C H A P T E R T W E LV E
“It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”
Kiva didn’t let go of her father’s hand as the Royal Guard surrounded them, nor did she release her brother’s hand on her other side. The sweet aroma of jerriberries teased her nostrils as the nearest soldiers trampled the basket she and Kerrin had collected, all of their hard work squashed into the mud. Their mother wouldn’t be making her jam tonight, not anymore.
“Faran Meridan, you’re under arrest,” declared the guard who had stopped directly in front of Kiva’s father. He had a kind face, Kiva thought, so she couldn’t understand why he looked so angry. The golden crest over his heart was different from those of the other soldiers, all of whom bore only a silver emblem.
“For what crime?” Faran demanded.
Kiva looked up at her father, hearing a strange emotion in his voice. It was like when she and Kerrin had played in the river last summer and tried to see who could swim the deepest and hold their breath the longest. Kiva had won by far, but when she’d returned to the surface, her father had been shaking and told her to never stay underwater for so long ever again.
That same tone was in his voice now, his trembling hand clutching hers as if to steady them both.
She gripped him tighter, letting him know she was there. When the soldiers had poured down from their cottage to surround them, he’d said everything would be all right. Kiva believed him, knowing he would never lie to her.
“You were spotted in the marketplace with a known rebel,” the gold-crested guard answered. “You’re to be imprisoned for suspected treason against the crown.”
For a long moment, Kiva’s father appeared unable to speak, his face as white as the moon slowly rising overhead.
“I— You—” Faran squared his shoulders and tried again. “The marketplace is full of people. I could have brushed shoulders with any number of rebels without knowing. I could have treated them, for all I know. I’m a healer—people come to me from all walks of life, and I don’t ask questions before helping them.”
“Maybe you should,” the guard said emotionlessly. “Step away from your children and come willingly, or we’ll take you by force.”
Faran’s grip turned crushing. A squeak of fear left Kiva, and a louder gasp came from her brother. She turned to Kerrin, seeing the silver jerriberry smears around his mouth and his widened emerald eyes, the exact same shade as hers. He was trembling beside her, and despite her father’s grip beginning to hurt, she was careful to give her younger brother’s sticky fingers a gentle, calming squeeze.
“I’m not— You can’t take me from my family,” Faran said.
“The rest of your family has already fled,” the guard said, pointing an armored hand up the hill to the cottage where Kiva’s mother and older siblings had last been. Smoke was beginning to curl from their home, a flickering orange glow bleeding from the windows into the night. “You should thank the everworld that we want you badly enough not to chase them, or they’d be heading to Zalindov with you.”
“Zalindov?” Faran swayed on his feet, prompting Kiva to strengthen her hold on him, their palms slick with sweat despite the wintry air. “You can’t—You can’t send me to—”
“Enough,” the gold-crested guard interrupted. He looked toward the two nearest soldiers and ordered, “Take him.”
Those two clipped words loosened Kiva’s tongue—and her panic.
“No!” she cried, holding her father even tighter.
“Papa!” Kerrin screamed.
The soldiers raised their drawn swords and marched forward, closing the space between them. Faran wrenched his hand from Kiva, shoving her away with enough force that she went back three steps before losing her balance and falling to the ground.
Kerrin should have fallen with her, but his berry-slicked fingers slipped from hers as he leapt away—not toward their father, but to the dagger Faran had been using to cut his supply of aloeweed.
“KERRIN! DON’T!” Kiva yelled.
Kerrin didn’t hear her, didn’t listen. Instead, the young boy scooped up the blade and, with a roar, launched himself toward the approaching guards.
It happened in an instant, so fast that, from her position on the ground, Kiva didn’t see, didn’t realize, until it was too late.
One moment, Kerrin was barreling forward; the next, he was dropping to the ground, clutching at his chest—and at the sword that was embedded there.
Years passed in the time it took for the soldier to withdraw his blade . . . for the sickening squelch of steel moving through flesh and bone to fade . . . for all those watching to fully comprehend what had happened.
