CHAPTER TWO
Vallenia was known as the River City, Kiva had learned upon her arrival two days earlier. With numerous meandering waterways, none was more impressive than the mighty Serin River, which twisted and turned like a serpent throughout the capital.
It was to the river that Jaren was leading Kiva, an easy downhill walk from Silverthorn until they reached the main thoroughfare, where people were already beginning to crowd the sidewalks bordering the water, the thrill of anticipation heavy in the air.
As they wove their way through the masses, Kiva assumed Jaren was taking her back to the River Palace — a feat of architecture split in half by the Serin, the two sides connected by a gilded bridge. Not even Kiva could deny the magnificence of the royal residence, the luminium threaded into its outer walls creating a glittering effect that was dazzling.
So far, Kiva had only set foot in the eastern palace, where Jaren had a whole wing to himself — including guest quarters, inside which Kiva had been allocated a lavish suite. His siblings, Mirryn and Oriel, also resided in the eastern palace, but their parents lived on the western side of the river.
Kiva had yet to lay eyes on the king or queen, but given how she felt about the monarchs, she wasn’t in a rush to meet them.
The crowds became uncomfortably thick as they approached the River Palace, offering a valid excuse for Kiva to free her hand from Jaren’s. She refused to acknowledge the loss she felt once their connection was severed, focusing instead on the back of his tousled gold-brown head as he led her off the main street and into a grimy alleyway well before they reached the guarded palace gates. The dilapidated buildings on both sides were tall enough to block out the quickly setting sun, casting deep shadows across their path.
“Is this the part where you kill me and hide my body?” Kiva asked, squinting into the gloom.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jaren said, before adding, “I have people to do that
kind of thing for me.”
Kiva was grateful for the darkness hiding her smile. “I guess you wouldn’t want to get your royal hands dirty.”
Jaren snorted. “My royal hands are busy doing other things.” He guided her around a puddle, remaining close enough that their arms brushed as they walked. “Not much further — it’s just up here.”
“What is?” Kiva asked.
“I told you — we want a good view.”
“Of the river?”
“And the palace,” Jaren said, halting beside a decrepit-looking doorway, the brass knob falling uselessly off the wood at the turn of his hand.
“You’re not serious,” Kiva said flatly when she looked inside and saw the staircase — or rather, the slats of rotten wood that rose from the empty room and ascended around the corner out of sight.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Jaren asked, dragging her through the doorway.
If not for the faintest trace of light trickling in from somewhere high above them, Kiva wouldn’t have been able to see anything. “I’ve had enough adventure for one lifetime, thanks,” she said, even as he began leading her toward the stairs and nudged her upward in front of him.
“It’s just a few little steps,” Jaren coaxed, as she climbed one, two, three, and continued higher. “See? They’re perfectly safe.”
No sooner had he uttered the words than the wood she’d just placed her weight on splintered. A squeak of fear left her, but rather than crashing back down to the ground, her foot was caught and held aloft midair.
Gaping at the empty space beneath her, Kiva turned back to find Jaren shaking his head with fond amusement. “You really need to learn to trust me.”
A weightless feeling overcame Kiva until suddenly she was hovering above the rotten steps, Jaren’s elemental magic floating them both up to the top of the staircase, bypassing any further danger.
Kiva waited until she was standing on her own again before she said, “You could have done that from the beginning.”
“Magic always has a cost,” Jaren said, ushering her through another battered door that led out to an open-air rooftop. “Only a fool would waste power for no reason.”
“What does it cost you?” Kiva asked, curious.
“Depends on how much I use. Something like that” — he indicated the staircase behind them — “doesn’t require much. But larger things can become exhausting.”
Kiva cocked her head to the side. “So it’s like an energy transference?”
Jaren nodded and steered her around a stone chimney top. “As far as I understand it. The more energy I have, the stronger my magic. And vice versa.”
“Have you ever run out? Of magic, I mean.”
