CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When dawn arrived the next morning, Kiva nearly wept at the sound of Caldon’s familiar knock on her door. But her lingering fatigue vanished when he greeted her with a tight smile and the unpleasant news that her siblings had replied, accepting her invitation to lunch.
While Kiva had half expected the news, she was still furious that they’d ignored her warnings — Zuleeka especially, after last night. If discovered, all three of them would be charged with treason, the punishment for which was public execution — if the Vallentis family was feeling merciful — or a one- way trip to Zalindov. Both possibilities left Kiva clammy despite the crisp morning air that greeted her as she followed Caldon outside.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, the prince pushed her harder than ever in their training session, making her realize that perhaps he hadn’t completely forgiven her for yesterday, even if he was back to his normal bantering self.
By the time they were done, Kiva could only hobble up to the palace, where she gifted herself a long, hot soak in her bathtub.
Too nervous to eat much for breakfast, Kiva did make sure to swallow her prescribed mouthful of Delora’s bitter potion, shuddering at the skin- crawling feeling of it taking effect. It was a means to an end, she reminded herself, and the day would come when she wouldn’t need it. She might even start to cherish her magic, as Jaren did his, training and strengthening it and using it for good without thinking of it as a burden. But with her siblings coming to the palace today, it was more important than ever that she have her power under control — or at least out of the way.
“Knock, knock!” came Mirryn’s voice, prompting Kiva to hide the stoppered vial in her bedside drawer just as the princess burst into her bedroom.
Mirryn smirked as she eyed Kiva from head to toe. “I know I said lunch would be informal, but you might want to reconsider your outfit. We don’t want dear Jaren having a heart attack at the table.”
Kiva tightened the towel she’d wrapped around herself upon leaving her
bath. “Please, let yourself in,” she invited dryly. “It’s not like I’d want my privacy or anything.”
“You haven’t had privacy in a decade,” Mirryn said without a hint of compassion, taking a seat on Kiva’s bed. “You can deal with a few more minutes.”
Those few minutes became considerably longer when Mirryn declared herself Kiva’s stylist for the day, demanding she try on outfit after outfit until she found the perfect combination to wear to lunch.
At any other time, Kiva would have asked the princess to leave, but with butterflies somersaulting in her stomach and the familiar comfort of her magic gone — something Kiva hadn’t appreciated until it was no longer there — she was oddly grateful for Mirryn’s ceaseless prattle.
The princess was in one of her better moods, reclining on Kiva’s bed and sharing how the plans for her birthday masquerade were coming together, with it now only three days away. All too soon she cut herself off by declaring it was time for lunch, asking Kiva if she wanted to meet her siblings out in front of the palace or wait for them in the River Room, where a table had been set up.
Kiva didn’t like either option, but Mirryn chose for her, dragging her outside so they could wait alongside Jaren, Caldon, Tipp, and Naari.
If there was one good thing about that morning, it was that the king and queen had been called away to celebrate the opening of a bridge deeper in the city. Prince Oriel had gone with them, begging for Tipp to join them, but the redheaded boy had chosen to stay and meet Kiva’s family.
“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Caldon commented from Kiva’s side. “Or pass out. I can’t tell which.”
“Could be either,” Kiva muttered, causing him to chuckle. “Maybe both.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he told her in an uncommon show of comfort, nudging her in the ribs. “And if it’s not, then it’s not. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Kiva nearly started hyperventilating at the thought. She looked across to Jaren, longing for his steadying presence, but he’d been distant all day — not cold, but more like he was stuck in his own head. She wondered if it was because he’d been caught — and likely yelled at — by Naari last night, but she had a feeling it was more than that. He was normally so attuned to her, but today he didn’t sense her need for reassurance. Instead, his eyes were glued to the front gates, his face almost hard as he watched two figures
approaching on horseback.
Oh, gods, Kiva thought, clenching her hands. Here we go.
In what felt like seconds, Torell and Zuleeka came to a halt before them, dismounting and handing their reins to the waiting grooms. Both siblings were dressed in simple clothes, Tor wearing dark pants and a forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Zuleeka in leggings and a modest tunic dress, no sign of a weapon on either of them. Or a mask.
They weren’t the Viper and the Jackal today.
But they also very much were.
Kiva walked forward on quaking legs, forced a welcoming grin onto her face, and channelled Tipp’s over-the-top excitement to exclaim, “I’m so glad you could make it!”
