CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Kiva was rudely awakened. Twice.
The first was when Tipp burst into her room, his panic only easing upon seeing she was all right. Kiva murmured something comforting before tugging him onto her bed and telling him to go back to sleep.
Her next awakening was much less pleasant.
“Wakey, wakey, Sunshine,” Caldon’s voice came from beside her ear.
“Go ’way,” she mumbled sleepily.
“No can do, Sweet Cheeks. It’s time to get you fighting fit.”
He prodded her shoulder, and Kiva swatted at him. As her consciousness returned, she began to recall what he’d said before the poppymilk had kicked in hours ago, something about her working with him in the training yard.
Her eyes shot open to see his smirking face.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” she said.
“I didn’t give you a choice.”
And then he was yanking her out of bed and away from the still-snoring Tipp, who was hugging one of Kiva’s pillows, oblivious to everything around him.
“You’ve got five minutes to get dressed,” Caldon said. “If I have to come back in, I won’t knock first. Feel free not to have any clothes on.”
Kiva tried to hit him with a cushion, but he ducked out of the way, laughing as he left her room.
As much as she wanted to go back to sleep, Kiva decided not to risk the obnoxious prince storming in to dress her himself. Instead, she stumbled to her wardrobe, her vision limited because dawn was barely peeking through her balcony overlooking the Serin River.
Groaning at the early hour, Kiva tried to be grateful that her head, at least, was no longer pounding, the deep slumber having done her a world of good.
She quickly rifled through her clothes, some having been loaned by Princess Mirryn at the winter palace, and more having been waiting upon her arrival in Vallenia. It had been strange at first, wearing anything other than
her gray prison tunic. For too long she’d been denied the luxury of choosing her own clothes; even after six weeks of doing so, she still cherished such freedom. But with Caldon’s warning ringing in her ears, she didn’t dally, grabbing a pair of leggings and a loose beige sweater, figuring the basic outfit would serve her best.
Hurrying to her private bathroom — another luxury, particularly the hot running water — she went about her business, admiring the gold and pearl tones of the room. Her bedroom had the same color scheme, as did the rest of the palace, all of it elegant, classy, and peaceful.
After splashing water onto her face, Kiva grabbed a pair of boots and left her bedroom, moving into the sitting room at the center of her suite. The space was simple but comfortable, with large windows looking out at the river, a door opposite her room leading straight into Tipp’s bedroom, and another door opening into the palace hallway.
“That was six minutes,” Caldon drawled from the couch. “I’m adding a
minute to your training.”
“About this ‘training’ —” Kiva started.
“Nope,” Caldon interrupted, jumping up and shooing her toward the door.
“It’s already decided. I get you first thing every morning, rain, hail, or shine.
No arguments.”
While Kiva had no desire to partake in whatever he had planned, she also knew it was something she shouldn’t miss, especially since she was meant to be gathering information. Zuleeka and Torell would have her hide if they learned she’d let this opportunity pass her by. Zuleeka, especially.
The palace was large enough that it took Kiva and Caldon some time to reach the ground floor, after which they stepped outside and kept a brisk pace to ward off the cool morning air. Caldon hummed merrily under his breath as they approached the barracks, an impressive compound with sleeping quarters for the guards, a mess hall, a small infirmary, a stable, an armory, and even a weapons forge complete with on-site blacksmith. At the very center stood the expansive training yard, the grassy area sweeping out beyond the barracks and deeper into the palace grounds.
As they approached the training yard, Kiva marveled at how many people were already out practicing unarmed combat, swordplay, archery, dagger throwing, and countless other lethal practices.
Naari was, for once, not watching Jaren like a hawk, and instead was shooting arrows into targets an impossible distance away, one after the other,
reloading her bow so fast that her hands were a blur.
Jaren was also in the yard, his sweat-slicked shirt indicating he’d been there for some time. Only six weeks earlier, he’d barely been able to move, let alone spar with anyone, but their extended stay at the winter palace had healed all the injuries he’d sustained inside the prison. His quick, powerful movements showed just how swiftly he’d returned to health, with him currently facing off in a robust clash of swords against the formidable Captain Veris.
Kiva couldn’t keep her eyes off the crown prince. There was just something so compelling about him, something so addictive about watching the way he moved, the graceful, strong lines of his body, the intense focus, the perfect — “You’ve got a little drool happening. Right there.”
Kiva shoved Caldon’s hand away and scowled at him. Attempting to cover her embarrassment, she grumbled, “Why are so many people up at this ungodly hour?”
