CHAPTER THIRTY
The next few minutes were some of the longest of Kiva’s life as she helplessly watched Veris, Naari, and the royals interrogate Tipp.
It turned out that while he had stolen the Book of the Law, he’d done so unknowingly.
They were still trying to understand what, exactly, had happened.
“Tell us again, buddy,” Jaren said, seated on one side of Tipp, with Kiva on the other. She was holding the young boy’s hand tightly, his skin clammy, his small body trembling, and it took everything in her not to grab him and run from the room.
“P-Peri asked me to get it, said she wasn’t allowed in the library, b-but
that I wouldn’t get in any trouble.”
“Peri?” Jaren asked.
“Perita B-Brown, one of the s-servants,” Tipp answered. “She works in the w-western palace k-kitchens. She always slips m-me and Ori sweetcakes whenever we m-manage to sneak away from T-Tutor Edna.”
He looked guiltily toward the king and queen, but they had larger concerns than the two mischievous children.
“Did she say why she wanted it?” Jaren asked.
“She s-said Mirry asked for it.”
All eyes turned to the princess, whose only reaction was to arch her elegant golden brows.
“Peri was afraid of d-disappointing Mirry,” Tipp continued, “but she also d-didn’t want to lose her job if anyone s-saw her where she shouldn’t be. She knew Ori and I s-spend so much time in the library f-for our studies, so she just — she just asked me to h-help.” He looked around the room, his eyes wide with apology. “I didn’t know I was d-doing anything wrong. I thought it was for M-Mirry.”
“Princess, do you have anything to say about this?” Captain Veris asked her.
She sent him a bland look. “Why would I want to steal something that
already belongs to me?”
“Technically, the Book of the Law doesn’t belong to us,” Caldon said. “It belongs to the people.”
Before Mirryn could reply, Jaren interjected, “I know all of the palace staff, but I don’t recognize the name Perita Brown.”
“I can’t recall her, either,” Ariana agreed. “It’s possible she gave Tipp a
fake name.”
“Or us,” Jaren said.
“Or she’s not really a servant at all and found a way to sneak in, all so she could steal our precious Book,” Mirryn said.
“How long have you known her, Tipp?” Caldon asked.
“Since we first a-arrived here. Two w-weeks.”
“So she’s been planning this awhile, then, if Mirryn’s right,” King Stellan stated, rubbing a hand over his weary face. He didn’t look as if he’d be standing for much longer. Had things been different, Kiva might have considered trying to heal him once her magic returned, but that, she knew, was out of the question.
“I don’t know,” Jaren said, “something about this doesn’t feel right.”
“You think?” Caldon said, with clear sarcasm.
Jaren ignored him, returning his attention to Tipp. “Can you describe her for us?”
Sudden nerves hit Kiva, a horrible thought coming to her: what if Peri was Zuleeka? What if she’d worn a disguise and acted like a servant to earn Tipp’s favor, all so he could steal the Book for her?
But . . . no. There were too many flaws in that plan, not the least of which were that Tipp had met Zuleeka, and Kiva had only shared about the Royal Ternary last night, not two weeks ago.
When Tipp began to describe the servant, Kiva’s chest loosened even further, because the middle-aged woman had no features in common with her sister. Veris and Naari paid close attention, asking more pointed questions to glean as many details as possible, before telling the royals they would start searching for her immediately.
The two guards left the room shortly afterward, with the rest of the Vallentis family following in their wake. Jaren lingered the longest, but he too left when Tipp turned to Kiva and clung tightly enough to bruise, the prince recognizing that the young boy needed to be alone with the person who made him feel safest.
Kiva could have kissed Jaren for his understanding, but instead she just sent him a small smile, which deepened in gratitude when he promised to update them as soon as there was any news.
Aware that her plans for the rest of the afternoon had been foiled, Kiva forced her own needs aside and spent the next few hours trying to comfort Tipp, who was inconsolable with guilt.
That guilt only grew when Jaren returned later that night with grim news.
They’d found Perita Brown.
But she was dead.
He didn’t say how, but he did share that the Book of the Law hadn’t been with her — and they now had no leads. But the Royal Guard would continue their search, Jaren said. They wouldn’t give up until the Book was safely returned.
Kiva had her doubts — even without anyone knowing it was part of the Ternary, the ancient text had to be worth a fortune. It was surely long gone by now.
Before leaving for the second time, Jaren crouched down in front of Tipp, looked straight into his tear-swollen eyes, and said, “We don’t blame you, kiddo. It was an honest mistake.”
Tipp didn’t seem to hear Jaren, more distraught than ever by what he thought was his role in Perita’s death, unwitting or not.
The young boy started crying all over again, and Jaren shot an alarmed look at Kiva, but she just shook her head, knowing it wasn’t his fault.
“Can you help get him to my room?” she asked quietly.
Together, they coaxed Tipp into releasing his death grip on Kiva long enough to be relocated to her bed, where he curled up against her once more, sniffling into her already drenched sweater.
“Can I do anything? Get you anything?” Jaren asked. “Help in any way?”