Tor returned her grin, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed humor as he pulled her into a hug.
“It’s going to be fine,” he whispered, unknowingly repeating Caldon’s words. “Take a breath and calm down.”
She followed his order, feeling only marginally better when she stepped back.
“Hello again, little sister,” Zuleeka said, her expression filled with so much warmth that Kiva blinked in shock, a feeling that only grew when she
was drawn into a deep embrace.
Zuleeka was hugging her.
For the first time in ten years.
Startled as she was, Kiva wrapped her arms around her sister, tears prickling her eyes as she recalled what Zuleeka had said when they’d last
parted.
I’ll try harder. I promise I will.
Kiva wasn’t oblivious — she knew Zuleeka was playing a role for the royals, acting like the doting sister. But the warmth on her face, the tightness of her hug — that felt genuine. Zuleeka was trying, just as she’d promised.
They would both need time to heal from their rocky start, but there was suddenly so much hope inside Kiva that her queasy sense of dread began to fade.
Even so, that didn’t stop her from whispering into her sister’s ear, “I was there last night. You have a lot of explaining to do later.”
Pulling away just in time to catch the flash of surprise on Zuleeka’s face, Kiva linked arms with both of her siblings and led them over to where the
others stood. “I’d like you to meet my brother and sister, Torell and Zuleeka.
Tor, Zulee, this is, um . . .”
Words fled her as she realized she had no idea how to introduce the royals to their greatest enemies.
“I’m Caldon,” the prince said smoothly, stepping forward to save Kiva, shaking Tor’s hand and kissing the back of Zuleeka’s. Surprisingly, he didn’t attempt any flirtation, as if he knew the last thing Kiva needed was for him to be propositioning her sister.
“I’m Mirryn,” the princess said, continuing the introductions. She pointed to the rest of the group. “That’s Naari, Tipp, and —”
“Prince Deverick,” Jaren cut in, crossing his arms in a decidedly unwelcoming way.
Kiva rocked back on her heels, startled not only by the formal name, but also by the coldness in his tone. His eyes were like blue ice, the gold rims like blazing flames.
“It’s an honor, Your Highness,” Zuleeka said, curtseying deeply and looking at Jaren from under her lashes. “Thank you for taking such good care of our sister. We can’t tell you how much she means to us — and how grateful we are.”
Kiva felt a twinge of discomfort at the simpering words.
“Now that she’s back, we can be a family again. Just like we’ve always wanted,” Zuleeka said with a bright smile, looking fondly at Kiva.
Jaren said nothing, but his face remained like stone.
Something was very, very wrong.
Had he figured out that it was Zuleeka he’d crossed blades with last night? Did he know the Viper and the Jackal stood before him? Why else would he be so angry?
And yet he didn’t call for the guards, but simply said, “Lunch awaits us,” before turning on his heel and striding into the palace.
“Someone’s got a prickle in his pants,” Caldon murmured to Kiva, but she was too busy trying not to panic to reply.
He couldn’t know. Surely Jaren couldn’t know. Zuleeka and Torell never would have come if they’d thought there was even a chance of being outed.
But if not that, then why was Jaren so upset?
And then there was Naari, who was hurrying after Jaren — Naari who had no idea she was about to dine with her nemesis, the person who had cut off her hand.
The guard might not realize, but Zuleeka had to know who she had inflicted so much damage upon three years ago — and who she had crossed blades with multiple times since then, including just last night.
Gods, Kiva didn’t think she could do this.
But she had to. So she took a steadying breath and followed her siblings into the palace, listening with half an ear as Mirryn played the courteous tour guide and Tipp offered his own boisterous commentary.
“Why didn’t you tell me your brother looked like that?” Caldon asked quietly, bringing up the rear of the group with Kiva.
“Like what?” she murmured distractedly.
“What do you mean, ‘like what’?” Caldon said, exasperated. “Like that.”
He waved a hand toward Tor’s strong back. “He’s delicious.”
That was enough to shock Kiva from her fears, and she whipped her head toward the prince. “I thought you were into girls?”
Caldon pulled a face. “Firstly,” he said, “women. I’m into women — not girls. There’s a difference.”
Kiva raised her hands in apology. “All right, sorry.”
