C H A P T E R E L E V E N
A deafening quiet fell when Kiva uttered her words, but it was quickly followed by an uproar from the gathered crowd, the wave of sound so loud that she staggered on the platform.
“SILENCE!”
The amplified roar came from the guard nearest to the prince and princess. Where the other Royal Guards had an emblem over their hearts etched in a darker shade of silver, his was engraved in gold: four quadrants representing elemental magic—earth, fire, water, and air—behind a sword crossed with an arrow and topped with a crown.
The Vallentis family crest.
“Let her through,” ordered the man with the gold emblem—the Captain of the Royal Guard, Kiva realized. Her knees nearly gave out.
The guards lowered their swords, and she stepped forward on shaking legs, her heart galloping in her chest. They didn’t stand down completely, their stance warning of immediate action should she make the slightest wrong move.
It felt like an eternity passed as Kiva made her way to the center of the platform. She didn’t dare make eye contact with the still-frozen Warden, nor did she look up at the hangman’s beam rising into the air above her. She tried to remind herself that the first Ordeal was the easiest, and offenders could—and did—live through it. She refused to think beyond that, to consider the repercussions of her hasty actions or wonder what the later Trials might bring. The chances of surviving even this one . . . Kiva knew she might have just signed away her own life, all to spare Tilda’s.
Don’t let her die.
In that moment, Kiva hated her sister, hated Cresta, hated Warden Rooke and the Vallentis family and even the Mirraven rulers who had sent Tilda to Zalindov to begin with.
And yet Kiva had made her own choice. And she would live—or die—with the consequences.
When she was only feet away from the captain, he shifted, the movement slight but enough for her to know to come no closer.
Kiva made herself look at him, taking in his salt-and-pepper hair and his trimmed mustache leading to a short, neat beard. His weathered features suggested he wasn’t just a figurehead of the Royal Guard, but that he had seen action, and plenty of it.
As if Kiva didn’t already know.
It’s all right. Everything will be all right.
Her father’s voice slammed into her, tearing open her heart, causing her breath to hitch. But she shoved the memory away, needing to give her full attention to the man before her while offering no indication that she knew who he was, that she remembered him.
The captain’s brown eyes locked with hers as he said, “Explain yourself, Kiva Meridan.”
Just hearing her name in his gravelly voice had her struggling to keep from bolting off the platform and disappearing into the watching crowd. But she couldn’t do that—she wouldn’t do that. She’d made her decision, and now she would see it through.
“As I said, Captain,” Kiva said in a clear voice, relieved when it didn’t reveal her inner turmoil, “I claim the Rebel Queen’s sentence as my own.”
“And what gives you the right to do that?” he countered, arching a dark gray eyebrow.
Kiva was aware of how many eyes were on her, the collective audience straining to hear her words—prisoners, guards, royals. She could feel the Warden’s gaze, burning in its intensity. Somewhere in the crowd, Cresta and her rebels were watching. Jaren and Tipp and Naari were watching. Everyone was watching.
Sweat trickled down Kiva’s spine, while goose bumps pricked her chilled skin.
Praying that she recalled the correct wording and the whispers she’d heard about it were accurate, Kiva declared, “The fifth rule of the Trial by Ordeal, as written in the Book of the Law, states that, ‘Should another claim the accused’s sentence as their own, then he or she shall face the Trials as the accused’s Champion.’” Kiva held
the captain’s eyes, noting the look of surprise—perhaps even respect—on his face. It made her more confident that what she’d said was true, enough that she continued, “I’ve made my claim. By the laws you uphold, I’m hereby Tilda Corentine’s Champion.”
A sudden bark of laughter had Kiva’s neck swiveling toward the royals.
“I like her,” the crown prince said, amusement clear in his voice even if the mask hid his expression. “She’s got spirit.”
“She’s got a death wish,” the princess countered, though she too seemed entertained.
Kiva burned with resentment toward them both, and swiftly turned back to the captain. But not before seeing the stormy look on Warden Rooke’s face. She swallowed, realizing her interference must have inconvenienced his plans for the Rebel Queen. He’d claimed not to care whether she lived or died, but Kiva knew his life would be easier if Tilda perished in today’s Trial. Her sentence would be delivered by her failure, her execution legal in the eyes of the law.
Zalindov held little regard for justice, but with all of Wenderall watching, Rooke was being careful. His dark look told Kiva one thing: if she survived the first Ordeal, she would be answering to him.
“I don’t think you understand the ramifications of your claim, girl,” the captain said, folding his massive arms over his armored chest.
“The second half of that rule states that your fate will be tied to hers.
If you fail to pass all four Trials, both of you die.”
A murmur rippled over the listening crowd.
“NO, KIVA! D-DON’T!”
Kiva blocked out Tipp’s cry. She was doing this not just for Tilda, but also to save Tipp’s life, and her own. She would not be swayed, even as she felt the lightheaded sensation of panic gripping her, pins and needles prickling at her fingertips, her vision blackening at the edges.
Mustering courage she did not feel, Kiva dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain helping her focus as she declared, “And if I succeed, both of us will be granted freedom.”