“A couple of times, when I was younger,” Jaren admitted. “I try to avoid that happening now, since it leaves me feeling strange, like a piece of me is missing. My magic is . . .” He paused, thinking. “It’s a part of me, you know?
Like an arm or a leg. If I use too much too fast, it’s like I’ve cut off a limb and have to wait for it to regrow. Does that make sense?”
Kiva nodded, recognizing the similarities with her own magic — the forbidden healing power in her veins, a mark of the Corentine bloodline.
Unlike Jaren, however, Kiva couldn’t relate to his wistful tone, the joy and contentment in his voice as he spoke about his magic. For her own safety, she’d had to keep hers hidden deep within her. She’d come to consider it more a burden than a gift, something to deny at all costs, lest she risk exposure. In the last decade, she’d used it just the once, during a moment of
true desperation to save — “K-Kiva! You’re h-h-here!”
Jaren came to a dead halt and muttered a curse under his breath when he saw who stood before them. Kiva’s eyes softened at the young redheaded boy skipping their way, but then she snickered when she saw the reason for Jaren’s distress — his Golden Shield standing with her arms crossed, her dark face frowning with displeasure.
Before anyone could say anything — or shout anything, judging by Naari’s expression — Tipp reached Kiva and wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug. While it was brief, she reveled in the embrace, painfully aware that he’d nearly died six weeks earlier. Had she not arrived at the infirmary in time, had she not been able to use her long-suppressed magic to heal him . . .
But Tipp hadn’t died. He was alive and well, and just as effervescent as he’d always been.
Kiva had worried, the first few days after his near-death experience. He’d been disoriented when he’d finally awoken, even terrified. It had taken some quick lies to convince him that he’d bumped his head and anything he
remembered couldn’t be trusted. When she’d assured him that he was all right, that he was free, he’d bounced back to his joyous self, ready to take on the world and experience life to the fullest. He hadn’t even blinked at hearing Jaren was a prince, but was simply all the more excited for what adventures they might find once they reached Vallenia.
“Come on, c-c-come on, come on,” Tipp said, yanking her toward the far edge of the building.
Kiva noted that there was a blanket resting on the ground, an open hamper beside it with fruit and pastries all laid out invitingly. But she only spared them a half glance as Tipp brought her to a screeching halt, her attention diverted by the view of the city.
“Wow,” Kiva breathed. It wasn’t just the shining River Palace that left her awestruck; with luminium threaded into the pale-colored rooftops of many of Vallenia’s homes, the entire city appeared to be glowing as the final kiss of sunshine faded beyond the horizon.
“Right?” Tipp said, jigging from foot to foot. “N-Naari said it’s one of the b-best views in the whole c-capital.”
“She’s not wrong,” Kiva agreed, glancing back to see the guard having a heated conversation with Jaren. The prince looked like he was fighting a grin, which was doing nothing to soothe Naari’s temper.
“Do you think w-we should save him?” Tipp whispered, following Kiva’s gaze. “Naari was really m-m-mad when she realized he’d l-left without her.”
“He survived Zalindov,” Kiva said, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, the panoramic view unobstructed before her. “He can survive Naari.”
“— and if you ever run off like that again, I’ll lock you in the dungeons myself, do you hear me?”
Naari’s irate voice floated over to them, prompting Kiva to wince and amend her previous statement. “Probably.”
Tipp snickered, but quickly shoved a pastry in his mouth when Naari stomped their way, rearranging her weapons so she could sit. She speared a look at Kiva and threatened, “If I find out you had anything to do with —”
Kiva quickly raised her hands. “I was innocently minding my own business before he dragged me here.”
“Thanks for the solidarity,” Jaren muttered, collapsing beside Kiva, close enough for her to feel his body warmth. She contemplated shifting away, but she hadn’t dressed with a nighttime outing in mind when she’d left that morning, her thin cardigan doing little to ward off the evening chill.
One night, she reminded herself. It would do little harm for her to remain where she was.