“And secondly,” Caldon said with strained patience, “I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. And right now, there is nothing about that” — he dipped his chin toward Torell — “that isn’t attractive.” Somewhat woefully, he added, “I can’t believe you kept him a secret.”
“In my defense, I didn’t see him until yesterday,” Kiva said, sticking with her lie.
Caldon had nothing to say to that, but there was something in his silence, some hidden depth to it that Kiva couldn’t identify. It vanished, however, when they approached the River Room and he leaned in to whisper, “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with Jaren, but I can make a pretty good guess.
I’ll help as much as I can, but if I’m right, this lunch is going to be uncomfortable. Whatever happens, just remember that he cares for you, and because of that, he’s angry. Very angry.” Caldon paused. “To be honest, I’m right there with him. But one of us has to keep things civil, and given his feelings for you, I doubt he’s going to be putting on his princely airs today.
So just . . . be gentle with him.”
“What are you talking about?” Kiva whispered back, gripping his elbow to slow his steps.
“Think about it, Sweet Cheeks,” Caldon said, holding her gaze. “How would you feel if someone you were falling hard for was locked away for
more than half their life, and then their siblings swooped in like nothing had happened, wanting to be a family again after ten years of abandonment?”
Caldon shook his head. “That’s not right, Sunshine, and you know it.”
Kiva gaped at Caldon. “Jaren’s angry at my family because I was sent to Zalindov? But — But —” She flailed, before hissing, “That doesn’t make sense! It’s not like they sent me there!”
She was walking on thin ice, but Caldon didn’t seem to notice her inflection.
“They left you in there, though,” the prince said. At her incredulous face, his voice dropped to a stunned whisper. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Kiva didn’t get a chance to reply before Mirryn called to them from
inside the room.
“Do you two plan on joining us today?”
Caldon covered Kiva’s hand that was still gripping his elbow, her fingers now cold, and guided her into the River Room.
“Sorry, lover’s spat,” he said with a winning smile.
Kiva shot him a look and tried to tug her hand free, but he only held on tighter, walking her over to the table that was similar in style to the dinner she’d shared with the Vallentis family. Instead of a roasted meal, there were mountains of salads and cheeses and breads, along with cold meats and raw vegetables, all plated beside crystal goblets full of sparkling juice and vases bursting with snowblossoms. In the background, the Serin River glittered through the windows, the spring sunshine touching the surface like liquid gold.
At any other time, Kiva would have marveled at the display. Today she had to stop herself from running out of the room.
Everyone had already taken their seats as she and Caldon approached, with him pushing her into the space beside Jaren before taking the empty chair at her other side.
Kiva’s hands trembled at the seating arrangements. Naari and Tipp were fine, but Zuleeka was next to the princess — a disaster waiting to happen — and Torell was directly opposite Jaren, with the prince glaring between both of Kiva’s siblings, but his wrath focused most intently on her brother.
“This looks delicious,” she made herself say, barely recognizing her own voice.
“It’s much better than what we’re used to, that’s for sure,” Torell said
amiably, waiting for the royals to start helping themselves before following their lead.
“Kiva tells us you live in Oakhollow,” Jaren said. He was the only person at the table not filling his plate. “How do you spend your time?”
“I’m a blacksmith,” Torell answered, layering slices of ham inside a fresh bread roll, his thick arm muscles validating his lie. “Zulee’s a seamstress.”
Kiva was glad she wasn’t eating or drinking anything, because she would have spat it all over the table.
“A seamstress?” Mirryn repeated, turning to Zuleeka with an arched eyebrow as she looked, somewhat judgingly, at her simple outfit.
“A modest trade,” Zuleeka said, ducking her head in a contrived show of humility. “But my mother always encouraged me to follow my dreams.”
The words hit Kiva right in the chest.
“And you dream of being a seamstress?” This time there was no missing the derision in Mirryn’s tone.
Jaren must have heard it too, and despite his frosty demeanor, he saved Zuleeka from answering by asking another question. “We haven’t heard much about your mother — does she live with you in Oakhollow?”
Kiva wished he’d left Zuleeka to face Mirryn’s disdain. As far as she could recall, she’d never shared anything about her mother — for good reason — and whatever prison records Caldon had unearthed would have only had information on her father. She scrambled to think of a way to redirect the conversation.
Zuleeka, however, didn’t blink an eyelash before responding, “She did.