“NO!” howled Faran, falling to his knees beside his son and pressing his hands to the boy’s small chest. “No, no, no!”
“Kerrin,” Kiva whispered, tears flooding her eyes. She scrambled through the mud toward them, jerriberry juice staining her hands, her knees, her clothes. “K-Kerrin!”
“Somebody get me—get me—” Faran couldn’t finish his choked command, for there was nothing anyone could get him, no remedy that could help, nothing anyone could do as Kerrin’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“N-no!” Kiva said, reaching her sticky hands toward him. “No!
KERRIN! NO!”
Before she could press her fingers to his wound just like her father, before she could so much as touch him, a steely arm banded around her waist, hoisting her up into the air.
“This wasn’t meant to happen,” growled a voice in her ear—the man with the golden crest. “This never should have happened.”
“LET ME GO!” Kiva screamed, kicking at him, tears pouring from her eyes. “LET ME— I NEED TO— YOU HAVE TO—”
“Get him up,” the guard commanded the soldiers bearing down on Faran. The one whose blade was dripping with Kerrin’s blood stood immobile over him, his young face ashy, until his companions pushed him to the side. Only then did he return to himself, wiping his sword and advancing with the others. “We’ve got our orders.”
“PAPA!” Kiva sobbed, still kicking at the guard, but his grip was unyielding. “PAPA!”
Faran might as well have been as lifeless as his youngest son, for all that he reacted to her pleas. He did not fight, did not struggle at all as the guards heaved him up and began to drag him away.
“PAPA!”Kiva screamed again.
“Bury the boy,” the man holding her ordered his remaining soldiers. In a quieter, raspier voice, he added, “But have a care. He’s just a child.”
As the guards moved to collect Kerrin, Kiva wrestled even more fiercely against her captor. “DON’T—TOUCH—HIM!” she screeched.
“DON’T—YOU—DARE—”
“I’m sorry about this, girl,” the man holding her murmured. “But you brought it on yourself.”
“LET ME GO!” Kiva choked out between sobs. “PAPA! PA—”
But a swift pain cut her off midcry, and then darkness flooded her vision, with her world—and her life—disappearing in an instant.
“I don’t have all day, healer. Wake up!”
A rough shake had Kiva’s eyes shooting open, prompting her to sit up with a gasp that turned into a coughing fit.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t draw air into her lungs.
She couldn’t— She couldn’t— “Oh, stop being so dramatic,” said a haughty female voice, moments before a hand came down on Kiva’s back, thumping hard.
Hacking and gagging, Kiva tried to shove her assailant away, but her attempt was weak. Pain lashed up her arms, down her legs, through her stomach. She felt bruised all over, like someone had come along with a meat cleaver and smashed it into her a thousand times.
“For everworld’s sake, just breathe like a normal person,” commanded the person still hitting her back. “It’s not that hard.”
Slowly, Kiva was able to stop coughing, though every part of her still ached. Tears streamed from her eyes at the effort it had taken to fill her lungs, and she raised a shaking hand to clear her blurry vision. When she was finally able to blink her way to clarity, she
sucked in a breath so sharp that she nearly started coughing all over again.
“Your—Highness,” Kiva gasped out at the sight of the masked princess sitting on a stool beside her bed in the infirmary. “What— are—you—”
“Drink this before you start dying again,” Princess Mirryn interrupted, shoving a small stone tumbler toward Kiva. It was only a quarter full, and Kiva didn’t need to give the white liquid a sniff to identify it as poppymilk. Normally she wouldn’t want anything hindering her lucidity, especially in the presence of Evalon royalty, but she could barely think, let alone speak, over the pain raging through her body.
Downing the nutty-flavored remedy in one go, Kiva was grateful that the princess allowed her a few moments for it to take effect. The dose wasn’t large enough to knock her out, or even make her high, but it swiftly eased her pain into a dull background thrum.
“Better?” Princess Mirryn asked.
“Much,” Kiva said. She forced herself to add, “Thank you.”