“At least we have p-plenty of food,” Tipp said, reaching for some grapes.
“What a relief,” Jaren said, his tone dry.
Kiva realized something then: Jaren had cursed upon seeing Naari and Tipp, as if he hadn’t expected them to be there. All of this — the view, the blanket, the hamper — he’d set it up for her.
She turned to find a sheepish expression on his face. He shrugged slightly, as if to say that he’d tried, and something within her melted. But then she reminded herself of who he was and what she planned to do to him — what she had to do to him — and she looked away, slamming a wall around her heart.
“For future reference,” Naari declared, “the next time the two of you sneak off for some alone time, please do so inside the palace grounds.”
Kiva opened her mouth to deny her involvement, but Jaren jumped in first by saying, “Where’s the fun in that?” He tossed an apple to the guard.
“Eat something, Naari. You’re grumpier than usual when you’re hungry.”
The look she sent him promised retribution, but she raised the fruit to her lips and bit into it.
“Not long to go,” Jaren told Kiva, offering her a plate of pastries. “Eat up and get comfortable.”
Nibbling on a custard tart, Kiva marveled at the novelty of being able to eat freely. For the first time since she was a child, she actually had flesh on her bones, not to mention curves that had been previously nonexistent. Tipp, too, had flourished in the time since leaving Zalindov and its meager rations, his boyish frame filling out, his freckled skin glowing with youthful radiance.
Kiva wondered how she’d ever survived for so long on so little. But Zalindov was behind her. One day, she would seek justice for the crimes committed by Warden Rooke, the man responsible for her father’s death and so many others. But that day, she knew, would have to wait.
“Any second now,” Jaren said, just as the last of the sun’s rays sank below the horizon.
Tipp rose eagerly onto his knees, while Naari continued chewing on her apple, her alert amber eyes darting around the rooftop. Kiva squinted into the twilight, having no idea what she was supposed to be looking for, especially with the darkness quickly setting in.
“Will we —” Kiva broke off with a gasp as a kaleidoscope of color lit the
night, accompanied by an orchestral symphony amplified throughout the city.
The music’s origin was impossible to pinpoint, but the rainbow spotlights streamed from the palace’s gilded bridge right into the heart of the Serin River, reflecting off the water in a psychedelic haze.
The crowd cheered loud enough to make Kiva’s ears ring even from a distance. The noise transported her straight back to Zalindov, to the moment she’d volunteered to take her mother’s sentence, and the resulting roar from the gathered inmates. Her palms began to sweat, but the city crowd was celebrating, not jeering, the sound joyful enough to ease the sudden constriction around her chest.
“Here we go,” Jaren said from Kiva’s side as the colored lights began to spiral. He was unaware of the mental battlefield she’d just navigated, but he of all people would understand her lingering trauma, especially since she knew he was suffering in his own way, having heard his restless nightmares through the walls during their weeks at the winter palace. She’d acted oblivious, never revealing that she’d lain awake until his distressed sounds had faded, never sharing that she endured her own torturous dreams.
Shoving away her thoughts, Kiva rose onto her knees beside Tipp, waiting to see the reason for Jaren’s declaration.
Mere seconds later, a small boat appeared in the center of the lights, the multicolored streaks shifting to form a perfect circle around the vessel. A single figure stood on the stern of the boat, dressed in white with their hood pulled over their face, a glint of a gold mask peeking out from beneath it.
The music rose into a crescendo, and with it, the figure’s arms stretched high into the air, the lights moving again, more erratically this time. The river began to swirl and gurgle, a whirlpool forming around the boat, which remained perfectly still at the center of it. And then — “No w-way!” Tipp exclaimed as a swan burst out of the whirlpool, three times the size of the boat — and made entirely of water. Rainbow lights streaked from the bridge to highlight the bird as it rose into the air, water- wings flapping and dripping straight back into the Serin below.
