CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kiva took her time explaining about her uncontrolled magic bursts and her fears of it happening around the royals. When she was done, silence fell in the command tent as her siblings considered her troubles.
“Did Mother ever mention anything like this happening to her?” Kiva asked. “She spent years repressing her magic. If this is a side effect of that —”
“She didn’t repress it,” Tor said. When Kiva made to argue, he went on, “She just hid it from the rest of us. Even from Father.”
“Little magics, she called it,” Zuleeka said, her earlier antagonism having faded as she’d listened to Kiva, as if releasing her anger had eased something inside her. Now there was only a thoughtful expression on her face, no sneer in sight. “When she started strengthening her power to help our cause, she told us she’d been using it all along, just in small ways. A bruise here, a scratch there, always when we were asleep or distracted. She said she’d never been able to stop entirely, that the magic in her wouldn’t allow itself to be silenced.”
Kiva rubbed her forehead. “If that’s true, how was I able to silence mine for a decade?”
“Perhaps your magic is weaker than hers was?” Tor suggested.
Zuleeka’s eyes were calculating. “Or stronger. There was a reason she thought you should be her heir.”
There was a bitter note in Zuleeka’s voice that Kiva carefully ignored.
“You want to know what I think?” her sister continued. She didn’t wait for Kiva to answer. “I think your magic is angry that you locked it away for so long, and these uncontrolled bursts are its way of demanding your attention. I think you need to listen to it, you need to use it.”
Kiva leaned forward and hissed, “I’m sleeping three doors away from Jaren Vallentis. I can’t listen to it. I need it to stop.” As suddenly as it had arrived, the fight left her, and she slumped in her seat. “Please. If you know anything . . .” Whispering, she repeated, “I need it to stop.”
Torell was looking at her with compassion, but Zuleeka still wore a calculating expression.
“There is one possibility,” she said slowly. “Someone who might be able to help.”
“Who?” Kiva croaked, willing to beg if needed.
Tor’s face cleared with understanding. He shook his head firmly at Zuleeka. “Absolutely not. Are you crazy?”
Inexplicably, an amused smile stretched across her mouth. “I’m not.”
“But she is — and then some.” Tor shook his head again.
“If you have a better suggestion . . .” Zuleeka goaded, arching an eyebrow.
Kiva interrupted to ask, “Does someone want to fill me in?”
Tor pinched the bridge of his nose, but he waved a hand at Zuleeka, indicating for her to go ahead. She did, offering two nonsensical words.
“Nanna Delora.”
Kiva blinked. “Nanna who?”
“Our grandmother,” Zuleeka explained. “Mama’s mother. Delora Corentine.”
Kiva froze, having had no idea they even had any living relatives, let alone on the Corentine side.
“She has magic. Had magic,” Zuleeka corrected. “If anyone knows how to repress it, it’s her.”
“She’s also a raving lunatic,” Torell stated. “Mother took us to see her once, right after we joined the rebels. She wanted to retrieve a family heirloom, but Nanna Delora took one look at us and screamed that we were interrupting her book club. She slammed the door in our faces, yelling that if she ever saw us again, she’d ride to Vallenia and turn us all in.”
Kiva stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “What family heirloom?”
“A dagger,” Zuleeka answered, frowning into her now-cold tea. “Torvin Corentine’s dagger, passed down from generation to generation. It was known far and wide as a symbol of his reign. When Mother decided to lead the rebels, she knew having that dagger would help solidify her position, offering proof of her — our — bloodline. But Delora refused to part with it.”
“She’s an apothecary,” Tor shared. “My guess is that she’s spitting on our ancestors by using that dagger as her work blade. You know how apothecaries are — they bond with their blades and never let them go. Some
even ask to be buried with them.” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and said to Zuleeka, “This isn’t a good idea. You and I may not have magic, but there has to be someone else who can help.”
“Delora might be difficult, but she’s Kiva’s best bet,” Zuleeka argued.
“Where do I find her?”
Both Torell and Zuleeka turned at her question. Seeing the serious look on her face, Tor said, “We won’t be able to go with you. She made it very clear that we weren’t welcome to return.”
“I got that, what with her threatening you,” Kiva said. “But I don’t need a babysitter. Just directions.”