Carefully, very carefully, Kiva shifted her pillow and leaned back against the wall, wincing slightly and wishing she’d ingested more poppymilk before moving. But she had more support now, and after a few steadying breaths, her pain was manageable once again.
“Should I—uh—” Kiva made a gesture with her hands to indicate bowing.
Mirryn snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
Kiva took that to mean the princess wouldn’t punish her for her lack of royal etiquette.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here?” Mirryn said, taking the tumbler from Kiva and turning it between her fingers, as if she needed something to do with her hands.
Kiva considered the question, and slowly replied, “To be honest, I’m wondering why I’m here.”
With the poppymilk taking effect and her attention moving beyond her physical distress, she couldn’t reconcile what she remembered happening with the Trial by Air and her current state.
“I fell,” Kiva continued. “I should be dead.”
“Yes,” Mirryn answered. “You should be.”
The princess said no more, and while Kiva was bursting with questions, she held her tongue and waited. She used the silence to look around the infirmary, noting that the crown prince wasn’t with his sister. She did, however, see that the drapes were drawn around a bed in the corner—Tilda’s bed—so she made the hopeful assumption that Jaren and Tipp had returned the sick woman after the Ordeal had ended. Neither of the boys were in the room, but Captain Veris stood at the entrance to the infirmary, his alert eyes moving from the princess to Kiva and then out to the grounds. No other guards were present, royal or otherwise.
Seeing the captain, Kiva’s aching stomach tensed, the memory of the first time she’d crossed paths with him fresh in her mind. She could still remember the feel of him hoisting her into his arms, his grip unyielding as she’d fought with all her strength to be free. She could still remember how he’d been there the day her brother’s life had ended. The day her life had ended, in a different way.
Swallowing, Kiva turned back to find the princess studying her.
She knew she should look away, should show some reverence, but she didn’t have it in her. Uncowed, she held Mirryn’s stare, the princess’s mask doing nothing to hide the intrigue in her blue gaze.
“You would have done it,” Mirryn finally said. “You would have died for her.”
“Technically, I would have died with her,” Kiva said. “I die, she dies, remember?”
“And you live, she lives,” the princess returned. “If you survive the next three Ordeals, you’ll be freeing the most wanted woman in the kingdom.”
“That’s a big enough if that I don’t think you need to be worrying about it right now.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mirryn returned. “It’s not your crown she’s trying to steal.”
“Have you seen her?” Kiva jerked her head toward the closed curtain. “She won’t be stealing anything anytime soon.”
Kiva knew she should be more careful, but she couldn’t bring herself to guard her words, not even as the princess’s eyes narrowed behind her mask.
Resisting the urge to backpedal and blame the poppymilk for her candor, Kiva lifted her chin and kept her gaze steady on the princess, unblinking. She wished someone else had been with her upon wakening—Tipp, Mot, Jaren. Even Naari or the Warden.
Someone to whom she could ask her questions. But since only Mirryn was here, she would have to do.
“How did I survive the Trial?” Kiva asked, straight out. She was too tired and sore to talk in circles.
Mirryn placed the tumbler on the table beside Kiva’s bed, her fingers moving to fiddle with the embroidered edges of her red cloak.
“You remind me of my girlfriend. She never would have let me hear the end of it if she learned that you died today. Someone with your spirit should be given a fighting chance—that’s what she would have
told me.”
Kiva’s world tilted. “You saved me?”
Mirryn snorted. “Gods, no. Why would I care what happens to you?” Brushing invisible lint from her shoulder, she went on, “My idiot brother, however . . .” She rolled her eyes. “It seems even crown princes can be swayed by a pretty face. Who needs justice when attraction is clearly much more important?”
“Wait, Prince Deverick saved me?” Kiva’s mind continued spinning.
Mirryn’s pale eyebrow arched over the top of her mask. “You fell fifty feet from that tower. It’s not as if you survived on your own.”