He was clearly at a loss as to how he might offer comfort, and Kiva could relate. She’d only seen Tipp like this once before, the day his mother had died. That night, she’d held him for hours, and she intended to do the same tonight until he was ready to face the world again.
“We’re all right, thanks,” Kiva replied. Running her fingers through Tipp’s silky red hair, she added, “He just needs a little time.”
Jaren nodded, but he still seemed reluctant to leave.
“Go,” Kiva encouraged. “I’ll take care of him.”
“I know you will,” Jaren said quietly. And with those confident words, he
kissed her brow, gave a shoulder squeeze to Tipp, and left the room.
Kiva barely slept a wink that night, and not just because Tipp took a long time to finally cry himself to sleep. So many worries were crowding her mind, from the royal theft to everything her grandmother had revealed, and then of course her anxiety over not having had the chance to replicate Delora’s potion. Come morning, her magic would be back, and gods knew what might happen then.
But it wasn’t only fears that kept her awake.
It was also Tipp’s nightmares.
More than once, he woke up with a startled cry, clutching at his stomach and gasping about a golden light, before falling straight back to sleep again.
Every time it happened, Kiva’s heart stopped, certain he must have remembered what she’d done. But when morning finally arrived and she carefully broached the topic, he only looked at her in puzzlement, having no recollection of any dreams, to her great relief.
No longer crying and clinging to her, Tipp was still subdued as Kiva readied herself for her training with Caldon, and when it was time to leave, he shyly asked if he could come watch.
And so, while Kiva sweated and ached her way through her workout, Tipp sat at the side of the training yard, as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from her. Part of it, she thought, was due to a particularly heart-wrenching moment during the night, when he’d asked if he would be sent back to Zalindov. Feeling his fear as if it were her own, Kiva had promised that wouldn’t happen, but she knew for herself how that dread lingered, and if Tipp felt safer when he was near her, then she would let him stay as close as he needed.
That became more of a problem when they returned to their suite after her training ended. Normally Tipp would be heading to tutoring with Oriel, but he showed no signs of leaving, and Kiva was more aware than ever of the empty vial sitting on her dresser.
But then she realized there was no reason why Tipp couldn’t go with her to Silverthorn. She didn’t have to tell him what the potion did, and he was used to her concocting all kinds of remedies from their years together in Zalindov’s infirmary. He might even be able to help.
Decision made, she left him alone long enough to wash and change, after which they both ate a quick breakfast before she informed him that she
needed to leave the palace. Panic flooded his face, vanishing only when she said he could come, at which point some of the brightness she was used to flitted back in, his excitement at visiting Silverthorn clear, even muted as it was.
Together they left the palace, the hustle and bustle of the previous day magnified now that the masquerade was mere hours away. Kiva was grateful to be escaping the madness, and she sensed that Tipp was, too, with his spirits lifting further as they walked along the River Road, the empty vial tucked safely in Kiva’s pocket. Her magic was back — she could feel it again, humming just beneath her skin — but so far it hadn’t caused any problems that morning. And she certainly didn’t have any nefarious desires to use her power to hurt anyone. Whatever had happened to Torvin, whatever dark footsteps Tilda had followed in, Kiva maintained that she wouldn’t succumb to the same temptation. Mostly because, to her, it wasn’t a temptation at all.
When they passed through Silverthorn’s front gates, Tipp wanted to stop every few steps to look at something new, but Kiva urged him on. Relief filled her when she saw Rhessinda sitting on the familiar bench in the sanctuary, because she realized that if the healer accompanied them on their task, it would lessen the chance of suspicious eyes.
“Who’s this?” Rhess asked, smiling at Tipp as they approached.
Kiva thought it was kind of her not to mention that she’d seen Tipp before — the night of the abduction, when he’d been dosed with a moradine tonic and snoring on the queen’s couch.
“I’m T-T-Tipp,” he said, offering his hand.
“Rhessinda,” she said, with a firm shake. Winking, she added, “But friends call me Rhess.”
Tipp grinned, the lighthearted expression proving he was quickly bouncing back from the previous night.
“I came looking for you yesterday,” Kiva told Rhess. “I forgot you only work mornings.”
“Everything all right?” Rhess asked, her ashy brows furrowing.
“I just wanted to see if you were free for lunch,” Kiva said, and Rhess’s forehead smoothed. “But today . . . I need something else.” She pulled the empty vial from her pocket. “I have to make a potion. Can we go back to the apothecaries’ garden?”
Rhess sighed loudly and rolled her eyes toward Tipp. “Sounds like Kiva wants to steal from Silverthorn again.”
“A-Again?”
“Not steal,” Kiva defended. “Just . . . borrow.”
“Without permission,” Rhess said pointedly.
Kiva crossed her arms, ignoring Tipp’s snicker. “Will you help me or not?”
Rhessinda jumped to her feet. “For you, my friend, anything.”
And then the healer linked their arms together, one through Kiva’s, one through Tipp’s, and began frog-marching them dramatically across the sanctuary, eliciting a delighted giggle from the young boy. For that alone, Kiva knew she’d made the right decision in bringing him along. Rhessinda’s contagious personality was enough to brighten anyone’s day.