“She might not help you,” Tor warned. “She wanted nothing to do with —”
“Tor, please,” Kiva interrupted quietly. “I have to try.”
“She lives in a cottage at the edge of the Crewlling Swamplands, just beyond the Wildemeadow,” Zuleeka said, ignoring Tor’s disapproving look.
“There’s a small settlement nearby called Blackwater Bog — you can find it on any map. Head there and ask the first person you see about Murkwood Cottage. They’ll point you straight to her.”
“Thank you,” Kiva said with deep gratitude.
“Kiva —”
“I’ll keep my expectations low,” she interrupted Tor. “But if there’s even a chance that she can help me, I have to go to her.”
She could see how much he hated this plan, but he finally offered a terse nod and said, “Just — be careful. Delora is unpredictable. And she has a very unusual guard dog. The kind you don’t want biting you.”
Hearing Zuleeka’s snort, Kiva decided it was better not to ask.
“I need to go back to Oakhollow soon,” she said. “Rhess knows I’m meeting you, but I still think I should be back before she returns to the tavern.”
“Rhess?” Zuleeka asked, her eyes flitting to Tor in question. But he hadn’t met her, having arrived at the Tippled Boar long after she’d left.
“Rhessinda Lorin,” Kiva answered. “A healer from Silverthorn. She does house calls in the village, and when she heard I wanted to come here, she offered to be my guide.”
“You’re meeting all kinds of people lately, aren’t you?” Zuleeka murmured.
“Not really,” Kiva returned with a hint of attitude. “So far I’ve been too
busy getting abducted by my own family, tortured by a prince, and befriended by a queen who unknowingly ruined my life. That doesn’t leave me much time to socialize.”
Tor leaned in close, his eyes suddenly blazing. “What do you mean, ‘tortured by a prince’?”
Kiva quickly put him at ease. “Caldon has been teaching me to fight. Or that’s the intention. For now, he’s just making me regret my last ten years of malnutrition and inactivity.”
Tor’s tension dissolved. “You’re training with Prince Caldon?”
“Being tortured,” Kiva reminded him. “I’m being tortured by Caldon.”
“What a waste of time,” Zuleeka said with clear humor. “The only weapon you’ll ever need is right at your fingertips.”
Kiva looked down at her palms. “Magic isn’t a weapon.” She thought of what the Vallentis family could do, and added, “Mine isn’t, at least.”
“Magic is what you make it,” Zuleeka argued. “It’s a tool you bend to your will.”
“Weapons hurt people,” Kiva said. “My magic heals people.”
“You said yourself that you’ve been repressing it for a decade. You have no idea what it can do. What you can do.”
Before Kiva could say anything to that, Tor cut in.
“There’s no point to this conversation,” he said, with a firm look at Zuleeka. “If you want to be back at the tavern before Rhessinda, we should get going.”
He started to rise, but Kiva pulled him back down.
“I didn’t say that so we’d leave immediately,” she said. “I have more to tell you.”
Both Zuleeka and Torell straightened, giving her their full attention.
“I —” Kiva started, but for some reason, she had trouble continuing.
“Don’t rush, we have all day,” Zuleeka drawled.
Tor shot her a look, then said to Kiva, “Take your time. Gather your thoughts.”
At his encouragement, Kiva decided to jump straight in. “The throne can’t be taken by force.”
“What makes you say that?” Zuleeka asked, her gaze sharp.
“I don’t know how many rebels there are, but it won’t make a difference — the palace is too defensible,” Kiva said. She made a split second decision not to mention the secret tunnel entrance, since it wasn’t as if they could
sneak the entire rebel force through without gaining attention. Or that was what she tried to tell herself, if only to lessen her guilt. “Even if you managed to overcome the Royal Guard, the armies would be recalled, and they’d just take the throne right back again.”
“I assume you meant to say ‘we,’” Zuleeka said dryly.
Kiva ignored her and went on, “The only way to truly take and keep the crown is through legitimacy. The citizens of Evalon won’t accept you — us — unless they’re given a reason that can’t be ignored. Something lawful, something just. Either that, or willful public abdication by the Vallentis family. But we all know that’s never going to happen.”