But unfortunately she passed while Kiva was at Zalindov. They say it was natural causes, but if you ask me, Mother was heartsick for her daughter. It was a terrible loss for us all.”
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’s grip on her fork turned painful at the memory of Zuleeka’s words.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Jaren said softly, and Kiva knew the sentiment was for her.
“It’s tragic, both our parents dying while she was gone,” Zuleeka said, nibbling on some cheese. “But at least she still has us.”
Jaren reached for his crystal goblet, his body so tense that Kiva feared the dainty stem would snap in his hand.
“Can you t-t-tell us some stories from when K-Kiva was younger?” Tipp
asked eagerly.
Kiva could have launched across the table and kissed the boy for his attempt at lightening the atmosphere, unwitting as it was.
“The more embarrassing, the better,” Caldon put in. “We need something to use against her next family night.”
“Family night?” Zuleeka repeated, her brows raised in perfect imitation of how Mirryn had looked at her. “How . . . quaint.”
“We used to have family night,” Torell said quickly, with a warning look at their sister. “Of course, ours was almost every night, since our parents weren’t busy running a kingdom.” He forced out a short laugh before turning to answer Tipp. “Young Kiva was a menace. A real wild child.”
“Was she really?” Caldon asked, leaning forward with delight. Kiva couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was just doing his part to help bring some levity to the meal.
“She was always running off and getting lost in the woods, swimming so deep in the river that she’d get caught in the current, rolling through fields of wildflowers and returning home covered in mud — the list of trouble she got up to was endless.”
“Don’t act like you weren’t right there beside me,” Kiva said, pointing her fork at him.
Tor ignored her and went on, “But there was this other side to her, too.
This serious side that came out whenever she helped our father treat his patients. Her compassion, her empathy, her patience — we knew years ago that she would follow in his footsteps. Our sister, the healer.” He met her eyes across the table, his voice gentle as he finished, “This world is lucky to have her.”
A lump rose in Kiva’s throat at the affectionate look on his face.
“Kiva’s the b-best healer ever,” Tipp declared around a mouthful of food.
“She saved m-my life at Zalindov. I wouldn’t be h-here without her.”
Every part of Kiva froze at his words.
Did he — Did he remember?
An image of his bloodied torso assailed her mind, of her hands flooding him with golden light, her magic healing his fatal wound until it was barely a scratch. If he knew what she’d done — “I got r-really sick,” Tipp went on, his face solemn. “Lots of people were d-dying. But Kiva stayed b-by my bedside and looked after me until I w-was better.” He looked at her with such love in his eyes that Kiva nearly cried —
partly from that look, but mostly from relief at the story he was recounting.
He didn’t remember.
Her secret was safe.
“She saved lots of people there, kiddo,” Jaren said. “Over many years.”
Quieter, he finished, “Too many years.”
At the sorrow in his tone, Kiva couldn’t keep from reaching under the table and placing her hand on his leg. He instantly lowered his own and entwined their fingers, his thumb making soothing circles as if thinking she needed his comfort, rather than the other way around.
“It’s funny,” Zuleeka mused, “but Kiva probably saved more lives locked up in Zalindov than she would have if she’d stayed in our little village. I guess this is one of those times where we can say everything worked out for the best.”
Jaren’s grip tightened enough that Kiva feared what he was about to say, about to do, but before he had a chance to decide, Torell got in first.
“Zuleeka,” he snapped. He said no more, but that coupled with his stern frown was enough.
Their sister looked around the table, noting the strained expressions, and her mouth fell open. “Oh gods, that didn’t come out right, did it?” She shook her head quickly. “All I meant was that some very dangerous people now owe their lives to Kiva. That can only be to her benefit, right?”
When no one responded — though Jaren did look like he wanted to throw his goblet at her face — Zuleeka grimaced apologetically, before plucking an olive off Mirryn’s plate. Kiva gaped at her in horror, but the princess seemed amused by her gall. Either that, or Mirryn was considering spearing Zuleeka’s hand with her fork.
“Careful, Zuleeka,” Caldon said dryly, noting the move as well. “My cousin isn’t known for her generosity. Do that again, and you may well lose a finger.”
Zuleeka sent him a flash of teeth and plucked another olive off Mirryn’s plate. “I don’t scare easily.”