Soon arriving at the gardens, Kiva recited the ingredients she’d seen on her grandmother’s bench, along with the ones she’d detected by scent, rattling them off to Rhess and Tipp: tilliflower, silverwheat, garrow, mirkmoss, tumumin, and hogweed. They then consulted the map before traipsing through the numerous rows collecting the desired samples.
The only hiccup came when they realized that the mirkmoss was located inside the greenhouse, until Rhessinda pointed out that there might also be a workspace inside where Kiva could make her potion.
Her lack of certainty didn’t fill Kiva with confidence — nor did her lack of a key, though she surprised them with her impressive lock-picking skills — but once they were inside, all of Kiva’s reservations fled.
The greenhouse wasn’t large, but it was bursting with rare plants, herbs, berries, and flowers the likes of which Kiva had only ever heard about in wondrous tones from her father. If she hadn’t been so desperate to make her potion, she would have lingered for hours, breathing in the earthy, fresh scents and basking in the humidity of the air.
“It smells f-funny in here,” Tipp said, wrinkling his nose.
“That’s called nature,” Rhess said, wrinkling hers, too.
Hiding a smile, Kiva hunted down the mirkmoss before moving to the wooden workbench at the back of the room. There she found an assortment of apothecary tools, including blades, chopping boards, and vials large enough to hold much more than the three stingy mouthfuls Delora had provided her.
“How can we help?” Rhess asked, wiping brown sap from her white robes.
Handing the empty vial over, Kiva said, “I need to replicate this. I think
I’ve identified all the ingredients, but I’m not sure about the quantities.”
When Tipp held out his hand, Rhess handed the vial to him and admitted, “I’m not great at making complicated potions, but I’m pretty handy with a blade.” She indicated the chopping boards. “I can prepare anything you need.”
Kiva had hoped Rhess might be able to offer more help, but she’d also known replicating the potion would be tricky. She’d just have to follow her healing intuition from years of having to scrape together lifesaving treatments using limited resources. If she could do that, she could do this.
Resolved, Kiva laid out her ingredients, carefully considering what she knew of each, before giving instructions to Rhess and Tipp, with them slicing as directed. All too soon Kiva was combining the mixture and grinding everything together, then waiting for the garrow and mirkmoss to begin weeping, thinning the solution into a liquid.
“Is that h-how it’s meant to look?” Tipp asked when Kiva poured the potion into a clean vial.
“I think so,” Kiva said. She’d done everything she could to reproduce it perfectly, and she was certain that it looked and smelled the same as Delora’s. All that was left was to taste it and see. “Here goes.”
Tipping the vial to her lips, Kiva downed a mouthful, a thrill of pride hitting her when she realized that it tasted exactly the same as what she’d
been ingesting for the last three days.
And yet, nothing happened.
Her magic didn’t vanish — it didn’t even fade. It was still there, whispering just beneath her skin, waiting to be released.
“Did it w-work?”
Kiva shook her head, disappointment — and fear — filling her.
“What was it supposed to do?” Rhess asked, eyeing Kiva closely.
Kiva just shook her head again and, in a hoarse voice, said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just — I’ll have to figure something else out.”
She’d been so certain — so certain — that she’d recreated the potion, enough that she knew there was no point in trying again with different measurements, because the taste, smell, and texture were all perfect.
Which meant, there was something missing.
A secret ingredient, most likely. Perhaps more than one, undetectable to taste, sight, and smell.
There were too many things it could be, a world of options, and while
Kiva wasn’t someone who gave up easily, she knew it could take years of trial and error to figure it out.
Anger welled in her toward her grandmother, but before it could turn into full-blown fury, she stifled it, knowing it served no purpose. Delora had encouraged her to learn control, so that was what Kiva would have to do.
She’d already managed to repress her magic for a decade — surely she could figure out how to use it safely now. Especially since it was clear she had no other choice.
“You look like you could use a chocabun,” Rhessinda commented, still watching Kiva carefully, and therefore seeing all the emotions play out across her face.
Having vomited up yesterday’s chocabuns, Kiva felt queasy at the thought, but Tipp jumped in and asked, “What’s a ch-chocabun?”
Rhess made a melodramatic gasping sound. “We need to rectify this situation immediately.”
And just like that, Rhess was leading Kiva and Tipp from the greenhouse and guiding them away from the gardens — and from any hope Kiva had for a potion. She’d known it would be difficult, but still . . .
Her disappointment was hard to shake.
Her fear, even harder.
But she buried them both, knowing neither would help.
She couldn’t, however, keep from mulling over why the potion hadn’t worked, before considering ways in which she might gain control of her magic, perhaps training it like Caldon was training her body. All of this and more flitted through her mind as she followed the chattering Rhessinda and Tipp out of the academy and down toward the river.
Lost in her thoughts, Kiva didn’t even see their attackers before Tipp’s cry and Rhess’s shout met her ears. An automatic instinct had her yanking Naari’s dagger from her boot, but it was knocked out of her hand as a cloth slammed over her mouth, its pungent, unfamiliar fumes causing everything to turn black in an instant.