“Lawful and just,” Zuleeka repeated thoughtfully. Dark amusement lit her features as she asked, “How do you feel about marrying a prince, little sister?
Is that legitimate enough for you?”
Kiva jerked backwards in her seat, her reaction just as violent as when Councilwoman Zerra had asked Jaren about his intentions. But it wasn’t the thought of marrying him that was so appalling — no, it was the thought of betraying him so thoroughly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Torell snapped at Zuleeka, to Kiva’s relief. “We’re not forcing our sister to marry anyone. That’s not happening.” When Zuleeka raised her hands in surrender, Tor told Kiva, “Our numbers are strong, but you’re right — we’ll never win the kingdom by a show of force. And frankly, I don’t think we’d deserve it if we did.”
Zuleeka tapped a fingernail against her mug. “It seems we have a new task for you, little sister. Find us a legitimate way to take the throne, something that will make Evalon accept us as their new rulers without contention.”
“Oh, is that all?” Kiva asked with clear sarcasm.
“It’s either that, or you find us a way to bring those royal bastards to their knees,” Zuleeka stated. “I have to admit, it’d be satisfying to see them abdicate of their own volition.”
“They’re not all bad,” Kiva said, the words slipping from her before she could stop them.
Tor didn’t react, but Zuleeka’s face turned stony.
“You need to choose, Kiva,” she said in a low voice. “You can’t claim to be on our side while staring longingly at your precious prince. It’s him or us.
Them or us. You can’t have it both ways.”
Kiva’s insides twisted because Zuleeka was right: she couldn’t keep
going as she was, scheming with the rebels while sympathizing with the royals.
And yet . . . Zuleeka was also wrong. Because ten years ago, the decision had been made for her. The choice was no longer her own — it never had
been.
She would put her family first.
Just as she always had.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Kiva said, shifting in her seat. “I managed to spy on a Royal Council meeting.”
Torell stilled at her side, and the anger vanished from Zuleeka’s face.
“They spoke for hours, mostly about day-to-day kingdom business, but there were a few things that seemed important.” She paused. “Something’s happening with Mirraven, and it’s got them worried.”
“Mirraven has been threatening to invade since before we were born,”
Torell said dismissively. “They’ve never managed it before, they won’t
now.”
“Not without help,” Zuleeka said.
“Caramor is with them,” Kiva shared. “As allies, but soon by marriage, too.”
“I heard about that — Princess Serafine and Prince Voshell.” Zuleeka snickered. “What a match.” Before Kiva could ask why that was funny, her sister went on, “How is any of this relevant to us?”
Gritting her teeth, Kiva said, “I mentioned it because the council is worried about Mirraven, but they’re not worried about the rebels.”
Zuleeka’s eyes slitted. “Explain.”
“The royals have spies among you — I assume you already know that, or you wouldn’t be so cautious.” Kiva tapped the silvery mask resting on the table. “They’re not in deep enough to provide useful information, but there’s a guard who seems to know more than anyone else, including that you — the Viper and the Jackal — have Corentine blood.”
Torell swore, but Zuleeka didn’t seem fazed.
“What guard?”
Kiva opened her mouth to share Eidran’s name, but then she recalled what the council had said about the two spies he’d trained turning up dead.
She didn’t need something like that on her conscience, not when she was already battling so many other demons.
“They didn’t say,” Kiva lied. “But from the sounds of it, he’s moved up
north and is no longer a guard” — not until he’d fully recovered from his injury, at least — “so he’s out of the picture now.”
Zuleeka looked like she wanted to press for more details about Eidran’s identity, so to distract her, Kiva quickly went on, “There’s one more thing.
Before that guard left, he heard about a secret rebel meeting place in the city.
You might want to tell your Vallenian followers to keep a low profile, because I have a feeling he shared the location with Jaren.”
“I’ll warn them myself,” Zuleeka said.
Kiva breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If Eidran had indeed told Jaren the address, then at least the prince wouldn’t be walking into something dangerous.
At the thought, Kiva gave herself a mental slap, since what she should have worried about was that Jaren would learn rebel secrets. She needed to realign her priorities before she slipped up again and earned another verbal lashing from Zuleeka.
“Did the council mention anything else?” Torell asked.
Kiva answered by asking, “What’s the Royal Ternary?”