This time it was Kiva who had to keep from throwing anything at her sister. In a warning voice, she hissed, “Zulee —”
“I h-have an idea!” Tipp cried over her, bouncing in his seat. His mouth was so full that it had sounded like, “Ih-haffndeer,” but then he swallowed and looked at Mirryn before saying, “They should c-come on Wednesday!”
Kiva tensed. “Tipp —”
“What’s on Wednesday?” Zuleeka asked.
“It’s Mirry’s b-birthday,” Tipp answered, and not for the first time did Kiva wish he would stop speaking. “She’s having a b-big party to celebrate.
A m-masquerade.”
“Sounds fun,” Zuleeka said, a dangerous light entering her eyes.
“It w-will be!” Tipp exclaimed. “Can they c-come, Mirry?”
Quickly enacting damage control, Kiva interjected, “Tipp, we don’t invite people to parties that aren’t ours. It’s rude.”
“But I’ve n-never had a party to invite a-anyone to,” he said, making Kiva’s throat burn.
“It’s fine,” Mirryn said, with an imperious wave of her hand. She turned to Zuleeka and Tor. “You’re more than welcome to join us. In fact, since you’re Kiva’s family, I insist.”
“No,” Kiva said before anyone else could. “That’s very kind, but I’m sure they have other plans.”
She looked firmly at her siblings, begging them to agree.
“Kiva’s right,” Torell said, sensing her distress. “It’s a very kind offer, but we couldn’t possibly —”
“— say no to a royal invitation,” Zuleeka cut in smoothly. She looked at Mirryn, a bright smile gracing her lips. “We’d be delighted to join you, Princess. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Zulee —” Tor tried, but the look on her face halted his words.
“Mother taught us not to turn our noses up at unexpected blessings, brother,” she said, the words innocent enough but causing a vise to press in on Kiva’s lungs — a feeling that only worsened when Jaren changed the topic, leaning forward to address Torell across the table.
“You said you’re a blacksmith,” the prince observed, eyeing Torell’s muscular build. “Does that mean you know your way around a blade?”
“I’ve had some experience,” Tor answered carefully. “Mostly from volunteering as a village guard a few years back.”
“Fancy a quick sparring match?” Jaren patted his perfectly flat stomach.
“We can work off our lunch.”
Having watched him eat even less than her, Kiva didn’t believe his reasoning. Tor, too, must have noticed Jaren’s lack of appetite, but he still pushed his plate away and stood.
“I’d be honored to cross swords with you, Your Highness,” he said, before offering a wry grin. “But you’ll have to forgive my sloppy footwork.”
No, no, no, no, no.
What the hell was Torell thinking? He couldn’t spar with Jaren — and especially not when the prince was in such a foul mood.
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you quickly enough,” Jaren said, unlinking his hand from Kiva’s suddenly numb fingers and standing as well.
“Jaren, mate,” Caldon murmured, seeing Kiva’s rapidly paling face, “maybe you should —”
“It’s just a friendly match,” Jaren said, but despite his words, his eyes were glacial. To Torell, he waved a hand toward the doors. “Shall we?”
Kiva silently pleaded with her brother, but Tor only sent her the smallest of reassuring smiles that did absolutely nothing to calm her.
“Boys and their swords,” Mirryn said, sighing as she too rose, along with everyone else around the table. She turned to Zuleeka and rolled her eyes in a distinctly unprincess-like manner. “Thank the gods that we women have much more sophisticated methods of working through our feelings.”
“While I agree with you on principle, I’m sure you and I have very different coping techniques,” Zuleeka said. Quickly, but with an undeniable hint of mockery, she tacked on, “Your Highness.”
Mirryn’s eyes narrowed, not missing the scorn in those final two words.
Afraid she’d have to pull both her siblings out of the royal dungeons if they didn’t start showing some gods-damned respect, Kiva shot a warning look at Zuleeka before hurrying after her brother and Jaren.
Naari kept pace beside her, the guard having remained silent during lunch, watching for any sign of a threat from Kiva’s family. But now she offered a comforting glance and murmured, “Don’t worry. Jaren knows what
he’s doing.”
Kiva wasn’t so sure.
“He won’t hurt your brother,” Naari promised. “You know he’d never let any harm come to someone you care about.”