“L-Look!” Tipp cried, drawing Kiva’s stunned gaze back to the figure on the boat, who was twirling their hands to the music and pointing at the water again.
This time, it was a pod of dolphins that emerged, all similarly magnified in size. Numerous spotlights touched on them as they skipped over the surface of the river, diving deep and reappearing to leap high in a series of
aerial acrobatics.
When the figure on the boat pointed their finger again, an entire section of the Serin began to bubble, with long, straight lines shooting up into the air, the tops budding into perfect sunflowers emphasized by bright yellow lights from the bridge. Then, as Kiva watched, the sunflowers parted as a herd of horses galloped through them, tossing their wind-whipped manes and trailing
water in their wake.
“What is all this?” Kiva breathed.
“The River Festival celebrates life,” Jaren answered as a massive oak tree formed out of the whirlpool, rising high into the sky. Iridescent birds appeared and launched off the branches, joining the swan still circling above the river, all dripping water back to the surface. “Centuries ago, it offered a reminder that our lives are seasonal, and that those who survived the winter could relax and enjoy the pleasures of spring. But these days, it’s essentially just an excuse for a party.” The orchestra increased in volume, so Jaren raised his voice to continue, “We have four of these festivals throughout the year: the River Festival in spring, the Carnival of Flowers in summer, the Ember Rite in the fall, and the Crystal Gales in winter. Each focuses on a different elemental power — water for spring, earth for summer, fire for fall, and wind for winter — and acts as a reminder to our people of the magic we have and the protection we afford them.”
Kiva squinted at the figure on the boat. “That’s the queen down there, isn’t it?”
It had to be, since the king had married into the Vallentis family and therefore had no magic, Princess Mirryn was a wind elemental with a slight affinity for fire, and young Prince Oriel was most adept at earth magic. Jaren alone was capable of wielding all four elements — the reason he’d been named heir, despite Mirryn being the elder sibling — but to the world, he was considered to be only a powerful fire elemental, with some control over wind.
His people believed the succession had fallen to him because of the strength of his magic, with very few knowing what he was truly capable of — Kiva being one of them.
“Yes, that’s my mother,” Jaren confirmed. Nothing in his voice revealed how he felt toward the woman who had abused him repeatedly over the years, her addiction to angeldust unknown to the general public.
“She has a lot of power,” Kiva observed carefully.
Before Jaren could respond, a colossal serpent formed out of the Serin
and swallowed the oak tree in one bite before slithering toward the field of sunflowers and ingesting them, too. It then struck upward like an asp, and the birds vanished within its watery maw, followed by the acrobatic dolphins and prancing horses. Soon only the serpent remained, circling the boat in place of the whirlpool, which had dissolved back into stillness.
“Believe it or not, these kinds of tricks don’t take much effort,” Jaren said. “She’ll feel a little tired afterward, but that’s about it.” He indicated the water. “She’s nearly done now — you’ll like this part.”
It was difficult not to ask more questions, but Kiva refocused on the serpent rising high above the river, like a wingless dragon flying through the air. As the orchestra reached its climax, Queen Ariana clapped her hands together and the serpent exploded, turning into millions of water droplets suspended like glittering diamonds.
“Oh,” Kiva couldn’t help gasping as the River Palace came alive, the luminium glowing so brightly that she had to raise a hand to shield her eyes.
As if it offered some kind of sign, the crowd roared even louder than before, with those closest to the water lighting lotus-shaped lanterns and placing them onto the surface, first dozens, then hundreds, then thousands floating along the river.
“It’s even b-better than I imagined,” Tipp whispered, his voice filled with awe.
The young boy wasn’t wrong — the combination of rainbow droplets and floating lanterns all backlit by the shining palace was easily the most
beautiful thing Kiva had ever seen.
And then came the fireworks.
Tipp let out a whoop as they exploded high above the palace, and Kiva jumped at how loud the first crackle of them was. The music helped drown out the noise, the orchestra still playing as the masses screamed with delight.