Blank faces met her question.
“Ternary, as in three?” Zuleeka asked. “The Royal Three?” She frowned.
“Three what?”
Kiva didn’t know, so she shared, “I told you that the council isn’t worried about the rebels. They think you’ll — we’ll — eventually give up, especially now that Mother is gone, and with her, the figurehead of the Rebel Queen.”
“They’ll soon learn how wrong they are,” Zuleeka said coolly.
“That’s not my point,” Kiva said. “When they were talking about it, the Grand Master mentioned something called the Royal Ternary.”
“In what context?” Torell asked, his head cocked in puzzlement.
Kiva tried to remember exactly what Horeth had said. “I think it was, ‘without the Royal Ternary, there’s no other way for them to claim the throne.’”
Both Torell and Zuleeka froze like marble.
Warily, Kiva asked, “Are you sure you’ve never heard of it?”
Zuleeka unfroze first, shaking her head in the negative. “I’ll ask our palace spies to look into it.” Tor opened his mouth, but Zuleeka went on, “Do you have more for us?”
Kiva held her sister’s eyes, thinking of everything else she knew, including — and especially — the greatest secret of all.
Jaren’s magic.
I trust them.
His words flitted across her mind, his steadfast faith in both Kiva and Tipp. It was a mere whisper of a thought, but it was enough.
“No,” Kiva said, her voice catching slightly. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but at the same time, a weight lifted from her shoulders. Revealing what she knew about Jaren’s power wouldn’t change anything — her brother and sister already believed him to have control over two elements, so what did it matter if he could wield all four?
Ignoring the churning of her stomach, Kiva kept her eyes locked with Zuleeka’s, honey-gold connected to emerald green. Her sister looked away first, but only so she could turn to Torell and say, “Can you give us a minute?”
Tor hesitated, as if gauging Kiva’s reaction to being alone with Zuleeka, but then he collected his jackal mask and stood.
“We should leave soon,” he told Kiva. “I’ll have Olix brought around and meet you outside in a few minutes.”
Kiva nodded, her heart beginning to pick up speed as Torell left the tent.
“I haven’t been treating you well.”
At Zuleeka’s words, Kiva jolted, her gaze swinging immediately back to her sister.
“After everything with Mother —” Zuleeka cut herself off, looking away and biting her lip. “It’s been difficult for me. And I know I shouldn’t blame you. I just — it’s hard. When I look at you, I can’t help thinking of how she went to find you. She left us, and she died. For you.”
Kiva felt like there were knives in her throat.
“And it’s not just that,” Zuleeka went on, as if she now couldn’t stop.
“When I heard about the prince being in Zalindov with you, about the two of you growing close, I was so angry. I didn’t understand how you could cozy up to him while Mama was dying before your eyes.”
“I didn’t know who he was,” Kiva rasped out.
“But even after you found out, you still stayed close to him,” Zuleeka returned. “Gods, from what I heard, you saved his life. A Vallentis. You could have left him to rot beneath that prison, but you didn’t.”
“He saved my life first,” Kiva argued weakly. “Multiple times. And I wouldn’t have escaped without him and Naari.”
Zuleeka pulled a face. “His Golden Shield. I heard you’re close with her, too.”
Kiva was about to defend herself, but her sister raised a hand.
“Wait,” Zuleeka said, blowing out a breath. “I’m not doing this right.”
“Doing what right?”
“Apologizing.”
One word, and Kiva stilled.
“I’ve treated you badly,” Zuleeka said, semi-repeating her earlier words.
“It’s because of Mother, but it’s also because I thought you’d turned your back on us. After what you’ve shared today, I can see I was wrong. Sneaking into a Royal Council meeting — even I wouldn’t have asked you to take that kind of risk. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt from the beginning, and I’m sorry.”
Kiva had no idea what to say, unsure if she even could speak around all that she was suddenly feeling.
“I can’t promise that I won’t still struggle with my behavior toward you,”
Zuleeka warned. “I — I need more time, especially to come to terms with what happened to Mother, and to try and not see her every time I look at
you.”
Kiva flinched.
“But if you’re willing to give me that time, I’ll try harder,” Zuleeka went on. “I promise I will.”