The statement pierced Kiva, since she knew it was true. Jaren wouldn’t hurt Tor — but what if Tor hurt Jaren? Her brother had spent the last decade training to be a warrior, a general. What if — “Breathe, Sunshine,” Caldon said, stepping up on her other side.
“Everything will be fine.”
That was easy for him to say. Two of the people he cared most for in the world weren’t about to go head-to-head in a “friendly” sparring match.
Trying to remain calm, Kiva stepped outside with Tipp skipping along
beside them, and Mirryn and Zuleeka trailing behind. All too soon they were in the training yard, where Torell was already holding a sword and facing Jaren, both of their blades raised into attack positions.
“Can’t you stop this?” Kiva begged Naari, begged Caldon, begged anyone who would listen.
“I think it’s best if he gets this out of his system, Sweet Cheeks,” Caldon said, circling an arm around her shoulders.
“Truly, Kiva,” Naari said. “I wouldn’t let this go ahead if I was worried — about either of them.”
Kiva appreciated the guard’s confidence, but Naari didn’t know how skilled Torell was. Hell, Kiva didn’t know, having never seen him in action.
She had, however, seen Jaren sparring with Caldon and Captain Veris, sometimes both at once, with Naari jumping in as well. She’d also seen how fast he’d reacted to Zuleeka’s attack at the Red House, and how capably he’d fended off the rebels. Recalling all of that helped ease some of the suffocating fear in her chest.
And then it returned with a vengeance when their swords began flying through the air, a blur of parries and lunges, overhead strikes and underarmed thrusts.
An appreciative whistle came from Caldon. “Just when I thought your brother couldn’t be more attractive.” There was a dry edge to his voice as he added, “Who’d have thought being a blacksmith would result in that?”
Kiva didn’t respond, too busy watching the match. Her brother’s moves were as faultless as Jaren’s, something that made Naari shift uneasily, but the guard didn’t intervene. That was likely because she’d noticed what Kiva was beginning to suspect: Jaren and Torell were sparring with fervor, but they were also holding back.
“I’m curious,” Jaren said casually between strikes, his voice carrying over to where Kiva and the others stood, “how you felt knowing your sister was in prison for so long.” He deflected Torell’s blade without effort. “Was it easier just to forget about her? To act like she’d never existed?”
Stomach clenching, Kiva stepped forward, but Caldon’s arm tightened
around her.
“Wait,” he said quietly.
“I thought about her every day,” Tor replied, feinting to the left. “I missed her every day.”
Jaren saw through the feint and swung his sword in an arc, Tor hurrying
to meet his blade in a clash of steel that left Kiva’s ears ringing.
“And yet, you did nothing,” Jaren said, panting slightly from everything he was feeling. “You just left her there. On her own. A child.”
“You make it sound like we had a choice,” Torell snapped, his emerald eyes fierce as he launched into a series of lightning-fast strikes.
“She was seven years old,” Jaren all but yelled as he ducked, jumped, and dodged Tor’s attacks, before returning his own set of counter-strikes in quick succession. “She lost over half her life to that miserable place, and you, her beloved brother” — a quick thrust forward that Tor barely managed to deflect — “left her in there to rot.”
“Jaren, stop,” Kiva croaked, but he didn’t hear her over the clanging steel.
“What were we supposed to do?” Torell demanded, feinting again, this time to the right. “Storm the gates? Tear down the walls? Take on the guards?
Please tell me, Your Highness, how was I supposed to save my baby sister from a decade of hell — in your prison?”
“She was a child,” Jaren repeated through gritted teeth, as if that was supposed to mean something. “A minor.”
With those two words, sudden dizziness overcame Kiva as she began to realize why Jaren was so upset — so angry. Warden Rooke’s voice whispered in her ears, a conversation they’d had when she’d tried to get him to free Tipp: As long as he has no guardian to claim him, Rooke had said, he’s considered a ward of Zalindov. He can go free, but only if someone comes to collect him.
Tipp hadn’t had anyone left to come for him. But Kiva . . .
She swayed on her feet, Caldon’s arm being all that kept her standing.
Jaren lowered his sword, stepping right into Torell’s space and glaring at him eye to eye. “Evalonian law states that children under the age of twelve are exempt from any punishment that results in a life sentence. Kiva became a ward of Zalindov the moment she arrived, but the only thing you” — he jabbed a finger into Tor’s chest — “had to do was claim guardianship, and she would have been released. That means you had five years to get her out.
