Chapter Thirteen #2
Kiva’s heart warmed toward the boy, and she sent him a small smile. He didn’t return it, still barely meeting her eyes.
Sighing inwardly, Kiva said to Jaren, “Can you help me over to Tilda?”
Jaren’s lips pressed together, a clear sign of how he felt toward the other woman. But he did as Kiva requested and helped her shuffle painfully across the room, where he drew back the curtain to reveal the sleeping Rebel Queen.
Throughout all this, Kiva tried to ignore the firmness of his body, the reassurance of his strength supporting her. She wouldn’t let herself be comforted by his touch, no matter how safe, how protected, she felt in his arms.
Pushing away from him to take a seat on the stool beside Tilda’s bed—and breathing easier now that there was more space between them—Kiva waited until Tipp approached before she pointed at the woman and said, “When you look at her, what do you see? What does she represent?”
Naari moved closer, as if not wanting to miss what Kiva was about to say.
Kiva didn’t pay her any mind—after having gone head-to-head with the Princess of Evalon and then dealing with the rakish crown prince, the prison guard didn’t seem so intimidating anymore.
What could she do? Sentence Kiva to death?
She was already facing that with the Ordeals; there was little else left to fear.
And besides, Naari had proved that she wasn’t one of the guards whom Kiva needed to worry about.
If the amber-eyed woman wanted to listen in, so be it.
“What d-do you mean?” Tipp asked, brushing his red fringe from his eyes. “It’s just T-T-Tilda.”
“Look closer,” Kiva encouraged him. “Who is she?”
Tipp looked confused. “The R-Rebel Queen?”
Jaren’s body turned solid, his eyes shooting from Kiva to Tilda and back again. As if wary of her answer, he slowly asked, “Are you ... sympathetic to her cause? Is that why you saved her?”
Kiva weighed her response, thinking over her family’s complicated history with the rebels and where she fit into it, what she believed. With each second that passed, Jaren became more tense, until finally Kiva said, “I’m not some rebel underling, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Jaren visibly relaxed.
“That said, I’m not un sympathetic,” Kiva admitted, causing him to turn rigid again. It was obvious where his own sentiments lay. Given his outburst after Tilda’s arrival, Kiva knew he was solidly in the anti-rebel camp.
“How can you—”
“I’ve been in here long enough to hear both sides of the argument,” Kiva interrupted him.
“You were all there the night we spoke of Evalon’s history, how Torvin Corentine and Sarana Vallentis became enemies, how the rebels were formed.
As Mot said, they do have a right to the crown.
” Kiva looked down at Tilda and quietly added, “ She has a right to the crown.”
“But—”
Once more, Kiva spoke over Jaren, “Again, I’m not saying I’m a rebel.
” She wasn’t about to admit to her family’s ties with them, or her hopes that Tilda’s followers would save her from Zalindov—best to give the answer that would ease his concerns.
And Naari’s, since the guard was just as tense.
“I was only seven when I arrived here, remember? They were hardly going to try and recruit me before that.” She offered a hint of a smile, urging the two of them to relax.
“If you’re not with them, how can you be fine with what they’re doing?
With the unrest they’re causing?” Jaren asked, clearly frustrated.
“You’ve been in here for ten years, so you don’t know what it’s like out there, how dangerous it is.
Evalon is all but breaking apart. Most of the allied kingdoms have closed their borders, fearing the rebel movement will spread into their lands.
In some, it already has . And our enemies .
.. Caramor and Mirraven are frothing at the bit to launch an invasion, waiting for the slightest hint of weakness.
If not for the Tanestra Mountains making it difficult for them to move their armies . ..” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Kiva smarted at the reminder of how little she knew about the outside world.
The coded notes she received didn’t offer any political news, so the best she could hope for was when she treated new prisoners who happened to be talkative or when Rooke gave something away during their private meetings.
But ... it wasn’t Jaren’s fault that she was so uninformed, so she forced patience into her tone as she said, “I’m not saying I support any of that, just that I understand their motives—that they believe the kingdom is rightfully theirs, and they want it back.