She saw no point in admitting how the odds were against her.
Everyone already knew. But if Kiva could make it through this first task . . .
We are safe. Stay alive.
Don’t let her die.
We are coming.
We.
Are.
Coming.
Kiva had to believe this was what her sister’s note had meant: that now, after ten years, they finally were coming, ready to fulfill their promise. Especially now that Tilda was here—an added incentive for her followers to risk making a move against Zalindov, freeing Kiva in the process. That was what Cresta’s threat had implied: that a rescue attempt was in motion.
The Meridan family—Kiva’s family—had a complicated history with the rebels. Young as she’d been when she was taken from them, she still remembered. Her parents had tried to stay removed from the political unrest growing within Evalon, their little village tucked away at the base of the Armine Mountains, largely forgotten by outsiders. But things had changed in the ten years since Kiva had been imprisoned. Just as she had done what was needed to survive, so, too, it seemed, had her family.
Maybe . . . just maybe . . . if she could live through the first Trial . . . if she could buy Tilda more time, long enough to keep Cresta off her back, for the rebels to come, for Kiva’s family to come . . .
Maybe she would finally see her freedom.
Don’t let her die.
We are coming.
The princess stepped forward, her fur-lined red cloak rustling with the movement, pulling Kiva from her hopeful—if desperate— thoughts.
“Why risk your life?” Princess Mirryn eyed Kiva from behind her mask. “Why make such a claim, knowing that it can only have one outcome?”
Kiva didn’t waste her breath arguing that there could be a second outcome—that she could live. Instead, she simply said, “The woman you’ve sentenced is deathly ill, unable to stand on her own, let alone attempt today’s Ordeal. You’ve traveled a long way to be entertained,
Princess. Rather than ask my reasons, why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show, as intended?”
Unlike the prince, whose golden mask fully hid his expression, the princess’s mask was like melted silver, flowing from one half of her face diagonally to the other. As such, her red lips were visible enough to be seen twisting into a smirk moments before she stated, “Definitely a death wish.”
And then Kiva was shooting into the air.
One moment, her feet were on the wooden gallows platform; the next, there was nothing beneath her, nothing holding her as she flew upward, yanked by an invisible chain. The bitter wind slapped at her face, her breath catching in her lungs and trapping a scream in her throat. She had barely seconds to wonder what was happening— was this the Ordeal? What was she supposed to do? How was she to survive?—before her upward momentum halted and she came crashing down again.
Sheer terror took hold in the single second that passed before her feet slammed into a solid surface, her body crumpling into a pile when her legs were unable to hold her weight.
She wasn’t dead.
But she wasn’t safely on the ground, either.
Instead, as Kiva rose, dread coiled within her when she realized that she was atop one of the freestanding watchtowers that overlooked the eastern quad, perpendicular to the outer wall.
She was so high. So high.
A thump behind her had Kiva whirling to find the Captain of the Royal Guard landing nimbly mere paces away, having also been delivered by the princess’s elemental magic.
“Be thankful Princess Mirryn didn’t drop you from much higher, or you wouldn’t be standing right now,” the captain said, noting Kiva’s full-body trembles.
Kiva feared she was going to be sick. She hoped that, if her dignity fled in such a manner, she could at least ruin the captain’s polished boots in the process.
“The prince and princess have agreed to accept your claim, transferring Tilda Corentine’s sentence to you, as per rule five in the Book of the Law,” the captain continued. His gaze was steady on her
when he added, “If the reports of her ill health are true, you’re sacrificing your life for no reason. So I’m giving you one last chance to rescind your claim.”
Kiva said nothing, partly because she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would do exactly what the captain had offered. But, she reminded herself, all she had to do was take the Trials one step at a time. She could do this. She would do this.
Don’t let her die.
This was the only way Kiva knew how to keep the Rebel Queen alive. If—when—Kiva survived the Trial by Air, then Tilda would have more time to recover, and Kiva would have bought more time for the rebels to come for her—for both of them.
But . . . if Kiva did die today . . . the dead didn’t suffer the censure of the living. Tilda’s fate would no longer be her responsibility.
“So be it,” the captain said when she remained silent, though he seemed displeased. Kiva wondered if he knew who she was, if he remembered her, but then she realized he would be treating her much differently if that were true.
It’s all right. Everything will be all right.
Kiva breathed deeply through her nose and forced the memory away again.
“Kiva Meridan,” called the amplified voice of the crown prince, prompting both her and the captain to look down from the watchtower balcony. “You have volunteered to undertake the Trial by Ordeal in place of the accused Rebel Queen. Today you shall face the Trial by Air. Do you have any last words?”
Kiva had many, none of which would allow her to live if she managed to survive the Trial, so she held her tongue and shook her head. She didn’t dare look toward where she’d last seen Tipp, Jaren, Tilda, and Naari, nor did she look for Mot or any other familiar faces in the crowd, lest she lose her nerve.
“Very well,” Prince Deverick said, elemental magic projecting his voice for all to hear. Kiva had never witnessed such power in effect before. Had this been any other time, she would have marveled at it —and also at what the princess had done in relocating both Kiva and the captain onto the guard tower. Instead of being amazed, however, she was trying not to soil her pants as she waited to hear what was
ahead. She would be all right, she reminded herself. She would survive. She would.
