Chapter Twenty
“How are you feeling?”
Kiva looked up the next morning to see Jaren walking across the infirmary toward her. In this light, she could see that his face was still a palette of colors, but the swelling around his eye had almost disappeared.
“What are you doing here?” she all but squeaked. “Shouldn’t you be in the tunnels?” Panicked, she pointed to the doorway he’d just stepped through, noting with no small amount of relief that it was unguarded. “You need to leave before someone catches you.”
Jaren had the audacity to chuckle. “Relax, Kiva.”
“Relax? Relax? ”
“That was perhaps a poor choice of word, given everything,” he said, stepping close enough to place his hands on her shoulders. “How about this one instead: breathe .”
Kiva tried to do as he said, inhaling as deeply as she could, her shoulders rising and falling, with his hands never leaving them. She didn’t shake him off, finding his touch more comforting than she should have liked.
Especially after last night.
They hadn’t spoken of it, even after they’d woken up tangled in each other.
Kiva had felt a momentary burst of alarm coupled with extreme mortification, but Jaren had simply rubbed sleep from his eyes and slurred, “G’mornin’,” before asking—more articulately—how she was.
Her garbled, unintelligible response had left him laughing softly, which had annoyed her enough to glare at him.
“If you can look at me like that,” he’d said, grinning, “then I know you’re going to be all right.” Then he’d brushed his fingers down her cheek and left for the bathing chambers.
That was it. No awkwardness, no embarrassment, no bringing up what had happened the previous night—before or after he’d joined her in bed.
It was clear he was letting her come to terms with it— all of it—without pushing. And for that, she was grateful.
She’d spent the morning compartmentalizing the previous day, from Tilda’s near death, to her revelation in the garden about her father and the stomach sickness, to what she’d overheard in the refectory, and finally her run-in with the guards.
Mulling over it all, Kiva had been left knowing one thing: she’d survived ten years at Zalindov.
Ten years . Yesterday had been rough, but she’d suffered through worse, even from the guards.
At least this time there was no physical damage aside from the bruise blossoming on her wrist.
Kiva was alive, that was what mattered most. And it was also what made her realize that there was no point in dwelling on what had happened. It was over, and all she wanted was to let it go and move on.
She’d had a moment of weakness with Jaren last night—or perhaps strength, depending on perspective.
He’d given her what she’d needed, when she’d needed it.
And she was thankful. So thankful. Even now, he was here with her again, offering comfort once more, not because of what she’d been through yesterday, but because of what she was facing today.
The second Trial.
Yet another reason Kiva needed to rid her mind of the previous day and focus.
Following? Jaren’s instructions again, she made herself breathe deeply a second time.
“Better?” he asked.
“You still need to go,” Kiva said instead of answering.
“I wanted to see you before your Ordeal,” Jaren said. “Are you ready?”
“Of course I am.”
Jaren’s eyes remained locked on hers, waiting for the truth, and Kiva sighed.
“Fine. I’m a nervous wreck. Happy?”
A gentle squeeze of Jaren’s hands on her shoulders as his gaze softened. “You’ve got this, Kiva.”
“No one survives all the Trials, Jaren,” Kiva whispered, her stomach in knots, as it had been ever since she’d slathered her skin with Mot’s karonut oil concoction that morning.
Now that the time was nearly upon her, she lacked confidence in its protection, more aware than ever that if the rebels failed to mount a second rescue attempt, then the princess’s amulet was her best chance for survival.
Perhaps her only chance for survival. Her life was in the hands of a Vallentis—a cruel twist of fate, indeed.
“You’ve already made it through one,” Jaren said, low and soothing. “You can do it again.”
“But—”
“I believe in you,” he interrupted, without any hint of doubt in his voice. “Tipp believes in you. Mot believes in you.” He paused. “Even Naari believes in you.”
“Most prison guards wouldn’t care whether I live or die.”
“Naari doesn’t seem like most prison guards,” Jaren said, stating the obvious. “She’s clearly fond of you.”
“That’s because I’m the only person standing between her and death, if this sickness continues,” Kiva muttered, though she knew that wasn’t the only reason. The guard did seem to genuinely care for her, even lying to the other guards last night to protect her.
Jaren tucked a strand of hair behind Kiva’s ear, causing her to suck in a breath. But before she could do anything—jerk away, lean forward, remain frozen—he stepped back, both of his hands now resting casually by his sides.
