CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The ride to Murkwood Cottage was uneventful, the weather perfect, the road clear, her horse calm, and by the time Kiva dismounted at her grandmother’s doorstep, any lingering unease had completely faded away.
It returned in an instant when Delora hobbled out onto the porch, her cane in hand, her weathered face set into a frown.
“You came back.”
“You told me to,” Kiva said slowly, gauging her grandmother’s mood.
“It’s been three days. Your potion has been working perfectly, thank you. I can’t feel my magic at all.”
“Hmmph,” Delora huffed. “I suppose this is where you try to convince me that you came back for more of it and not for the dagger that made it?”
Kiva eyed the old woman warily. She’d thought they’d made progress the other day, but now she felt like they were back to square one. “I did come back for more of it.” She hesitated, recalling her promise to Zuleeka, and admitted, “Though, if you’re willing, I’d like to talk to you about the dagger while I’m here.”
Delora raised her cane and pointed it at Kiva, repeating her actions from their first meeting. “I knew it! You’re just like the rest of your rotten family! I bet the she-devil sent you here to do her dirty work, didn’t she? Didn’t she?”
Kiva crossed her arms, looping her horse’s reins through the crook of her elbow. In her coldest voice, she said, “If you’re talking about my mother, then no. She didn’t send me here. Because she’s dead.”
Without missing a beat, Delora said, “Good riddance!”
Kiva rocked backwards. “That’s your daughter you’re talking about. How can you say that?”
“Your mama was a poisonous snake, and this world is better off without her,” Delora answered heartlessly, without a single fleck of grief in her emerald gaze. “But I wasn’t talking about her — I meant your sister. She’s been pestering me for years, turning up every few months, trying to get her claws on that blade. Says she only wants to see it, that’s all. Bah! What lies.
She’s as hateful as your mama was. As dangerous, too. I can smell it all over her — don’t act like you can’t.”
It was true that Zuleeka was more resentful than she’d ever been as a child, and certainly demanding, but she had her reasons, Kiva knew. What she didn’t know was why her sister had lied to her, or at the very least implied that she hadn’t seen Delora in years.
Before Kiva could consider a justifiable explanation, her grandmother continued, “I won’t give you the dagger, not now, not ever. And I won’t give you any more potion either, so you can go on and get out of here.”
Kiva paled and took a step forward, nearly slipping on the wet, swampy path. “Please, I don’t care about the dagger. Truly — that’s between you and Zuleeka. But I need that potion. It’s stopping me from —”
“All it’s doing is delaying the inevitable,” Delora cut in. “I told you it wasn’t a permanent solution. You keep using it, and there’s no telling what’ll happen when you finally let your magic loose. My guess is, you’ll become just like your mama, everything good and pure in you turning dark, your power leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake.”
The croaking of frogs and distant birdsong met Kiva’s ears, but it was drowned out by the ringing that started, growing louder as she whispered, “What are you talking about? My mother’s magic — my magic — it’s healing magic. It helps people. There’s nothing dark about it.”
Delora scoffed. “Oh, please. Your mama used her magic to kill people.
Just like Torvin Corentine did all those centuries ago.”
The ringing stopped.
The croaking stopped.
The birdsong stopped.
For one moment, Kiva heard nothing, every noise, every thought, eddying from her mind as she stumbled backwards, kept from falling only by bumping into the solid weight of her horse. “What?” she mouthed, unable to infuse any sound into the word.
Delora stared at Kiva through narrowed eyes. “She didn’t tell you, did she? That sister of yours?”
Kiva could barely breathe, let alone form a response.
“Let me guess — she said your mama died of a rotting illness?
Something there was no cure for?” Delora snorted. “I’ll bet she did. But I’ll also bet she didn’t share that it was Tilda’s own magic that rotted her from the inside out. The moment she started using it for evil, it turned on her,
spreading like an infection, straight to her very soul. There’s a price for that kind of power. To master death, one must be willing to die.”
Mother was sick. A rotting illness, something we couldn’t find a cure for . . . The infection spread slowly, over years, something none of us realized until it was too late.
At the memory of Zuleeka’s words, Kiva swallowed. “I don’t understand.
Our magic — Corentine magic — it’s good. It heals people.”