“I— You— He—” Kiva couldn’t form a sentence. Given all she knew of the Vallentis family—how they were the very reason she was in Zalindov to begin with—she couldn’t wrap her brain around this unlikely truth. “But . . . why?”
The princess made an impatient sound. “I just told you. Aren’t you listening?” She stopped fiddling and crossed her arms. “Never mind, just be grateful that you’re alive.”
Kiva shifted in her bed, grimacing anew at the pain, and couldn’t keep from muttering, “Barely.”
“Excuse me?” Mirryn’s second brow rose to meet the first.
“I said barely,” Kiva repeated. “I feel like I’ve broken every bone in my body.”
A surprised laugh left the princess. “Is that the thanks my brother
gets for saving your life?”
“He’s not here right now.”
“No, but I am,” said Mirryn, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. “And you’d do well to show some respect.”
Kiva sobered, reminding herself of whom she was talking with.
The drug was affecting her more than she’d thought if she was deliberately antagonizing one of the most powerful people in the kingdom. Not to mention, the princess was right—Prince Deverick had saved her, even if it was only for superficial reasons.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” she forced out, the words like hot coals on her tongue. “Please pass along my gratitude to your brother.”
Mirryn sat back, her blue eyes slitted. A long moment of silence passed before she said, “I’m disappointed. I expected more of a fight.”
Kiva’s forehead crinkled. “You want me to be difficult?”
“I want you to show that backbone I saw when you leapt up onto the gallows,” Mirryn said. “I want you to show the courage it took to jump off the guard tower. I want you to show the spirit my girlfriend would have cheered you on for—the spirit my brother kept you alive for.”
“You said it was my face that made him save me,” Kiva
deadpanned.
“I also said he’s an idiot.”
“You claimed I had a death wish,” Kiva reminded. “Twice.”
“And look at you now, alive and well,” Mirryn shot back.
“Only because of your brother,” Kiva said, accusation and confusion in her tone. “Does it even count as a victory over the Ordeal? Will I have to—”
Princess Mirryn waved a hand, cutting Kiva off. “You completed the Trial in the eyes of the law. You survived—that’s what counts.”
When Kiva opened her mouth to argue, Mirryn sent her a sharp look and said, “Don’t start. I’ve already had to sit through a lecture about interference, even though I wasn’t the one who acted rashly. But of course I had to be dragged into this, didn’t I?”
As Mirryn continued to mutter angrily under her breath, Kiva looked around the empty infirmary again. “Where is Prince Deverick?
Why isn’t he here?”
The princess laughed, an open, deeply amused sound. “That is an excellent question. My brother is a reckless, impulsive fool, yet he still manages to be one of the best people I know. He’s probably out befriending criminals as we speak, forging lifelong connections.”
Slyly, Mirryn continued, “He’s quite taken with you, you know—if it wasn’t already obvious by you still being alive right now.”
Warmth touched Kiva’s cheeks as she recalled the prince declaring, I like her, in front of the assembled masses. Hoping to keep the princess from noticing, Kiva asked, “The person who lectured you . . . Do you mean Captain Veris?”
The guard in question flicked his eyes over at the sound of his name, but otherwise didn’t move from his position, his face expressionless.
Mirryn laughed again. “Veris is a big softie. I’m surprised he didn’t leap off the tower and catch you himself.”
Kiva said nothing, fearing what might leave her mouth if she opened it, fearing what she might reveal of her first encounter with the man, and all he had taken from her—all in the name of the Vallentis family. Mirryn’s family.
The family Kiva hated, and would hate, for as long as she lived.
“No, it was Warden Rooke who had some . . . choice words for me and my brother,” Mirryn explained.
Kiva would have given a lot to know what those words were. To anyone not of royal blood, interfering with a Trial would have meant severe punishment: imprisonment, perhaps even death. But a prince? And the heir to the throne, at that? Kiva doubted she would be carving Deverick’s flesh anytime soon, not even if he’d had a run- in with Rooke.