“Maybe,” he said. His lips twitched. “Or it could be because of your warmth and kindness and overall sociability.”
Kiva crossed her arms. “Ha-ha.”
Jaren laughed quietly, the sound loosening some of the knots in Kiva’s stomach.
Tipping his chin toward the rat pen, he asked, “Any progress?”
Kiva latched on to his offered distraction with unhidden gratitude. Quickly explaining about Mot’s elixir, she finished with, “I think we can rule out the quarry as the origin. If something was going to happen, it would have shown by now.”
“So, back to the drawing board?” Jaren asked.
“More like continuing on to the next sketch,” Kiva said.
“Which you’ll do after you pass today’s Ordeal,” Jaren said, his voice full of confidence.
Kiva swallowed, holding his steady gaze. “Right.”
“It’s nearly time,” came Naari’s voice as she strode into the infirmary.
All the breath left Kiva, first because she wasn’t ready, and second because Jaren wasn’t supposed to be there during work hours.
For one mad second, she wondered how she could hide him, before sanity took hold and she realized it was too late, since Naari was already looking straight at him.
“The other prisoners are being assembled,” the guard told him. “You need to hurry and join the rest of the tunnelers before anyone realizes you’re not with them.”
Jaren gave her a quick nod, before turning back to the dumbstruck Kiva. “See you afterward.”
No biddings of good fortune or luck, and certainly no farewell; only an encouragement that they would see each other again, something that wouldn’t happen if she failed the Trial.
Because she’d be dead.
Kiva was confused. Jaren hadn’t held back in berating her after she’d volunteered to take on Tilda’s sentence, but today he seemed to have complete conviction in her ability to succeed.
His turnaround surprised her almost as much as Naari being unconcerned about finding him somewhere he shouldn’t be.
And that Kiva couldn’t begin to understand.
Just as Jaren reached the doorway to the infirmary and nearly disappeared through it, Kiva called out his name, prompting him to pause and look back over his shoulder at her.
“I’ve sent Tipp to help Mot in the morgue today, since I want him to stay busy and not have time to think about ... anything,” Kiva said. “Can you— Will you—” She broke off, swallowed, tried again. “Just ... look after him, please?”
Jaren’s face softened. “I’ll keep an eye on him during the Trial, but after that, you’ll keep looking after him yourself. Just like you promised.”
He then vanished into the grounds, his words lingering in the air between them and inciting hope within her, while simultaneously adding to her dread. If the rebels didn’t come—if she didn’t make it through the Ordeal—
“Any idea of what to expect today?” Naari asked, interrupting Kiva’s near-to-spiraling thoughts.
“A few,” Kiva replied, “but I’ve been mostly trying not to think about it.”
“Probably for the best,” the guard said.
Kiva had avoided walking anywhere near the gallows over the last few days, wanting to keep from discovering whether construction had begun on a wooden pyre.
While she still prayed for a rescue, if one didn’t come in time, then she could only hope that her Trial by Fire would require something much less confronting than being burned alive.
However, she couldn’t shake her feeling that the Ordeal would be dramatic.
Even though the royals weren’t attending this time, the rest of Zalindov’s population would again be standing as witnesses, so the Warden and other overseers must still be intending to make a spectacle of it.
“Is there anything you need to do before we leave?” Naari asked. “We have a few minutes.”
Kiva took a moment to consider. There was none of Mot’s waxy mixture left, so she couldn’t slather any more onto her skin.
She’d already looked in on the quarantined patients—and sent two more bodies to the morgue.
She’d also checked Tilda’s vitals, confident the woman’s health was stable enough that she wouldn’t slip into a convulsion while the Ordeal was underway.
“Nothing I can think of,” Kiva finally answered Naari. She didn’t want to leave until they had to, so she stalled by saying, “But I do have a question for you.”
Naari looked at her, waiting.
Kiva remembered a time when she wouldn’t have dared ask the guard anything .
And here she was, deliberately prolonging a conversation, if only to delay her own impending doom.
For all she knew, her family and the rebels just needed a little more time.
If they really had already tried to infiltrate Zalindov, surely they would do so again.
Perhaps they were outside the walls this very moment, waiting to strike, ready to flee with both Kiva and Tilda in tow.