“And how does it do that?” Delora asked, leaning more heavily on her cane. “You manipulate the human body. Your magic promotes the accelerated regrowth of cells, the banishment of toxins, making changes to blood and tissue and organs and gods know what else. But that manipulation works both ways. With a single thought, you can stop a heart. Burst an artery.
Cause a brain bleed. Collapse a lung. The list is endless, the power of life and death in your very hands. Your mother knew that. And ten years ago, when she came out of hiding, she was angry enough to use it that way. She grew in power and strength, reaching a point where she didn’t even have to be touching someone to hurt them, to kill them. Last I heard, she could walk by a group of people and wave her hand, snapping all the bones in their necks.
Just like that, they were dead.”
Bile rose in Kiva’s throat. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie? That’s my daughter — you think I’m proud of what she became?” Delora looked away, staring out at the brown, murky swamp water. “There is good news, though. That kind of magic takes a toll, which means the damage she caused was limited, even with dedicated practice.
That, and she wasn’t nearly as strong as Torvin. She could harm a few people at time, but him? He could lay waste to entire villages. Why do you think Sarana Vallentis tried to kill him? Once his power turned corrupt, he was a danger to the entire kingdom. To the entire world. Husband or not, she had to put her people first.”
“No,” Kiva said, raising her hand in a stop motion. “That’s not — That’s not —”
“I’m guessing your mama told you a different history, didn’t she? One where poor little Torvin was the victim of mean old Sarana’s jealousy?” A mocking sound left Delora. “Of course she did. Make no mistake, girl, Torvin might have started out good and kind and a healer of the people, but he became the worst kind of evil there is. And every Corentine since him, at least the ones born with magic in our blood, have had to decide whether or
not to follow in his footsteps.” She held Kiva’s horrified gaze. “Your mother chose wrong. And you —” She shook her head. “With how long you’ve repressed your power, I fear it’s only a matter of time before you head down the same dark path. There’s no potion in the world that can stop you from your own bad choices.”
Trembling all over, Kiva didn’t know what to say, what to think.
If Torvin’s magic had corrupted him, if he’d been killing people — villages, as Delora had claimed — then Sarana had been justified in trying to end him. But that meant . . . the entire rebel movement was founded on a lie.
Their whole purpose was to reclaim the throne of Evalon for its supposedly rightful ruler, someone who had been unfairly exiled and stripped of his title.
But if Delora was to be believed, then Torvin had lost all rights to his crown when he’d stopped serving his people, when he’d started hurting them.
Kiva felt sick.
She was related to a monster.
And her mother — Her mother had turned into him.
Unable to stomach such damning revelations, Kiva pushed away from Bluebell and ran straight to the water’s edge, vomiting up a foul mix of chocabuns, vegetables, and gravy.
“You’re a good little actress, I’ll give you that much,” Delora called, not moving from her porch.
Kiva wiped her hand across her mouth and staggered back toward her grandmother, tripping over creeping vines and sidestepping a snake that slithered right past her into the swamp. “I didn’t know,” she rasped. “None of this — I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do,” Delora said in a no-nonsense voice, indifferent to Kiva’s inner turmoil. “And you can consider it a warning. It’s what awaits
you if you’re not careful.”
“I would never —”
“You can’t tell the future, girl,” Delora interrupted. “Tilda hid her magic for most of her life, determined never to use it for evil. And then —” Delora snapped her gnarled fingers. “One day she just didn’t care anymore. One day she wanted to hurt people. You can’t tell me with absolute certainty that you’d never do the same.”
“But that’s the thing — I can,” Kiva said, strength returning to her voice.
She moved closer, stopping at the foot of the porch steps. “I’ve spent my life
helping people, learning to heal them not with magic, but with medicine. My father —” Her voice broke. “My father taught me to love people, to feel what they feel, to care for them, even the worst of them. And I did. For ten years, I helped the worst people in this world. Not once did I consider wanting to harm them. Even those I hated. I just —” She shook her head. “I don’t have it in me. I know I don’t.”
Delora eyed her for a long moment. Kiva held her gaze, unwavering in her self-confidence. She wouldn’t become like Torvin, like her mother. She was her own person, and she decided her own path. And while, yes, she’d done awful things in her life, she wasn’t like them.
She wasn’t a monster.