“Did you say this lasts all weekend?” Kiva had to nearly shout at Jaren to be heard over the booms.
“The next two days will be quieter,” he said, also close to yelling. “It’ll be more about art, culture, and community, and not so much about the drama.”
Drama was a good word for it, Kiva thought. The show had been a spectacle from the moment the boat appeared on the water — a boat that had now vanished, the queen having returned to the palace, leaving her people to enjoy the festivities.
Kiva settled in to watch the pyrotechnical display, oohing and ahhing along with Tipp. Only when the last ember dissolved did the hovering water droplets trickle back into the Serin, the palace slowly fading to normal. The lotus lanterns, however, remained lighting up the water, and while the orchestra had silenced with the finale of the fireworks, street musicians began to play upbeat tunes, continuing the festivities now that the official celebration had ended.
“We should go,” Naari said, standing and dusting pastry flakes off her leathery armor, a near-identical outfit to what she’d worn at Zalindov. “I want us back at the palace before things get too rowdy down there. I’d rather not have to explain to the king and queen why their son and his friends were caught up in a drunken street brawl.”
“I’d like t-to see a street b-brawl!” Tipp said, jumping up beside her.
Naari slung her arm around his neck. “Another time, kiddo.”
His face fell, but then he brightened again and said, “Ori’s g-going to be so jealous. I can’t wait to get b-back and tell him what it was like w-watching from out here.”
“Where is Oriel?” Kiva asked. The vivacious young prince had been joined at the hip with Tipp since their meeting two days earlier. Where one went, the other followed, at least until tonight.
“The royal family usually watches the opening of each seasonal festival from inside the palace,” Naari said. She looked at Jaren and emphasized, “Together.”
Kiva’s eyes moved to him as well. “You really did sneak away, didn’t you?” After six weeks spent living and traveling with the haughty Princess Mirryn and the flirtatious Prince Caldon, Kiva couldn’t blame him.
“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last,” Jaren said with an unrepentant grin. “How do you think I found this place to begin with? I’ve been coming here for years.”
Naari grumbled inaudibly before saying, “Pack up. We’re leaving.”
Since the light show was over, no one fought the guard’s terse order. Tipp helped refill the hamper with the leftover food, shoving handfuls of crackers and cheese into his mouth as if afraid he’d never see another meal. Kiva understood that feeling of desperation, wondering how long it would take for it to fade — in both of them.
A gust of wind hit the top of the roof, causing her to shiver and rub her arms. Noting her reaction, Jaren removed his jacket and laid it over her
shoulders. Warmth instantly seeped into her as she slid her arms into the sleeves, the comforting scent of fresh earth, sea salt, morning dew, and wood smoke tickling her nose. Earth, wind, water, and fire — a smell perfectly unique to Jaren.
“Thank you,” she whispered, staunchly ignoring how his shirt caught tantalizingly on his muscles.
“Anything for you,” Jaren said, winking as he bent to collect the last of their things. The move only threw his physique into sharper relief under the moonlight, his body so flawless that — “Ahem.” Naari cleared her throat, her face stern but her amber eyes laughing.
Willing the heat from her cheeks, Kiva folded the picnic blanket into squares and passed it to Jaren, who had already claimed the heavy hamper from the too-eager Tipp.
“Ready,” Jaren told Naari. She didn’t bat an eyelash at the crown prince bearing their goods like a packhorse, having experienced years of him acting in a manner well beneath his station. The Z scar on his hand was proof of that — proof of his service to his people, the lengths he would go to in order to keep them safe.
Guilt bubbled in Kiva’s stomach, but she ignored it and followed Naari across the roof, continuing on past the decrepit doorway and heading instead to a stairway that led right down to the street. Kiva shot a look at Jaren, wondering why he hadn’t brought her up using the much more stable entry, but he studiously avoided eye contact.
You really need to learn to trust me, he’d told her earlier.