Once again, their eyes met and held. This time it was Kiva who looked away first, but as she did so, she whispered, “Of course I’ll give you that time.”
“Thank you, little sister,” Zuleeka said, her voice just as quiet. She then cleared the emotion from her throat and added, “You should probably go before Tor starts to worry that we’re killing each other in here.”
Kiva couldn’t believe it, but she actually chuckled. “He’s a lot more anxious than he used to be.”
“He’s a lot more everything than he used to be,” Zuleeka said with a comical roll of her eyes. “But no matter how much I want to wring his neck sometimes, he’s a damn good general. Our forces would follow him to hell and back if only he asked. That kind of devotion . . .” She shook her head, wonder clear in her eyes. A hint of envy, too, but it was gone again in an instant.
As if unable to wait any longer, Tor peeked his head back into the tent
and called to Kiva, “Are you coming?”
She sighed and rose to her feet, hiding a wince as she felt the movement
in every part of her.
“Until next time,” Zuleeka said.
There was enough warmth in her words that Kiva’s heart filled with hope, the feeling remaining with her long after she refastened the silver mask, bid her sister farewell, and left the tent.
Zuleeka’s private conversation repeated in Kiva’s mind as she and Torell rode back to Oakhollow, their pace much more sedate than earlier.
Deep in his own thoughts, it was only when the trees began to clear in the distance that Tor broke the silence to say, “She wasn’t always so difficult.”
Kiva’s arms tightened reflexively around him. She hadn’t shared that their sister had apologized, and she didn’t do so now, curious to hear what Torell would say.
“She and Mother were really close, especially toward the end,” he explained. “They spent every minute together — they’d take off into the woods for hours, then return laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. There was such a sense of contentment between them, so much hope,
so much love.”
Kiva’s heart gave a pang of longing.
“And then Mother left,” Tor continued, steering Olix around a fallen tree trunk. “Something changed in Zulee after that. A darkness came over her, a deep anger brimming just under the surface. At first, I thought it was just grief mixed with the pressure of being the commander, especially with Galdric gone, but it’s been months now, and it’s only grown worse.” His voice lowered. “She’s keeping secrets, sneaking out of camp at all hours. She won’t share her plans, won’t even say where she’s getting most of her information. The palace spies she mentioned? I have no idea who they are; all I can figure is that they’re in deep enough for privileged information.”
“You’re worried about her,” Kiva observed quietly.
“I don’t know who she is anymore,” he replied. “I don’t know the person leading the rebels. That doesn’t worry me — it terrifies me.”
Kiva pressed closer, trying to offer comfort. “I thought you were coleading them?”
Tor snorted. “That’s what Mother wanted. Galdric, too. But it’s like when I tried to free you from Zalindov — if I make a call Zuleeka disagrees with,
we can’t risk division by arguing. I care about our people too much to put them through that, even if I —” He broke off quickly.
“Even if you what, Tor?”
It took several moments before he whispered, “I’m tired, Mouse. I’m tired of seeing good people suffer for a cause I’m not even sure I believe in.
A cause I’m not sure I’ve ever believed in.”
Kiva stilled at his back.
As if the admission had loosened his tongue, Tor went on, stronger, “Zuleeka told you today to choose, but I was never given that option. Nine years old, and I became a rebel by default, shaped and molded to become their weapon. Their general.” His distaste at the title was clear, but then he released a long breath and acknowledged, “I’m who I am today because of what they taught me. I’m strong, I’m capable. I’m a leader. A warrior. I’ll always be grateful for that. But this life isn’t one I ever would have chosen for myself.”
“Tor,” Kiva whispered, holding him tight.
He sighed and pushed away a low-hanging branch. “It is what it is. And I’m lucky, compared to many.” A pause. “Compared to you.”
Kiva’s brow furrowed. “Me?”
“I would give anything, everything, to have kept you out of Zalindov,”
Tor said, every word filled with pain. “I would have traded my life in an instant if I’d known they would let you go. I hate —” His voice broke. “I hate that you were alone in there for so long. I can’t imagine what you went through to survive. I don’t even know how you survived.”
“I’m not sure, either,” Kiva admitted, shadows of memory filling her mind. “But I did, and we’re together again now — that’s all that matters.”