“This may come as a shock, but there’s an entire world of people who start their day before eight a.m.,” Caldon commented dryly. Nudging her forward, he added, “I think it’s best if we keep a certain someone out of your direct line of sight, or we’ll never get anything done.”
Kiva remained silent, trying to keep some small shred of dignity intact.
Leading her to the far side of the training yard, Caldon finally came to a stop at an empty space near the corner and said, “Wait here, I’ll be back.”
He took off, leaving Kiva to watch a group of guards sparring close enough for her to marvel at their quick, daring moves. The sight catapulted her back to the bloodthirsty riot in Zalindov, where the inmates had taken up arms against the prison guards. Their laboring tools had been used as weapons; unwieldy pickaxes, hammers, and chisels fighting against much more lethal blades. Even now, Kiva could picture it vividly, her palms turning clammy as she recalled the screams, the blood, the death.
Sucking in a breath, Kiva wiped her hands on her leggings and willed her heartbeat to settle. She’d only just managed to calm down when Caldon came up behind her and dropped a wooden box on the ground, causing her to jump, her pulse racing anew.
The prince cocked an eyebrow at her overreaction, but then his features softened as he took in her pale face, as if he understood what memories were battling for her attention. To her relief, he didn’t comment on it, only saying,
“Let’s start with some stretches.”
After completing a set of exercises to loosen her muscles, Kiva looked at the nearest pair of guards, their clashing swords screeching with each strike, and asked, “Is that what we’ll be doing?”
Caldon threw back his head and laughed. “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a blade anytime soon.”
Kiva crossed her arms.
His chuckles waning, Caldon said, “I need to see what I’m working with here. Stand up as straight as you can.”
She did as ordered, his eyes trailing down her body, but not in his usual flirtatious way. There was a seriousness about him, enough for Kiva to realize this was important to him — the art of training, and the discipline required for it.
“It’s worse than I feared,” Caldon muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you sure you’re standing up straight?”
“Of course I’m —”
“May I?” Caldon didn’t wait for her permission before he pushed her shoulders back, kicked her legs apart, braced her spine, and tilted her chin up.
“Better,” he said. “Now hold that position.”
Barely seconds passed before her shoulders began to curl inward and her chin drifted down, neither of which she would have noticed if Caldon hadn’t corrected them. A slight ache began in her lower back, the burn spreading both higher and lower the longer she remained in the one position, her neck beginning to scream.
“What’s the point of this?” Kiva asked, gritting her teeth when he pushed her shoulders into place yet again.
“We need to improve your balance and strengthen your core,” Caldon said, tapping his sword against her stomach. “You have seventeen years of bad habits to break, but those two are important. There’s no point in learning how to do anything more challenging” — he indicated the sparring swordsmen — “until your foundation is in place.”
“But I’m just standing here.”
“The way you stand affects the way you move,” he said. “If you can’t stand correctly, you’ll never move to the best of your ability.”
Kiva grumbled under her breath, but in the back of her mind, she saw the logic in what he was saying.
When Caldon called time, Kiva took great effort not to slump over. She ignored the dull ache in her back and neck, instead holding Caldon’s amused look and hating that he seemed to know about her physical discomfort anyway.
“Now that you know what your posture should be,” he said, moving the wooden box closer, “step up.”
Wondering if it was some kind of trick, Kiva tentatively did as instructed.
The box wasn’t very high, but she still felt her muscles tighten with the stretch.
“Now do that again, but hold your straight-backed position,” Caldon said.
Kiva repeated her actions, but this time with the correct posture, prompting a burning sensation to ricochet all the way down her body.
“Good,” Caldon said. “Again.”
And so Kiva did it again.
And again.
And again.
While continuing the mindless task, she tried to glance around the training yard in search of anything her brother or sister would want to know.
But she had no idea how to describe the fighting techniques that were being practiced, and soon enough it took all of her concentration just to keep her legs under her as she stepped up and down, over and over again.
Her thighs were on fire, the rest of her body equally inflamed, sweat dripping from places she didn’t know could sweat, when Caldon finally told her to stop.
“How’s that feel?” he asked as she collapsed on top of the box.
“Like I want to murder you,” Kiva panted, massaging her legs.
“Perfect,” he said. “We’re making progress.”
She didn’t even have the energy to scowl at him.
A water canteen entered her line of sight, and she eagerly grabbed for it.