“The Warden emphasized his displeasure at my brother’s actions and made it clear that we are . . . discouraged from attending the next three Trials,” Mirryn said. “Between you and me, that’s no great tragedy.” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, as if the very air offended her.
The fact that Rooke had chastised the prince and princess didn’t surprise Kiva, nor did their capitulation to his request, since the last thing the Evalon royals would want was to get on the wrong side of the man who kept their greatest enemies locked away.
“Why are you here, Princess?” Kiva finally asked, needing answers, especially after learning that the royals had been given marching orders by Rooke. There was no reason why Mirryn should be in the infirmary, or why a princess would deign to waste time speaking with a prisoner. “Your brother saved me for—for whatever ridiculous reason he told you. And I’m thankful, really I am. But that doesn’t explain why you were waiting by my bedside for me to wake up. What aren’t you telling me?”
The princess raised her hand, and Kiva flinched backwards, an automatic defensive response. Mirryn’s eyes flickered behind her mask, but she said nothing, instead slowly closing her hand into a fist. As she did so, the air around them rippled and Kiva’s ears popped as pressure pushed against her, her head feeling like it was being stuffed with cotton wool.
“I’ve placed us in an air pocket,” Mirryn said, “for privacy.” She nodded toward Veris, who was looking out at the grounds, now oblivious to their ongoing conversation.
Marveling at what the princess had done, Kiva tried to yawn away the pressure, but the discomforting sensation didn’t yield.
“We won’t have much time before he wonders why we’re so quiet and realizes what I’ve done,” the princess continued, a hint of urgency in her smooth, cultured voice. “Tell me, how confident are you that you can survive the next three Ordeals?”
Kiva was surprised enough that she stopped attempting to yawn, making herself ignore the strange feeling of the air pocket. “I think the better question is how unconfident I am.”
“I’m being serious, healer.”
“As am I, Princess,” Kiva shot back. “No one has ever survived all four before.”
She wasn’t about to admit to her hopes that she wouldn’t have to undertake the remaining Trials, that her family would come for her before then.
Mirryn shook her head. “Not true. Long ago, people survived.”
Kiva made a scoffing sound, the poppymilk overriding her self- preservation instincts. “Sure, back when people had magic. Sorry to disappoint you, but unless I’m your long-lost sister, I don’t have a lick of elemental power in my veins.”
“So you need to use your other skills,” Mirryn said, growing frustrated. “What can you do?”
Kiva threw out her arms, instantly regretting the move for the surge of pain it prompted. “Look around you. This is what I can do—I
heal people. That’s it.”
“Then you’re going to die.”
Five words, and Kiva’s breath froze in her lungs.
Mirryn settled back in her seat, her face impassive, despite the death sentence she’d just delivered.
“It’s true, you know it is,” the princess said coldly. “And while you might not deserve such an end, everyone certainly believes she does.” Mirryn jabbed an elegant finger toward Tilda’s closed curtain.
Kiva swallowed.
“You’re going to die,” Mirryn repeated, “and so will she.” The princess sent her a ruthless look. “And quite frankly, it’d be much less of a headache for all of us if you did.”
Kiva sucked in a breath, but Mirryn wasn’t done speaking.
“But,” the princess said, before sighing, long and loud, “it seems
I’m too magnanimous for my own good.”
Brow crinkling, Kiva asked, “What?”
Mirryn sighed again, then said, “Warden Rooke said you’ve been here ten years. You’re a survivor, Kiva Meridan, and if you can last that long, you can make it through another six weeks. Especially if you have help.”
Kiva was struggling to keep up with what was happening, the painkillers making her mind slower than normal. It sounded as if— “Here,” Mirryn said, thrusting a hand into her cloak, and, after a quick glance toward the still-oblivious Veris, withdrawing a shiny amulet.
Kiva took it when prompted and turned it between her fingers.
Upon realizing what it was, she debated whether the poppymilk was a good enough excuse to get away with throwing it back at the princess’s face.