But,” she hurried on when Jaren opened his mouth again, “in my experience, people who get mixed up with the rebels usually end up imprisoned or dead. I’m already imprisoned—I don’t want to be dead. ”
“I still don’t—”
“Let’s not argue about this,” Kiva cut Jaren off.
Again. This was clearly something he was passionate about, enough that she wondered if he had deeper, more personal reasons for being so opposed to the rebels.
If he had family or friends who had been hurt—or worse—because of them, his reaction not only made sense, but was justified.
While Kiva wouldn’t be swayed from her own opinion, she didn’t want to cause him further distress, so she went on, “If you’re still worried about where my loyalties lie, think of how useless I’d be to any of them, especially in here.
” She waved a hand, reminding him of where they were.
“The prison rebels actively despise me, so they’re hardly going to ask for my aid.
” Ask, no. Threaten Tipp’s life, yes, but Kiva decided against mentioning that.
“Even outside of Zalindov, I’d be a terrible recruit.
My healer code would mean I’d have to help anyone who came to me, including those loyal to the Vallentis family.
I doubt that would go over well—with either side. ”
Jaren’s tension dissolved, and his eyes finally lightened, as if he too realized just how preposterous such a circumstance would be.
“I still d-don’t understand,” Tipp said, the emotion in his voice tugging at Kiva’s heart.
She’d become distracted, seeking to keep Jaren—and Naari—from scrutinizing her motives, forgetting the reason she’d dragged them all over to Tilda’s side and the explanation she’d intended to offer, misleading as it was.
Turning to the young boy, Kiva said, “I asked what you think when you look at Tilda. You see a woman, Rebel Queen or otherwise. But I look at her and see someone who is deathly ill and needs my help.” Kiva returned her gaze to the bed, continuing to provide the only justification Tipp would accept, with him having known her long enough to see it as truth.
“She represents everyone I’ve tried to save over the years.
Everyone I’ve failed to save over the years.
It’s not just one life to me—it’s all of them, and they all matter. ”
She unconsciously rubbed her thigh, but then froze, willing her hand into stillness. Neither Jaren nor Tipp noticed, but Naari was watching her carefully enough that Kiva swallowed and avoided her observant eyes.
“So you see,” she went on, “I might not be able to keep everyone alive, but this woman? This patient?” She shrugged carefully. “It was in my power to do something, so I did.” She offered what she hoped was a self-deprecating smile. “Now we just have to wait and see if it’ll make a difference.”
Kiva wasn’t lying. She believed and meant everything she’d said. But she couldn’t tell them everything, couldn’t share the real reasons why she had claimed Tilda’s sentence—and not just because Naari was listening. Trust wasn’t something Kiva offered easily, especially in a place like Zalindov.
“So ... you’re saying you v-v-volunteered because she’s sick?” Tipp asked, his young face puzzled. At least the tears were gone.
Jaren and Naari looked skeptical, as if they knew there had to be more to it than what Kiva had said, but she avoided their eyes, determined to stick to her story.
“She would have died today,” Kiva said. “And I know it’s irrational, that it’s just the way of life, especially here, but I’m so tired of people dying on my watch. So, yes, Tipp. If I can save her life, or even just delay her death, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Especially if it meant they could both walk free.
The young boy sucked his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on it as he considered her words. Finally, he said, “Then I guess we should t-t-try harder to get her feeling better. That way she c-can thank you herself.”
Relief swept over Kiva, and it only grew stronger when Tipp sent her a gap-toothed grin, tremulous as it was.
She reached out to take his hand again, holding it tightly as she said, just for him, “I’m going to do everything I can not to leave you, do you understand?
I promised your mother, and I keep my promises. We’re in this together, you and me.”
Kiva prayed that Rooke would agree to what she planned on asking him, even if it would only be valid in the worst-case scenario of her having to endure all three of the remaining Ordeals.
According to the law, they were to be held fortnightly, so she had two weeks before the next one.
If her family and the rebels failed to arrive before then, then she was on her own—and if she didn’t succeed, her death would leave Tipp abandoned.
Looking to Jaren, Kiva found his eyes already on her. She didn’t shy away from his gaze, but instead tried to communicate everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. If she died, she needed to know that someone would look out for Tipp, for as long as possible.