“I can see you believe that,” Delora finally relented. “And I hope you’re right, girl, I really do.”
Kiva took a step up the porch. “Then will you help me? That potion is all that’s keeping my magic in check. If you can give me just a little more —”
Delora’s face was set. “I told you, it’s not a permanent solution. You need to learn to control your magic. That’s the only way you can be sure to use it in the right way, by actively choosing to do so. You can’t keep on repressing it — that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.”
“But —” Kiva flailed, desperate. “You’ve repressed yours. You told me
so when we first met.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You said you don’t take the potion, but you don’t practice, either. So there must be some way you keep from —”
Delora laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Kiva threw out her arms, wincing when one went straight through a large spiderweb. “Know what?”
Delora laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “If she didn’t tell you, I’m certainly not going to.” She jabbed her cane toward Kiva’s horse.
“You need to leave. There’s nothing for you here.”
Turning on her heel, she began hobbling slowly toward her open door.
“Wait!” Kiva cried, causing her grandmother to pause and look back over her shoulder. In a hoarse, defeated voice, she continued, “At least give me the stupid dagger. You clearly have no desire to be associated with our bloodline, and if what you’ve shared is true, I don’t blame you. But Torvin’s dagger is important to the rebels, and Zuleeka would like —”
Kiva cut off when Delora threw back her head and howled. “Torvin’s
dagger? Is that what the she-devil calls it?”
Uncertain now, Kiva said, “She said it’s a family heirloom.”
“Well, she’s not wrong about that,” Delora said dryly, before laughing all over again. But then she sobered, her voice unyielding as she stated, “I’d rather die than see that dagger in your sister’s hands. You can tell her that from me.”
And then Delora stepped through her door, slamming it behind her without another word.
Tears sprang to Kiva’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. There was no point — they wouldn’t convince her grandmother to make more potion. But that didn’t mean Kiva was out of options. She’d seen some of the ingredients on Delora’s bench, and she still had a few drops left in her vial, enough to confirm the others by scent alone. She would figure out how to make the damned stuff herself.
Stomping with determination back to her horse, she remounted and tore off along the swampy path. She refused to think about everything Delora had said, their supposed family history too awful for her to dwell on. Right now, her focus had to be on making sure she stayed in control of her magic.
Silverthorn would help her — she knew her way to the apothecaries’ garden now. All she needed to do was snatch her vial from the palace and then get to work.
Lost in her righteous anger — and trying desperately to suppress her growing despair — Kiva nearly rode straight to the palace stables, having forgotten that her mount belonged to the academy and she still had a cover to maintain. Changing directions, she quickly returned her horse, giving the mare a grateful pat and handing her reins to the stableboy.
“That was quick,” he said.
“As promised.” Kiva summoned a smile she didn’t feel, thanked him for his help, and turned to leave.
She made it back to the palace in record time, intending to duck straight back out again with the vial. But the moment she stepped into her sitting room, she came to a jarring halt at the sight of who awaited her.
The entire Vallentis family, minus Oriel but including the sickly looking king, stood in the room, along with Naari and Captain Veris, all of whom, upon Kiva’s entry, turned to her, their tension palpable.
The blood drained from Kiva’s face.
Did they know?
Did they know?
But a quick glance at Caldon revealed him offering the slightest of head shakes, indicating her secret was still safe.
She felt little relief, since something was clearly wrong, and she swallowed against her suddenly dry throat to ask, “Has something happened?”
“Where were you today, Kiva?” King Stellan asked. His features were pallid, but his voice was full of steel.
Wondering if they knew she’d snuck out of the city again, Kiva hedged, “I — I went to see my friend at Silverthorn. The healer who came to the palace that night to treat me after — after —”
“It’s all right, Kiva, please be at ease,” Ariana said, walking over and taking Kiva’s hands. Despite her kind words, there was still a strained air about her. But rather than question it, Kiva focused on compartmentalizing her memories of the last time she’d seen the queen — when Ariana had attacked her — in order to keep from ripping her hands away.
“So you’ve been gone from the palace all day?” Captain Veris asked,
watching her closely.
“Just since lunch,” Kiva said.
“But you were here before that?” he probed. “This morning?”
Kiva nodded, her stomach flipping when the tension in the room thickened.
“Did you visit the western palace at all? The Royal Library?”