“Take it easy,” Caldon said, pulling it away before she could drain it all.
“You’ll regret it if you drink too much. We haven’t finished yet.”
Kiva bit down on a whimper as Caldon tugged her back up to her feet.
“Balance and core strength are important,” he said. “But right now, you have no fighting skills, and that won’t change overnight. So if something were to happen to you, like, say, if someone tried to abduct you — again — then your best bet for staying alive is simple: run away.”
Dread began to well within Kiva.
“Your fitness levels are nonexistent thanks to your time in Zalindov, so we need to work on your endurance.” A grin stretched across Caldon’s face.
“If you want to murder me now, just wait to see how you feel after what’s next.”
Half an hour later, Kiva wondered if hatred was too kind a word for how she felt toward Caldon, especially as she vomited for the third time into the bushes bordering the training yard.
“I told you not to drink all that water,” he said, not even winded.
“It wasn’t the water,” she half moaned, half panted. “It was the sadistic
asshole of a prince —”
“Language,” Caldon tutted.
“— who wouldn’t let me stop even when I said I was about to die.”
“And yet, here you are, still alive,” he said. “How’s the head?”
Last night’s head wound was the least of Kiva’s troubles, the rest of her body screaming after being forced to run around the expansive training yard three times, pausing for only a minute between laps — just long enough for her to expel the contents of her stomach.
Rather than admit how miserable she felt, she turned the question around on Caldon. “How’s the shoulder?” she asked, having seen him press a hand to it during their second lap, grimacing as their rapid steps jolted his upper
body.
“I’ve felt better,” he admitted.
Kiva moved closer. “Let me see.”
Caldon didn’t object, shifting his collar until his blood-splattered bandage was revealed.
Pulling back the dressing, Kiva was relieved to find that he hadn’t ripped his stitches. She was careful not to touch the raw skin with her unwashed hands, only prodding the swollen edges to check for infection.
“You’re fine,” she told him. “You’ll be tender for a while, but if you keep it clean, you should heal quickly enough.”
“It’s not my first stab wound, Sunshine, or my worst,” Caldon said, reminding her of the older scars she’d seen on his torso last night. “It likely won’t be my last, either. I know what I’m in for.”
Kiva quashed the alarm she felt and began to rewrap the dressing.
. . . Until her hands started glowing.
No.
Her nausea returned with a vengeance — this time prompted by terror — as Kiva urged the magic away, praying the bright sunshine was enough to keep anyone from noticing. Caldon, thankfully, was focused on a nearby sparring match, unaware of the golden healing light flowing from Kiva’s
fingertips right under his nose.
No, no, no.
Kiva gritted her teeth against the tingling sensation, her hands trembling as she fought for control over her power. It was an effort of sheer will to keep from panicking as she made herself methodically finish bandaging Caldon’s wound, the light fading just in time for his attention to return to her.
“You have the magic touch.”
Kiva nearly fainted. “What?” she breathed, heart thundering in her chest.
Caldon rotated his shoulder. “Whatever you did, it’s already feeling much better. Thanks, Sunshine.”
“I —” Kiva cut herself off, before weakly saying, “I really didn’t do much.”
In truth, she hadn’t done anything at all. Nothing mundane, at least. But . . . her magic . . .
Kiva wouldn’t think about it, fearing that doing so might encourage the golden light to return.
It was a fluke, she told herself. Last night and today, both unfortunate coincidences, the result of fatigue and stress, and nothing else. For ten years, she’d managed to hide her power. There was no reason to fear that anything
had changed, not when — “How was your first day of training?”
Kiva gave a quiet yelp as Jaren stepped up beside her, even sweatier than when she’d last seen him. Unlike how she felt, he appeared invigorated from his exertions, his hair damp, cheeks flushed, and eyes crystal clear in the morning sunshine.
For once, Kiva wasn’t distracted by his appearance, instead studying his face to see if he’d witnessed anything strange on approach. He was looking at her no differently from normal, so she pushed away her magical misgivings, reassuring herself that it was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.
“She gets top marks for staying,” Caldon answered Jaren. “But there’s definite room for improvement.”
He was being generous, Kiva thought, fully aware of how much work she had ahead of her.
“Ready to get out of here?” Jaren asked her.
“You have no idea,” she replied, meaning every word.
“Same time tomorrow, Sunshine,” Caldon said, unsheathing his sword and, heedless of his injured shoulder, starting off toward where Naari waited with her own weapon ready. He winked back at Kiva and finished, “It’ll be the highlight of your day.”
