva said. “I’m not stupid.”
She didn’t appreciate the way her sister’s mouth twitched into a smirk, so she ignored Zuleeka entirely and walked over to the table, resting the serpentine mask on its surface and taking a seat. Tor followed and sat beside her, with Zuleeka only doing the same after a firm look from him — but not without rolling her honey-gold eyes, as if she was horribly inconvenienced by Kiva’s visit.
“What brings you to see us, little sister?” Zuleeka drawled. “Feeling homesick? Wanted a cuddle?”
Kiva’s good intentions evaporated swiftly at her sister’s passive aggression. “What’s your problem with me? We’re on the same side. You can cut the attitude.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuleeka said, swirling her tea.
“I’m delighted to see you. You’ve made my week.”
Torell sighed wearily and muttered something too low for Kiva to hear.
Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself that she had no idea what Zuleeka had been through in the last ten years. While she couldn’t imagine that it compared to being abandoned inside a death prison, there were many different kinds of hell a person could live through.
Focusing on her task, she considered why she was there, debating where — and how — to begin. There was so much she needed to tell them, but she couldn’t keep her own curiosity contained a moment longer.
“I’d like to know about Mother,” Kiva said. “How did she end up at
Zalindov? How did you end up with the rebels? What happened after — that night?”
Zuleeka snorted. “Look at you, risking your life for a story. Figures.”
“I’m not risking my life.”
“No, just all our lives.” Zuleeka’s humor fled so fast that Kiva realized it had never been there to begin with. “Did you think of that before you tore off out of Vallenia? Did you give a damn about anyone but yourself? You were never this selfish when we were younger, but I guess ten years of putting yourself before everyone else leaves a mark.”
“Zuleeka,” Tor snapped. “That’s enough.”
Kiva tried not to show how much her sister’s words hurt, how unfair they were. A lump lodged in her throat, but she spoke around it to say, “I came here because I’m having trouble controlling my magic, and I need your help to keep from getting caught.” She swallowed. “But I’m also not leaving until you tell me about Mother. I deserve to know the truth.” She didn’t mention the Royal Council meeting, unwilling to reveal all her cards without first getting something in return.
“What’s wrong with your magic?” Tor asked, concern flooding his face.
Kiva shook her head. “You first.”
Seeing the serious set of her features, he yielded. “The night the soldiers came, we fled to a cottage in the mountains. There were people inside waiting for us. Rebels.”
“But the rebels never knew about our family,” Kiva argued. “Mama and Papa were so careful to —”
“They didn’t know anything for sure, but they’d been chasing rumors for years, one of which eventually led them to us in Riverfell. Their leader at the time, a man named Galdric, had already approached our parents in the marketplace, but Mother and Father had laughed away his claims.” The corded muscles in Tor’s arms tightened. “The night that . . . everything happened . . . Mother took us straight to Galdric and offered to join the rebel
cause in exchange for one thing.”
“What thing?” Kiva whispered.
It was Zuleeka who answered, uttering one word. “Vengeance.”
Unbidden, the memory of Kerrin being stabbed flooded Kiva’s mind, followed by Faran being dragged away by the Royal Guard. She pushed the images away, even knowing they would never leave her completely.
“Over the next few years, we stayed with Galdric and his closest
confidants, moving from safe house to safe house, with them plotting and planning and scheming with Mother,” Tor went on. “We learned to fight, to protect ourselves. And Mother —” His voice caught. “Mother started using her magic publicly, no longer caring who might discover us.”
“Skip ahead, Tor,” Zuleeka said, still swishing her tea. “She doesn’t need a history lesson.”
“Feel free to jump in at any time,” Torell shot back.
Zuleeka sent him a sickly sweet smile. “But you’re doing such a good job.”
Kiva looked closely at her siblings, noting the unmistakable tension between them. A decade ago, they’d been close — not as close as Kiva and Tor, but close enough to love each other dearly. This strain between them, this anger . . . Kiva had no idea what might have caused it.
“Eventually, they decided that it was time for Mother to take over leadership from Galdric,” Torell told Kiva. “She had Corentine blood, she was their rightful ruler. Our rightful ruler,” he corrected. “Galdric remained her closest adviser, but she had final say over everything the rebels did. Up until then, our numbers had been slowly growing as whispers spread about the return of Torvin’s heir, but Mother was restless and wanted things to move faster. Once the reins were in her hands, she started a campaign for active recruitment, with rebels going from village to village, encouraging people to follow her cause. Our cause.” Another quick correction.