At the captain’s question, Kiva looked to Jaren. His face was completely shuttered, causing her more alarm than anything else. “Not since yesterday,” she answered slowly. “That was my first time there.”
“But you didn’t return today?” Veris pressed.
“No, why would I have?” Kiva’s forehead crinkled. “What’s going on?”
Naari stepped forward and declared, “The Book of the Law was stolen this morning.”
The only thing Kiva could hear for a moment was her own pulse in her ears. But then she looked around the room, at all the hard faces — at Jaren’s hard face — and she gasped, “You think it was me?”
The queen’s voice was soothing as she said, “We’re just trying to ascertain who might have had access to it. With so many workers here to prepare for tomorrow’s masquerade, it’s been a challenge tracking everyone down. But since no one could find you . . . Kiva, darling, we just want to hear
your side of the story.”
“There is no story,” Kiva exclaimed, pulling her hands away and backing up a step. Turning to Jaren, she asked him directly, “Why would I —”
She broke off suddenly, remembering why Jaren had taken her to the library, why he’d shown her the Book of the Law in the first place.
The Royal Ternary.
The Book was one of three items that could cause his family’s ruin.
And last night — Kiva had told Zuleeka and Torell about it.
She’d told them everything.
But she’d also told them that without all three items — one of which was hundreds of miles away — it could do nothing.
Surely they wouldn’t have risked stealing it for no reason? Not when doing so would endanger Kiva’s life, the coincidence of the timing too glaring to be ignored?
No wonder Jaren was looking at her like that. He had every reason to be suspicious of her. She would have been suspicious, had their roles been reversed.
“I didn’t do it. I swear, I —” Kiva broke off quickly and turned to Naari.
“Did you say it happened this morning?”
The guard nodded. “Sometime between ten and noon.”
The breath left Kiva in a rush of relief. “I was here,” she told them, her words desperate. “Right here, in my room. Trying gowns on. We didn’t leave
all morning.”
“We?” Naari asked.
Kiva turned pleading eyes to Mirryn.
“Silly me, I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?” the princess said, her tone more entertained than apologetic. “Kiva was with me and Nevard until lunch.” She sent a wink to Jaren. “Just wait until you see what she’s wearing tomorrow, brother. You’re welcome in advance.”
“Mirryn,” Ariana said in a stern, incredulous voice, “why didn’t you say something?”
“I forgot,” the princess repeated, defensive. “I have a lot on my mind lately, Mother.”
Immediately, the tension in the room dissolved, replaced by a combination of remorse — directed toward Kiva — with lashings of frustration — directed toward Mirryn.
But Kiva didn’t care what anyone else thought aside from Jaren, and she returned her attention to him, only to find that he was moving toward her, his face no longer shuttered, but flooded with emotion.
Barely stopping before he collided with her, he drew her close, whispering into her ear, “I was sure it couldn’t be you, but after yesterday, the timing —”
“I understand. I would have questioned it, too,” Kiva said, inwardly screaming at her siblings. If they’d had anything to do with this, she would never forgive them. It was just pure luck that she had an alibi — from the princess herself no less.
“Well!” Caldon said, clapping his hands. “I’m glad our favorite little criminal didn’t steal a priceless Evalonian relic, but we do still need to figure out who took it. Are there any other leads?”
Kiva pulled back from Jaren to scowl at Caldon for the felonious title, but he only smirked in response. There was, however, a hint of suspicion lurking in his cobalt gaze, enough that Kiva knew to expect a confrontation later if he found any evidence that she — or her family — had anything to do with the theft.
“We’ll go through the list again,” Veris said. “With the masquerade being on this side of the river, there weren’t too many itinerant workers who had access to the western palace today, but a small number of caterers and entertainers did request tours. We’ll question them all again, along with the servants, until we get to the bottom of it.”
Kiva knew that if anyone could find the perpetrator, it was Veris, and she again prayed that her siblings had nothing to do with it.
She should have prayed harder.
Or rather, she should have added another name to her prayers, a different name, because just as everyone began to leave, a small, scared voice called out, “I n-need to tell you s-something.”
All eyes turned toward Tipp’s doorway, the young boy clearly having been eavesdropping. His freckled face was pale, his expression racked by guilt.
“It w-was me. I stole the B-B-Book of the Law.”