All you had to do was ask — and you gods-damned know it.”
Kiva couldn’t breathe.
Her throat was too tight, her airway too blocked. . . . Her devastation too real.
“Sunshine, I need you to take a breath.”
Kiva could barely hear Caldon’s frantic whispering, but when blackness started dotting the edges of her vision, she managed to suck in a pain-filled
gasp.
“Good girl,” Caldon murmured.
She didn’t hear him.
Because as Kiva somehow moved out of her own cloud of agony, her eyes landed on Torell’s pale, horror-struck face.
I would give anything, everything, to have kept you out of Zalindov, he’d told her nearly a week ago. I would have traded my life in an instant if I’d known they would let you go.
Jaren was wrong — Torell hadn’t known about the law, that he could have freed Kiva anytime before her twelfth birthday. He’d only been a boy himself, just two years older than her — how was he supposed to have known? But despite that, his torment was splashed across his face, enough that even Jaren could see, the anger bleeding right out of him.
“Torell, I —” Jaren started to apologize, but Tor raised a hand to cut him off.
His emerald eyes shimmered with tears as he looked at Kiva, but then he turned to Zuleeka, his voice rough as he asked, “Did you know?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly.
Kiva’s heart cracked, hearing the lie. Given Torell’s tortured expression,
he’d heard it, too.
Zuleeka had known.
For five years, Kiva could have been freed. All it would have taken was for someone to claim her. Someone to come for her. Someone to want her.
And if Zuleeka had known — “Did Mother know?” Tor rasped.
Zuleeka met his gaze and repeated, “Of course not.”
Lie.
Lie, lie, lie.
Torell closed his eyes, tears leaking from them as he handed his sword back to Jaren. “I think it’s time for my sister and me to leave.”
“Torell —” Jaren tried again, but again Tor interrupted him.
“Thank you for doing what I couldn’t,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t manage anything louder. “Thank you for protecting her, for freeing her. I wish —” His voice broke. “I wish I’d known. I would have — I would have
—”
Jaren placed a hand on Tor’s shoulder. “I know that now. I’m sorry.”
Torell only nodded, wiping his face and murmuring quiet goodbyes to the silent Mirryn, Caldon, Tipp, and Naari, unable to even glance at Kiva before spearing a look at Zuleeka and storming off in the direction of the stables.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Zuleeka said after a long pause. “He can be emotional sometimes.” She sent them all a smile that no one returned, not even Tipp, and finished, “I’d best follow him. We’ll look forward to seeing you at the masquerade.”
And then she dipped into a quick, almost mocking curtsey, and hurried after Torell.
Without looking at anyone, Kiva croaked out, “Excuse me.”
She took off toward the stables, catching up with her siblings just as they reached the entrance and called for their horses to be brought out.
“What the hell was that, Tor?” Zuleeka demanded. “You —”
“Do not talk to me right now,” Torell cut her off, his expression livid.
Kiva moved closer and took his white-knuckled hand, opening his clenched fist and lacing their fingers together.
“Tor, it’s all right,” she said quietly, her throat thick with unshed tears.
“It is absolutely not all right,” he returned, quick as a whip. But then his features softened, and he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Mouse. I had no idea that —”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I know you didn’t.” She made herself turn to Zuleeka and say, “But you did. You and Mother.”
This time, without their royal audience, Zuleeka didn’t deny it.
Swallowing thickly, Kiva said, “You could have gotten me out. You wouldn’t have even needed to use force — they would have let me go.”
Zuleeka didn’t meet her eyes, instead looking out toward the manicured palace gardens. “I know you’ll have trouble believing this, but you were safer in there than out here.”
An incredulous sound left Kiva. “I was what?”
“You were saf —”
“Have you been to Zalindov?” Kiva demanded. “Every day I had to fight for my life. Every minute sometimes. And that’s not even counting the Trial by Ordeal that would have killed me if not for Jaren’s intervention in every single task. It’s a miracle I survived at all, let alone as long as I did.”
Zuleeka chewed on her lip and looked down at the ground.
“Why, Zuleeka?” Kiva said, her voice breaking. “Why did you and Mother leave me in there? You have to tell me,” she begged. “You owe me that much.”
Zuleeka exhaled loudly. “This isn’t something we should talk about here.” She glanced pointedly at all those inside the bustling stable complex.