Kiva caught on to his word choice and asked, “When you say ‘encouraging’ . . . ?”
Torell looked across the tent, not meeting her eyes. “She did what she had to do. We did what we had to do.”
Their attacks grew bolder, to the point that they became openly hostile, causing damage to villages and loss of life to those who stood against them.
Kiva swallowed at the memory of Jaren’s words from two days ago.
“You hurt people,” she whispered. “Killed people.”
“Only if they tried to hurt us first,” Zuleeka said, inspecting her fingernails. “They got what they asked for.” She met Kiva’s stricken gaze, her own eyes cold. “Wars aren’t won without sacrifice, little sister. Anyone who stands against us is our enemy — and enemies don’t deserve mercy.
Why should we care about them when they don’t care about us?”
But Zuleeka was wrong. Kiva knew at least one person who did care — about all his people, including the rebels.
“Did Mother ever consider that maybe there was another way?” Kiva asked, her voice rough. “That innocent people didn’t have to suffer in her quest for vengeance?”
“Innocent?” Zuleeka barked out a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with your handsome prince. It doesn’t take much, does it? Baby blue eyes and tousled golden hair, and you’re ready to give up everything we’ve worked for.”
“You’ve worked for,” Kiva said tightly. “Everything you’ve worked for.
Because in case you forgot, I was locked away that whole time, having no idea what was happening.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” Zuleeka said darkly. “You got to sit back and relax for a decade while we gave every part of ourselves to the cause. Our blood, our sweat, our tears, all for you.”
Kiva spluttered. “Sit back and re — ” She broke off quickly. “What do you mean, ‘all for me’?”
“Oh, please, as if you haven’t figured it out,” Zuleeka scoffed.
“Figured what out?”
“That Mother is dead because of you.”
Kiva felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “What?” she breathed.
“Zu —”
“No, Tor,” Zuleeka interrupted, slicing her eyes to him. “If she’s so desperate for answers, then she can deal with the consequences.”
A muscle feathered in Torell’s cheek, but he didn’t try to stop her again.
Turning back to the white-faced Kiva, Zuleeka said, “Mother was sick. A rotting illness, something we couldn’t find a cure for. She could heal anyone else in seconds, but her magic never worked on herself. The infection spread slowly, over years, something none of us realized until it was too late.”
Kiva closed her eyes, remembering how Tilda had arrived at Zalindov, a mere shell of a human.
“When the end was near, she became obsessed with freeing you. She was convinced that you should be the one to take over as Rebel Queen,” Zuleeka went on, her features grim. “But Galdric and the other leaders knew Zalindov was too well fortified and the risk was too great. Once, they might have led the rescue themselves, since Mother spent years talking about how powerful you were, even as a child. All along, they’d intended for her to take the throne and you to be her heir — the Corentine blood in your veins was undeniable. But as Tor rose through the ranks to become general, and as I
earned the respect of Galdric and his peers, they decided that we were enough to lead in Mother’s place, even without your supposedly immeasurable magic. The rebel leaders knew we were Torvin’s descendants, they didn’t require anything more to see us on the throne. But Mother —” Zuleeka looked away. “The sicker she became, the more determined she was to see you one last time.”
Kiva was having trouble breathing. “I was told she was captured in
Mirraven.”
“She was,” Tor said, his voice thick.
“But only because she walked right into Zadria and knocked on the castle gates,” Zuleeka said. “King Navok was more than happy to make a deal with the Rebel Queen, knowing how much it would piss off the Vallentis family — and how desperate they were to get their hands on her. In return, he only had to make it so the negotiations between kingdoms resolved with her heading to Zalindov. To you.”
In a hoarse voice, Kiva shared, “But I didn’t get to speak with her. Not really. She was so sick when she arrived. And she was — she was blind. You said she wanted to see me, but she —” Kiva sucked in a quick, painful breath and looked down at the table. “She didn’t get to see me.”
“No, she didn’t,” Zuleeka said. “And you didn’t save her.”
Kiva looked up again sharply. “I —”
“— healed some random child instead.” Zuleeka sneered. “Well done, sis. Way to put your family first.”