She watched him walk away before turning to Jaren and asking, “How
close are you two?”
He angled his head to the side. “Why?”
“I’m just wondering how you’d feel if something happened to him,” Kiva said. “Like an accident.” Quickly, she added, “Hypothetically, of course.”
“Of course,” Jaren repeated, lips twitching.
Kiva toed the dirt with her boot and mumbled, “Never mind.”
Jaren chuckled and began leading the way back toward the barracks.
“Hypothetically, I’d say he probably deserves whatever misfortune comes his way.”
Nodding emphatically, Kiva said, “That’s my thinking.”
Jaren chuckled again, before sobering. “You don’t have to train with him, you know.”
“Why am I training with him?” Kiva asked. “Why not with you or Naari or . . . or . . . anyone else?”
“It’s always better to learn from the best,” Jaren answered, guiding her around a pair of guards, one male, the other female, locked in unarmed combat. “Cal’s one of the greatest warriors in the kingdom. His mother — my mother’s sister — was the general of our armies, his father was the commander of our armadas. His childhood was spent learning the art of fighting and strategic warfare. He’s been training since he came out of the womb, which makes him the most qualified to teach you. To teach anyone.”
Kiva frowned. “Are we talking about the same person?”
Jaren shook his head — not in the negative, but as if he found her amusing. “I know he comes across as, well . . .”
“An arrogant, self-absorbed reprobate?” Kiva supplied helpfully. “And then some,” Jaren said, grinning. “But there’s a lot more to my cousin than meets the eye.”
Kiva was beginning to realize as much. “Did you say his mother was the general? And his father was the commander?”
Jaren’s lingering humor vanished. “Three years ago, my aunt and uncle
took a group of elite soldiers out on a ship to practice a training drill in open waters. Cal was meant to be with them, but he woke up violently ill that morning. His sister, Ashlyn, stayed behind to look after him.” Jaren’s throat bobbed. “That afternoon, a storm came up out of nowhere. It battered the city so badly that we needed months of repairs afterward, but even so, that was on dry land. My aunt and uncle and their soldiers were still out at sea when the storm hit.” He swallowed again. “They never made it back.”
Kiva came to a sudden stop at the edge of the training yard. “Are you saying —”
“Cal lost both his parents that day,” Jaren confirmed, his expression grim.
“He’d been groomed since birth to take over as the general once his mother stepped down, with Ash intended to command the armadas once their father did the same, but neither expected the time to come so soon.”
“What happened?” Kiva asked quietly, the sparring noises fading into the background as she focused on Jaren’s sad tale.
“My uncle had a number of highly competent people under him, all of whom were capable of overseeing the armadas in his stead. But the armies . . . My aunt was so beloved that her lieutenants struggled to maintain order,”
Jaren said, looking off into the distance. “Cal and Ash were both overwhelmed by grief, but we all knew one of them would have to take charge. It should have been Cal — that had been the plan all along, what he’d wanted all along. But not like that.”
Jaren blew out a breath and continued, “He wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it.
So Ashlyn did. She’s only a few years older than him, which made her the youngest appointed general in Evalon’s history. But the respect our armies have for her — for both of them — is unparalleled. Men and women would not only fight for her, they’d die for her, knowing she’d give all of herself right there alongside them.” More quietly, Jaren admitted, “We would have been in real trouble back then without her.”
“Would your armies have disbanded?” Kiva asked, wondering how something so strong could break so easily.
“We never would have let it get that bad,” Jaren said. “It was more the timing that was problematic. Three years ago, when all this was happening, was around the time the rebels started to become a real nuisance.”
Nuisance — Kiva nearly snorted at the term, doubting Torell or Zuleeka would appreciate it.
“Their attacks grew bolder, to the point that they became openly hostile,
causing damage to villages and loss of life to those who stood against them.
They were always careful to avoid the larger cities — they still are — but the smaller townships were easy targets. It was . . .” Jaren shook his head. “Well, it was a real mess, honestly. And all the worse because our own forces were disorganized and waiting for a leader to step up. So that’s what Ashlyn did.”
Openly hostile, causing damage to villages and loss of life . . . Kiva pushed the words away, certain there had to be an explanation. Her brother led the rebels’ forces, and Tor wouldn’t allow senseless violence without good reason.
“Why didn’t Ashlyn use your armies to stop the rebels?” Kiva asked.