Even as she thought it, Kiva’s spirits dimmed.
Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll never lose hope, her father had said to her in the garden. Your brother and sister, your mother , they will come for you, one day .
Maybe they would. Maybe they had .
And maybe that was it.
Over.
Done.
It was suicide, breaking into Zalindov. If they’d already doubled the guards ... Kiva knew the truth, even if she wanted to deny it, to ignore it.
The rebels weren’t coming. Her family wasn’t coming.
They had tried, and they had failed.
Perhaps they would try again, when things calmed down, when the guards’ vigilance faded. But that would take time—and Kiva didn’t have time. She had an Ordeal today .
Hope was a drug, and Kiva an addict. She couldn’t keep believing, couldn’t keep trusting, couldn’t keep hoping .
We will come .
Ten years. Her family had waited ten years.
We are coming .
They should have already come. Before now—before Tilda. But they hadn’t.
Hurt rose in Kiva’s chest, blinding in its intensity, but she pushed it away, shoving it deep within her, just as she had for years.
It was up to her now.
Up to Kiva to survive.
First, the Trial by Fire.
And then, whatever came next.
Regardless of what her father had tried to make her promise, she couldn’t keep waiting for help to come.
Instead, Kiva would save herself.
Just as she had for the last ten years.
She was a survivor—and she would survive this.
“Kiva?”
Jolting at Naari’s prompt, Kiva realized she’d remained silent for too long, and she scrambled to cement her new resolve while considering one of the many questions that lingered in her mind, settling on the newest addition: “Why didn’t you punish Jaren for not being in the tunnels today?”
Naari cocked her head. “That’s twice this week you’ve asked why I haven’t punished another prisoner.”
Kiva scratched her nose, uncertain how to respond. “Uh ...”
“Here’s the thing,” Naari said, unfolding her arms and stepping closer.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re already punished enough just by being imprisoned here.
You don’t need trigger-happy guards making things worse for the sake of a power trip.
Should Jaren have snuck out of the tunnels?
No, of course not. Did he take a stupid risk by coming here to see you?
Absolutely. But I figure if the tunnel guards didn’t catch him, then that’s on them, not me.
For all I know, he could have been allowed to come here because he’s sick or injured, so if anyone asks, that’s the story we’re going with, agreed? ”
Kiva’s mouth hitched up at the corner. “Got it.” She paused. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
Holding her gaze, Kiva remembered what the guard had said last night, and answered, “For not being like the rest of them.”
Naari’s amber eyes softened. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter anything, Bones arrived at the doorway to the infirmary.
Kiva’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him, but she reminded herself of her decision to let go of what had happened and move on. She was going to see Bones around the prison; it was unavoidable. If he thought she was afraid of him, he would only make her suffer. She would not be cowed.
“They’re ready for you,” he said in a gruff voice, wincing slightly as he looked into the brightly lit room with the sun streaming in from the windows.
Kiva might have felt some delight at his evident hangover if his words hadn’t been ringing in her ears. Even though she’d only moments ago resolved to save herself, to survive, that didn’t mean her fear wasn’t nearly crippling now that the time was upon her.
Irrationally, Kiva suddenly recalled a million things she needed to do. She should check on the quarantined patients again, she should give Tilda some more broth to keep her hydrated, she should see if the rats were showing any symptoms, she should—
“Calm down,” Naari whispered, stepping closer. “You can do this.”
Kiva desperately wanted to clutch the amulet to center herself, but she knew doing so would risk drawing attention to it.
She settled for feeling the heavy weight of it hidden beneath her tunic against her breastbone, a solid reminder that she would not be facing the Trial alone. Naari was right. She could do this.
“Follow me, healer,” Bones ordered Kiva. He then turned on his heel and strode off across the grounds.
Kiva’s pulse hammered in her ears as she walked on leaden feet after him. She found some small comfort in Naari’s presence, the woman remaining at her side, offering quiet solidarity.
That comfort dissolved, however, when Bones turned north, rather than east; when she began to see prisoners milling much closer than they had two weeks ago, packed tightly together in a space that wasn’t intended for large gatherings, unlike the eastern quad where the gallows stood.
When Bones made another turn, Kiva realized why.
They weren’t heading toward the gallows.
They were heading to the crematorium.