At the end of the glittery chain was a perfect depiction of the Vallentis crest. The sword, arrow, crown, and four quadrants were solid gold, but the elemental representations were made from colored gemstones: sapphire for water, emerald for earth, topaz for
air, and ruby for fire.
It was beautiful.
But it represented everything—everything—Kiva hated.
“Very pretty,” she bit out as she shoved it back toward the princess.
Mirryn didn’t take it. Instead, she said, “Most of my family has just one elemental affinity, but I’m gifted with two. Air, as you already know . . .” She paused, as if to make sure Kiva was paying attention, “And fire.”
With another quick glance at Captain Veris, Mirryn turned back to Kiva and opened her palm. A flame appeared above her hand. No, not above her hand—on her hand. It surrounded her flesh, the fire dancing over her skin as she moved her wrist this way and that, the embers beginning to wander along her forearm before she snapped her fingers and made it all disappear.
Her skin was unblemished, her cloak sleeve, while slightly charcoaled, was otherwise undamaged.
“Impressive,” Kiva choked out when she saw the princess was waiting for a reaction.
Mirryn smirked and nodded toward the amulet still in Kiva’s hand.
“The ruby in the crest can absorb fire magic, should someone—such as myself—push power into it.” Her smirk widened, her implication clear. “I don’t know what the Trial by Fire is, but as long as you’re wearing that”—she indicated the amulet again—“then the magic within should keep you protected.”
Kiva gaped at the princess, then at the amulet, struck speechless.
“Don’t let anyone see it, or they’ll think you stole it,” Mirryn warned.
She paused, then added, “My charity only extends so far. You’ll have to figure something else out for the last two Trials.”
Kiva nodded mutely, still unable to form a response. She did, however, close her fingers around the amulet and tuck it into the folds of her blanket, hidden from sight. The moment it was covered, Mirryn raised her hand, repeating the action that had created the air
pocket. Kiva’s ears popped again, this time with relief as the pressure lifted, and she knew they were no longer in their privacy bubble.
“It was . . . an experience . . . to meet you, healer,” the princess said, standing to her feet and smoothing invisible wrinkles from her cloak. “I’ll look forward to hearing news of how you fare in the rest of your Trials, whatever your fate may be.”
Mirryn didn’t offer any words of encouragement or well wishes for Kiva’s survival. In fact, as she began to walk away, she seemed quite content to purge Zalindov and its inhabitants from her mind, the prison healer included. And yet Kiva couldn’t keep from calling out to
her, finally able to speak.
“Wait!”
The princess halted, half turning back to her.
“Why are you helping me?” Kiva asked, the amulet all but burning beneath her blanket. “You said earlier that you don’t care what happens to me. I don’t—I don’t understand.” She swallowed, then made herself add, “If I live, so does Tilda. Why would you risk that?”
Later, when the poppymilk left her system, Kiva might wonder at her own daring. But now she needed answers.
Whether Mirryn knew it or not, the Vallentis family was the reason Kiva was in this mess at all. Suspected treason against the crown— that was why Faran Meridan had been arrested. No proof, no nefarious plotting or actions; he’d merely been seen in a public marketplace near the wrong person, at the wrong time. His supposed crime had landed him at Zalindov, and Kiva with him. They were both victims of circumstance . . . with Kerrin nothing more than collateral damage.
Kiva had spent ten years coming to terms with that night, learning to accept that stewing on what had happened to her family would not keep her alive. The injustice of it all still tasted bitter in her mouth, but she was able to push past it to focus on what was more important: surviving. Because of that, she was rational enough to know that if she wasn’t rescued before the next Trial, then the princess had just given her an invaluable treasure—safe passage
through to the third Ordeal.
But . . . Kiva didn’t know why.
Turning to face her more fully, Mirryn eyed Kiva, weighing her response. Finally, the princess answered, “Part of it is because my brother has a soft heart—too soft, if you ask me. Especially for a crown prince.” Mirryn rolled her eyes behind her mask. “But lustful idiot or not, I owed him a favor.”