Kiva nearly snorted, realizing his intention had been to remind her that
she was safe with him — always.
Not that she didn’t already know that.
“Let’s get a move on,” Naari urged, interrupting Kiva’s treacherous thoughts and hurrying them down into the alleyway. There was a dangerous feel to the air now, almost as if they were being watched, but Kiva’s concerns eased slightly as they approached the main thoroughfare, the lights and sounds of the festival growing with every step nearer to the river.
Naari cursed when they finally exited the side street to find swarms of people standing shoulder to shoulder, dancing, laughing, and singing along to the music. So much revelry — and all of it blocking the road, right up to the palace gates.
“I don’t like this,” the guard said, her lips pursed.
Kiva barely heard her over the raucous sounds of the street party.
“They’ll be at it until dawn,” Jaren pointed out, which didn’t improve Naari’s mood. “Unless you’re happy for us to stay out here all night —”
He quickly shut his mouth at the look she sent him.
“I’ll forge us a path. You three stay directly behind me,” Naari ordered, one hand tensing around the hilt of her blade, as if she intended to cut through anyone who got in their way. “No stopping, no looking around.
Straight to the gates.”
She waited until she had Tipp’s attention, since he was staring at the chaos with wide, longing eyes. When he finally realized what she wanted, he uttered his reluctant agreement.
Stepping into the masses, Naari was swallowed in an instant, but Kiva gave Tipp a hearty push to keep him close behind the guard. Jaren nudged Kiva forward so that he could take up the rear — something Naari wouldn’t like, but Jaren had been right earlier: no one seemed to care that the crown prince was in their midst. To the festivalgoers, they were just four citizens trying to carve a path.
When they were halfway to the palace, the music shifted and an emphatic cry rose up around them, the stamping of feet followed by the jumping of sweaty bodies shaking the ground. Kiva couldn’t hear anything over the delighted shrieks, and could barely make out the figure of Naari being engulfed by the swelling crowd. Somewhere along the line, Jaren had abandoned the hamper and blanket, instead keeping both hands free to hold on to Kiva and clear a path for her, much like she was trying to do for Tipp.
Another almighty cry sounded, and the jumping increased, bodies ramming into them from all angles. Claustrophobia clawed at Kiva as a wayward carouser shoved her hard to the side, ripping her fingers from Tipp.
She stumbled violently, only managing to stay upright because of Jaren’s firm grip on her. Even so, the two of them slammed into a group of people, all of whom were too lost in the revelry to care.
One quick glance up was all it took for Kiva to realize that she could still see Naari — but she couldn’t see Tipp.
Her claustrophobia instantly forgotten, Kiva yelled his name over the music, Jaren doing the same by her ear. They surged forward together, their urgency growing when they caught sight of the young boy on the ground, struggling to rise.
“He’ll be trampled!” Kiva cried, her heart lodging in her throat.
She’d barely finished the words when Jaren pushed past her and shoved his way through the suffocating masses, reaching Tipp at the same time as Naari, the two of them hauling the boy up to his feet.
Someone bumped into Kiva from behind, a hand latching on to her arm and stopping her from joining her friends. She tried to free herself, but the grip tightened, yanking her roughly backwards. The space around her was so tightly packed that she couldn’t turn to see who held her, her panic growing for a different reason now. She could just make out Jaren and Naari checking Tipp for injuries, feeling a momentary relief when it appeared he was unharmed, but then the hand gripping her gave another vicious tug, trapping her against a hard body. She struggled anew, but before she could so much as scream, a cloth was shoved over her face, the pungent smells of whitlock and tamadrin making her eyes water. Knowing that a deep enough inhalation would render her unconscious, she held her breath and fought harder, willing Jaren or Naari to turn her way.
A masculine oath came from her captor when he realized she wasn’t going down easily, and he removed the cloth, giving Kiva hope that he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. But the next thing she knew, a spike of pain caused starbursts to explode in her vision, and she crumpled in his arms, out like a light.