“Figure out a way,” Torell said in a hard voice. “Kiva deserves the truth.
And I want to know, too.”
Shooting him an annoyed look, Zuleeka’s features gentled again as she turned back to Kiva and relented. “That problem you have, the one you’re working to control,” she said carefully, “that’s why Mother thought it best you stay in there. She said you were protected behind those walls, safe from discovery. If anything happened, word wouldn’t get out about it and cause problems for our family or our . . . friends.” She went on to say, “And even if you’d slipped up and someone had learned the truth, you were already locked away. Nothing worse could happen to you.” A pause. “But if it makes you feel any better, Mother always intended to free you one day. When the timing was right.”
Silence fell in the wake of her words, until Torell grated out, “That’s worse than I thought. Why didn’t I know about this?”
“Because you would have ignored Mother and gone to get Kiva out,” said Zuleeka.
“You’re damned right I would have,” Tor snarled. “As you should have. I can’t believe —”
“What’s done is done,” Zuleeka interrupted, losing patience. “We can’t change the past, so there’s no point in regretting it. Kiva’s fine, she’s here, she’s safe, she survived. That’s what matters.”
Kiva couldn’t process how betrayed she felt — by her own family. Her own sister. Her own mother.
You’re the one she left to rot in that prison, aren’t you? The one she said was better off there?
Delora had spoken true yesterday, repeating what she’d heard. But how — how — could Tilda have imagined that Kiva was safer in a place like Zalindov? Why had she thought it best that her daughter be locked away, her magic hidden, when she herself had begun practicing again out in the world?
Was she so afraid of discovery, of all her plans for vengeance being ruined, that she’d allowed her daughter to suffer needlessly for ten years?
Kiva couldn’t fathom the possibility. But she did know that she was
hurting. So damned much. And she needed to be alone to work through that.
“I want you to leave,” she whispered, not looking at either of her siblings.
“I need some time. On my own.”
Zuleeka reached for her, but Kiva shifted out of the way.
“Please, you have to understand,” Zuleeka implored. “I told you that wars aren’t won without sacrifice —”
Kiva flinched so violently that her head snapped back, realizing that in this instance, she was the sacrifice.
“— and as hard as it was for her, Mother had to weigh the risks, deciding that we were all safer if you remained in there until —”
“Stop talking,” Torell finally snapped. “Kiva doesn’t want to see you right now. I don’t want to see you right now. Just — Just go check if our horses are nearly ready.”
Zuleeka’s eyes held Kiva’s, the honey-gold begging for her to
understand.
I’ll try harder. I promise I will.
Kiva looked away.
Sighing quietly, Zuleeka murmured, “I’ll see you at Mirryn’s birthday,” before striding off into the stable complex.
Kiva waited until she was out of sight, then turned to her brother. “Can you stop her from coming to the party? It’s not safe. Not smart. And I don’t — I don’t want her here.”
No matter how much she wanted her sister back, right now Kiva didn’t want to be anywhere near her.
Torell blew out a loud breath. “I’ll do what I can. But you know what she’s like.”
He winced suddenly, realizing what he’d said — how Kiva didn’t know what Zuleeka was like because she was nothing at all like the child she’d once been.
“I’m so sorry, Mouse,” he repeated his earlier words, just as quietly. “Ten years . . . I don’t even know what to say.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she told him hoarsely. “But I — I don’t blame you. You know that, right?”
“You should,” he said, with bitter self-loathing. “I do.”
Kiva gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t, Tor. If I have to worry about how you’re feeling on top of everything else . . . it’s too much.”
He blew out another loud breath and drew her into his arms. “I can’t
promise not to be upset — I love you too much not to hate what you went through, especially now that I know you could have been freed years ago.”
“Just don’t hate yourself for what you had no control over,” Kiva said.
“Promise me that much.”
A long moment passed before he finally said, “I’ll try.”
Knowing it was as good as she was going to get, Kiva pulled back and wiped under her eyes, giving him a gentle push in the direction of where Zuleeka had disappeared inside the stables. “Go,” she said. “And feel free to give her the silent treatment on the ride back.”
“I plan on giving her the silent treatment for much longer than that,” Tor muttered angrily, before leaning in to kiss Kiva’s forehead and striding away, leaving her alone but for the company of her tormented thoughts . . . and her shattered heart.