Lustful idiot, indeed. Kiva had no idea what Prince Deverick was thinking. While grateful, she’d never asked for his help, and given that he was a Vallentis, she had no intention of repaying him. Ever.
“As for the other part . . .” the princess went on. “You have the spirit of a survivor, and I can’t help respecting that. In any other circumstance, I think you and I might have grown close. Become friends, even.”
Kiva sucked in a startled breath. It was that or start laughing.
Protective amulet or not, there was no way she would ever— “But this isn’t any other circumstance,” Mirryn continued, cutting off Kiva’s inner denial. “And the truth is, even with my help, I’m assuming you’ll still fail. That’s why I’m giving you a chance, albeit a hopeless one.” She shrugged, an unapologetic rise and fall of her shoulders. “The likelihood of you and Tilda surviving the next six weeks on your own, of Tilda even living long enough, given her sickness . . . Well, you don’t need me to tell you the odds.”
It was true—Kiva already knew. She was just banking on something the princess didn’t know. On someone. Or multiple
someones.
Her family.
And the rebels.
Stay alive.
Don’t let her die.
We are coming.
“I’ve always rooted for the underdog,” Mirryn said, almost musingly. “And you, Kiva Meridan, are the biggest underdog I’ve ever seen.”
“I have to agree with you on that,” interrupted a new voice.
Kiva could do nothing but stare as the crown prince himself strode into the infirmary, his shoulders back, head held high, winter cloak rippling dramatically behind him as he approached on calm, unhurried feet.
“Finally,” Mirryn said to him.
“Apologies, dearest Mirry. I’ve been busy,” the prince said. “There are so many interesting people here. Such fascinating stories.”
The way Deverick looked at Mirryn made Kiva think they were communicating without words, and she felt a pang, having had entire silent conversations with her own siblings, once upon a time.
“Well, hel-lo there, gorgeous,” the prince said, coming to a halt at Kiva’s bedside. He grinned down at her, a flash of perfect teeth. His mask hid everything but his mouth and his cobalt eyes, which were dancing with what looked like amusement. “You’re looking well.” He winked. “Very well.”
Kiva wondered if he thought himself charming. For her part, she was unimpressed. And entirely uninterested. Impulsive and reckless, Mirryn had called him. Apparently, he was also a bit of a cad. Not that Kiva hadn’t guessed as much, given that he’d saved her life on the basis of her appearance. Still, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse was coated in slime.
“Your Highness,” she returned, stiffly. “Thank you for saving me.”
Prince Deverick waved a hand, still grinning. “It was nothing.
Really.”
“The healer has some complaints about her physical condition,”
Mirryn told her brother, inspecting her fingernails. “Consider yourself lucky to have received any gratitude at all.”
Kiva’s eyes widened.
“I’ll admit, the timing was close,” the prince acknowledged.
“Another few seconds and—” He made a slapping sound with his hands, enough to churn Kiva’s stomach. “But you’re alive, and that’s what matters. It’d be a shame for someone as lovely as you to—”
“Gods, spare me,” Mirryn groaned, her features pinched. “Can we go now? I need to bathe for the next hundred years. I fear I’ll never get the stench of this place off me.”
“The People’s Princess,” Deverick said to Kiva, his tone wry.
“Patient, long-suffering, full of joy, abounding with love and kindness and—”
“Oh, shut up,” Mirryn said, reaching for her brother’s arm and dragging him away from Kiva’s bedside. “You do so love to hear your own voice.”
“It’s a very nice voice,” the prince said. “Don’t you think, Kiva?”
Kiva jolted at the sound of her name falling from his lips. It was startling how casually he’d used it, as if they’d known each other for years. She said nothing, which only made his smile grow wider.
“I’ve enjoyed this,” he said, even as his sister continued pushing him from the room. “I hope our paths cross again one day, Champion.”
And then Mirryn shoved him past Captain Veris and out the door, pausing only to straighten her cloak and call back to Kiva, “I still think you have a death wish. Feel free to prove me wrong.”