Tor took a hand off the reins to squeeze her fingers at his waist. “If anything happens to you —”
“It won’t,” Kiva told him firmly, ignoring that she had unpredictable magic and was attempting to overthrow a kingdom, committing treason by merely breathing. “But what are we going to do about you? It sounds like you’re having second thoughts.”
“How I feel doesn’t matter. I’ve committed my life to this cause.”
“A cause you just admitted you don’t believe in,” she pointed out.
“And yet, I’ll do what it takes to see it through.”
His words were unyielding but completely without passion, as if he’d resigned himself to his fate.
Kiva’s heart ached for the little boy she’d once known, his dreams having been stolen the same night she’d forfeited hers.
Quietly, she asked, “Why are the rebels fighting for us? I know why we’re on this path, but why does anyone else care enough to risk their lives?”
“To them, we’re royalty,” Tor answered, his voice now carefully devoid of emotion. “For hundreds of years, all they’ve wanted was a Corentine back on the throne. Or at least, that’s the case for the most fanatical of Torvin worshipers, the ones whose families have stayed dedicated from generation to generation.”
“But what about the newer recruits who don’t care about bloodlines?”
Kiva pressed. “Is it because they don’t like the Vallentis family?”
“There will always be people who disapprove of how a kingdom is run, regardless of who sits on the throne, so that’s true for some,” Tor confirmed.
“Others just want anarchy for the sake of anarchy. But the rest . . . Never underestimate the power of hope, Mouse.”
Kiva frowned into the thinning trees. “Sorry?”
“The rebels weren’t always so destructive,” he said. “Back when we first started to actively recruit, people joined us because Mother offered them something they desperately wanted — she healed them of their injuries and illnesses, just like Torvin did before he was exiled. But then —”
Tor stopped suddenly, but Kiva nudged him. “Then what?”
He waited until they’d splashed through a shallow creek before answering, “At first, Mother didn’t ask for anything in return for her magic.
Whenever we traveled to a new village, she healed everyone who came to her. But then one day she began to say they needed to earn their healing by proving themselves loyal. People were so desperate to help their loved ones — and themselves — that they joined our cause, waiting for the day Tilda Corentine would reward their devotion. As the time passed, she stopped healing people altogether, and started thriving on the chaos caused whenever the village guards were provoked, almost like she thought the bloodshed would turn more people to us. In some cases it did — but at what cost?” Tor shook his head. “To this day, I’ve never understood her strategy, but despite the unrest, people keep joining us in the hope that they’ll be healed.”
“But . . . Mother is dead,” Kiva said carefully. “And neither you nor Zulee have magic.” Her eyes widened. “They’re not expecting me to —”
“No, no.” Tor halted her growing panic. “Most of them haven’t heard about Mother yet. And like I said, she hadn’t healed anyone in a long time —
long enough that the rebel leaders endorsed Zulee and me taking over despite us having no magic. It’s enough that the people think we do, as Corentine heirs.”
His voice was bitter, revealing exactly how he felt about the deceit.
Kiva closed her eyes, now having a better understanding of the rebels but almost wishing she’d stayed oblivious. In her quietest voice yet, she breathed, “What happens if we succeed?”
It was a question she hadn’t allowed herself to consider before, partly for fear of how it made her feel. For so long she’d wanted vengeance, wanted justice, and yet she couldn’t envision what the future might look like if her family did manage to take the throne.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Tor said, with another loud sigh. “In theory, you, me, and Zuleeka would rule together.” He sounded as if he was swallowing nails, and Kiva couldn’t help feeling the same. The idea of ruling the kingdom, even if it was her birthright . . .
An image of Silverthorn crept into her mind, a reminder of everything she’d be giving up. Her hopes, her dreams, her ambitions.
Her future.
But then more images came to her.
Kerrin with a sword through his chest.
Faran being dragged off by the Royal Guard.
Tilda covered in blood, blind eyes staring at nothing forevermore.
Three lives, all gone.
Kiva could no longer deny that, like Tor, she was having second thoughts. But she also couldn’t forget the atrocities that had been committed against her family, the heartache she would never heal from. The Vallentis family had done that to her.
And that was why, even if her heart was divided, she had no choice but to
do the same to them.
Even if it cost her everything.