“Captain Veris,” Prince Deverick continued, “would you be so kind as to explain the first Ordeal to the Champion?”
Kiva swiveled back to the captain and willed him to assume she was this pale all the time.
“The Trial by Air is straightforward,” Veris said. “You’re to jump from here”—he pointed at the slatted floor upon which they stood —“to there.”
Kiva followed his finger with her eyes, her head spinning as she marked her destination.
The top of the eastern wall—thirty feet away.
“That’s impossible,” Kiva choked out around her constricted throat, her confidence vanishing in an instant.
“It’s not meant to be easy,” Veris said, without pity.
Even if the tower were closer to the wall, it still would be a challenging jump. But with so much distance between them, including a bottleneck of onlookers below . . .
An incredulous laugh left Kiva. So much for the first Trial being survivable. Regret crept along her spine—mixed liberally with panic —leaving chills in its wake.
“As far as records go,” Captain Veris said conversationally, “the furthest anyone has been reported to have jumped in a single leap was just over twenty-nine feet. This is barely more than that.”
“On the ground,” Kiva rasped out. “And I’m guessing that was with a running start.”
Veris remained unmoved. “You can jump, or I can push you. The choice is yours.”
Kiva wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with his choice.
Instead, she took a deep breath and stepped closer to the edge of the balcony, placing her hands on the rickety wooden railing to look over the side and gauge the distance to the earth. She pulled back again immediately as vertigo took hold.
“I can’t— You can’t— It’s not—” Kiva couldn’t even get a sentence out. She inhaled again, attempting to calm her rising hysteria.
“We don’t have all day,” came the prince’s amplified voice, impatience threading his tone. “You have thirty seconds, Champion,
or we’ll consider you to have surrendered.”
Lights flashed in Kiva’s vision. Surrender meant failing, and failing meant both she and Tilda would lose their lives. Tipp, at least, should be safe, since he’d no longer provide any leverage, but who would protect him once Kiva was gone?
Instead of adding to her terror, the thought steadied her. Sudden clarity made her realize that it was better to lose her life by trying to save it, than to doom them all with her cowardly inaction.
Time. All she needed was time. If she could somehow pull off a miracle, somehow survive this task . . .
Her freedom could be only a leap away.
Sucking in one last calming breath, Kiva summoned her courage and pointed at the railing. “Open this.”
Captain Veris didn’t reprimand her for the command, perhaps thinking it was the last she would ever give. He snapped his fingers, and two guards from within the tower hurried out and undid a latch at the corner of the barrier, swinging it out into open air.
“Twenty seconds, Champion,” came the prince’s bored voice.
Kiva toed the edge of the balcony, making herself look down this time. She could see the royals and Rooke still on the gallows platform beneath her, the crowd of prisoners looking up with anticipation gleaming on their faces.
Entertained. There were all entertained, her life—or death—being nothing but a spectacle to them.
“Ten seconds, and you’ll have failed,” the prince declared.
Kiva closed her eyes, blocking out the view of all those watching,
waiting.
“Nine!” the crowd below cried.
She started backing up.
“Eight!”
Step, after step, after step.
“Seven!”
She was aware of Captain Veris shuffling out of her way, the other guards remaining on the balcony to watch.
“Six!”
She continued backwards, step—“Five!”—after step—“Four!”— after step—“Three!”—until she was at the furthest point from the
opened edge.
“Two seconds, Champion!” warned the prince.
Don’t let her die.
Stay alive.
Kiva’s mind went blank as she shot forward, her entire focus on the task before her. She willed strength into her legs, lightness into her body, air into every atom of her being as she sprinted along the tower and gave a mighty leap off the side.
Stay alive.
We are coming.
Icy wind bit at her skin and tugged at her clothes as she speared through the air. She was doing it—she was actually doing it. The wall was nearing with every racing heartbeat, her pulse thumping so loudly that it nearly drowned out the raging whoosh of air past her ears.
Closer and closer she soared, defying gravity itself, the top of the eastern wall approaching with every microsecond that passed.
She was going to make it. She was going to beat the odds, to succeed against the first Ordeal. Triumph raged within her. She could almost feel the solid wall beneath her, could almost taste the
victory.
But then she was falling.
So close—she was so close. If only she could reach out and grab hold of the edge, then she’d be able to— It was too late.
She was already plummeting, down, down, down to the earth.
It’s all right. Everything will be all right.
Her father’s voice echoed in her ears, and this time she didn’t push it away. She wanted him with her as she fell, needed his comfort as she met her end.
It’s all right. Everything will be all right.
Kiva closed her eyes, unwilling to watch the inevitable play out.
She kept them closed and thought of her father, of what happened the day her life was taken from her. She’d been on borrowed time for ten years, and today that time had come to an end.
It’s all right. Everything will be all right.
Suddenly, the whoosh in her ears stopped, the icy wind
disappeared, and then— Pain.
Blinding, overwhelming pain lanced through every inch of Kiva’s
body.
And then she knew no more.