“It was too late,” Jaren said. “They’d had too much time to gain a foothold and build their following. Years and years of quietly adding to their numbers and spreading out over Evalon and beyond made it impossible to hunt them all down and end their movement entirely. But Ash did what she could to defend against them, protecting our people from the worst of their attacks. Protecting the rebels, too, from themselves. Even if they didn’t realize. Or didn’t care.”
Kiva wondered what her siblings would think of Jaren’s words, whether they’d offer a defense. But then a familiar sparring pair caught her eye, and her mind was pulled back to Caldon as she watched him and Naari across the training yard, their swords blurring.
“What happened to him?” Kiva asked quietly.
“Nothing,” Jaren answered, just as quietly. “And that’s the problem. He’s doing nothing with his life; he has no purpose, no direction. Before the accident, all his time was spent training and studying to become the next general, but now he won’t even set foot in any of the army camps. And he hasn’t seen his sister in three years — not since she took up her position.
Whenever Ashlyn comes to Vallenia, Cal always finds an excuse to be elsewhere. It’s as if he’s avoiding anything that might remind him of their parents.”
“But he seems so . . .” Kiva searched for the right word, before settling on, “Carefree.”
Jaren said nothing for a long moment, watching his cousin spar with Naari. “Sometimes the people who act like they don’t care are really the ones who care the most. They feel so much that it overwhelms them, and to keep from falling apart, they hide behind easy smiles and quick laughter, acting like nothing matters. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to protect themselves
from the world. A way to keep from getting hurt.”
“It’s unhealthy,” Kiva said, though she was hardly one to judge, given that she’d made an art out of pushing people away in order to protect herself.
“Maybe,” Jaren said, turning and indicating for Kiva to follow again.
“But people process emotions in different ways. Until Cal is ready to deal with what happened, all we can do is be there for him, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he can sometimes be.”
“Sometimes?” Kiva murmured, but the insult was only half-hearted. She hated that the rakish prince had lost his parents so young, relating in ways she wished she couldn’t. Equally, she hated that she felt such empathy for him, since it would only make her own mission all the more difficult.
What was with these Vallentis princes? Why did they have to pull on her heartstrings so deeply? Why did they have to be so . . . so . . .
Kiva didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, slamming the door shut on that part of her mind.
“Truly, though,” Jaren said, reclaiming her attention, “I meant what I said earlier — you don’t have to train with him if you don’t want to. You don’t have to train with anyone.”
“What do you think I should do?” Kiva asked.
Jaren thought over his answer as he led her through the rest of the barracks and out onto the gravel path. “If something like last night ever happens again, I’d feel more comfortable knowing you can defend yourself, or that you can at least run away to safety,” he said. “But this isn’t about what I want. What do you want?”
That wasn’t something Kiva could answer honestly, not to Jaren. Perhaps not even to herself. So all she said was, “I agree.”
“So you’ll keep training with him?” Jaren asked.
It cost her, but Kiva said, “For now.”
“I’m glad,” Jaren said, visibly relieved. “If Cal becomes too much, let me know, and I’ll have a word with him. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.
Ever.”
His words warmed Kiva, but she brushed them aside and said, “I can handle your cousin.”
“I know you can,” Jaren said, and that warmed Kiva, too. “But the offer stands.”
Before she could repeat her sentiment, a male servant approached from the direction of the palace and bowed deeply to Jaren, handing over a note
and scurrying away again.
Breaking the wax seal, Jaren skimmed the words before turning to Kiva,
his expression unreadable.
“What?” she asked.
“My mother has invited you to brunch.”
Kiva blinked and repeated, “What?”
“And the Royal Council would like a word with me,” Jaren continued, refolding the note. “So it seems you’ll get to eat your weight in pastries while I have to sit in a stuffy underground room listening to a group of people who all think they know better than each other.”
Unable to curb her curiosity, Kiva asked, “You meet underground?”
“Security,” Jaren said. “Less chance of eavesdroppers when there are no windows.”
Kiva would have given anything to spy on that meeting, but she could think of no reason to convince Jaren to let her accompany him, especially with the queen’s invitation already extended. Forcing a smile, she said, “It’ll be a sacrifice, but I’ll see to my duty if you see to yours.”
Jaren’s mouth quirked. “So noble.” He then sighed, his goodwill fading.
“I’d planned to take you to the stables and show you the grounds on horseback, but I guess it’ll have to wait. As you said — duty calls.”