“No.” Kiva shook her head. “No, that’s not — Tipp isn’t — It was too late. I wasn’t there when she died. There was nothing I could do. I can’t — I can’t bring back the dead.”
“And what about Father?” Zuleeka shot back. “Were you in the middle of an Ordeal when he died, too?”
Kiva turned to Torell, who looked like he was about to jump in and rescue her, but he hesitated, the grief on his face raw as he waited to hear what she would say.
“Papa made me promise,” Kiva whispered. “I swore not to use my magic.
Not even on him.”
“And now both our parents are dead, and some boy — sorry, Tipp — is alive and well?” Zuleeka said. “Sounds fair.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Tor finally stepped in, though his words were quiet.
Ignoring him, Zuleeka kept her burning gaze on Kiva and said, “One decision, that’s all it would have taken. What’s the point of having magic if you’re too afraid to use it?”
Tears prickled Kiva’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She had been afraid. She was still afraid. But even so, when the time had come to act, she’d put Tipp’s life before her own, unable to watch as he — “Wait, how do you know about Tipp?” Kiva asked, her voice thick. “No one else was in the infirmary.” No one but Tilda, who was already dead.
Zuleeka drew a finger along the rim of her mug. “One of my rebel contacts inside Zalindov was under orders to protect Mother until we could rescue her. When the riot broke out, she hurried to the infirmary, but someone else beat her there. She saw the boy on the ground in a pool of blood, knew it was a mortal wound. But later she saw you running toward the front gate with him in your arms. She thought you were being sentimental, had no idea you were escaping with him in tow.” Zuleeka paused. “My spies at the palace confirmed the appearance of the kid, but they said he was perfectly healthy. It was easy enough for me to put two and two together.”
There was a lot to unpack there, but Kiva only asked, “Your contact inside — are you talking about Cresta Voss?”
Zuleeka nodded. “She’s doing great things for our cause, even behind those walls.”
“Pity she’s stuck in there until she dies,” Kiva muttered under her breath.
She and Cresta had never seen eye to eye, despite her having saved the antagonistic quarrier’s life shortly after her arrival at Zalindov. “You know she hates me, right?” Kiva said, louder. “She threatened Tipp’s life, said she would kill him if I didn’t keep Mother alive.”
Zuleeka shrugged. “She didn’t know who you were. And she was just following orders.”
Kiva clenched her teeth. “I didn’t need the extra motivation. I never would have let Mother —” She broke off at the triumphant look on her sister’s face.
“Die?” Zuleeka offered. “You never would have let Mother die?”
“Let’s move on,” Tor interjected before Kiva could raise another defense.
He looked to her and said, “You have your answers, Mouse. Now —”
“Wait,” Kiva cut in. “The other night, you told me you came to rescue us.”
Tor nodded slowly. “I tried, yes. Until we were called back.”
“But what about this Galdric you mentioned? You said he wouldn’t let Mother risk any rebels coming to free me, so what made him change his mind?”
“He didn’t.” Tor’s face darkened with sorrow. “When Mother decided to go to Mirraven, she didn’t tell anyone. She took off in the night, leaving only a short note explaining where she was going, and why. From what we’ve managed to piece together, Galdric was the first to realize she was gone, and he went after her, probably trying to stop her. But he — he never came back.
All we found was his cloak, covered in blood.” Tor’s throat bobbed. “Too much blood.”
Kiva sat back. “You think — she killed him?”
Tor looked down at his hands. “She wasn’t in her right mind, toward the end.”
That was all he said. But Kiva heard the heartache in every word, enough to know Galdric had meant a lot to her brother, and Tilda’s actions, unwitting or not, had caused him deep pain.
She reached for his hand and wound their fingers together, offering the only comfort she could. And then she recalled what he’d said — that she had her answers now, even if she didn’t like what she’d heard.
“Thank you,” she said to them both, barely recognizing her own voice.
“For telling me.”
Zuleeka avoided her eyes, but at least Kiva now understood why her sister seemed to hate her so much.
She blamed Kiva for their mother’s death.
It was unfair, but Kiva knew grief made people do, think, and say things they otherwise wouldn’t. She also knew there was no point in trying to convince Zuleeka that she’d had no control over Tilda’s actions — nor would she have endorsed them if given the choice.
“It’s your turn now,” Tor said, pulling Kiva from her dejected thoughts.
“What’s going on with your magic? Tell us everything.”
