Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The crowd began to disperse, while Kiva swayed in Naari’s arms.
“Are we done here?” the guard asked Rooke.
“Go,” the Warden replied with a flick of his hand. But when Naari started to lead Kiva away, Rooke said, “No, wait.”
He held up the amulet between them. Kiva’s eyes were moving in and out of focus, and she blinked against the dry grittiness left over from the fire, trying her hardest to keep from yielding to the darkness creeping into her vision.
“This can’t happen again,” Rooke warned Kiva in a low voice.
“I told you I can’t help you, and I assumed it was implied that no one else can help you, either.
I don’t care that Prince Deverick is the heir to Evalon’s throne.
If anyone interferes with your third task, royal or otherwise, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
Kiva shook her head, but not because she didn’t understand. “It wasn’t the prince,” she rasped, every word sounding like charcoal scraping against wood.
Rooke’s expression tightened. “Don’t lie to me.” He thrust the amulet at Kiva, and she fumbled for it with her hand that was still clasping the cloak. Naari took it from her, sliding it into her own pocket for safekeeping.
“I’m not,” Kiva said, all but wheezing now. “It wasn’t the prince. It was the princess.”
“Everyone knows Princess Mirryn doesn’t have enough fire magic for the stunt you pulled today,” Rooke said.
“It’s public record. She can manage a few small flames, at best, but her real talent is with air.
The power in your little amulet—you can thank Prince Deverick for that.
He’s the strongest fire elemental in the Vallentis family. ”
Kiva tried to think back to when Mirryn had given her the amulet.
She’d implied that she’d filled the ruby with her own magic, but now Kiva realized she’d never actually said it outright.
Was it really the crown prince who had intervened— again?
Mirryn had alluded to Deverick’s superficial thoughts toward Kiva, and he himself had flirted with her in the infirmary, but was that truly enough for him to have saved her?
Twice? And if so, why did Mirryn make Kiva believe the amulet was from her?
The last, Kiva figured, was because the Vallentis siblings weren’t supposed to be helping her.
Tilda Corentine was their enemy, and ignoring her mystery illness, Kiva was all that stood between the Rebel Queen and death.
The crown prince would likely find himself in a great deal of trouble with his court should anyone realize what he had done.
But ... why had he done it? Was it truly because he was attracted to her?
My brother is a reckless, impulsive fool, yet he still manages to be one of the best people I know .
Recalling what Mirryn had said about Deverick, Kiva wondered if maybe, just maybe, the crown prince understood justice better than the rest of his family. Maybe he thought Tilda was worth giving a fighting chance. Maybe he thought she was worth saving—and Kiva, too.
Uncertain, Kiva realized that now wasn’t the time to puzzle it over. Not when she was barely holding on to consciousness.
“It won’t happen again,” Kiva told Rooke, meaning it. She had no further tricks up her sleeve, no more amulets or anything else that could help in her next elemental task. And the royal siblings were long gone. She would get no assistance—or answers—from them.
“See that it doesn’t,” the Warden said gruffly. Then his tone softened, and he moved closer, until they were eye to eye. “I’m ... glad you’re still alive.”
Kiva struggled to keep up with the turn in conversation, every part of her aching .
“I mean it,” Rooke went on. “I have to adhere to the law when it comes to these Ordeals, but I’m relieved that you survived.”
Kiva swallowed back the emotion welling within her, pain lacerating down her throat as she did so. Maybe Rooke did care, in his own way.
“After all, with this sickness going around ...” Rooke trailed off, shaking his head as if fearing what her death would mean for them all.
Kiva’s heart plummeted at the reminder that he didn’t care about her, only what she could do for him. She was a fool for thinking he would ever be concerned for her welfare. Rooke was too pragmatic for that, too calculated to think about anyone but himself.
“I hear you’ve started to make progress?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kiva croaked, unable to offer more. It was a lie, but she had no energy to debrief him right now.
“Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden,” Rooke said, a nostalgic gleam in his dark eyes. “You were probably too young to remember—”
“I remember.”
Rooke held her gaze, and then his expression cleared, as if suddenly recalling why she would remember—and who she had lost to the sickness. He nodded once, and said, “Best of luck to you, then. By the sounds of it, many lives are counting on you.”
Including yours, Kiva wanted to say, but didn’t. Partly to keep from provoking him, and partly to avoid the pain the words would bring.
“See her back to the infirmary, Guard Arell,” Rooke said to Naari, who dipped her forehead in agreement. The Warden then turned and strode away, the three guards and Bones following in his wake.
“Kiva, I’m so sorry,” Grendel said in her quiet, grating voice once the guards were gone. “He didn’t tell me what the furnace was for until this morning, and by then I didn’t have time to warn you. If I’d known—”
“It’s not your fault,” Kiva rasped. She wanted to reach for the scarred woman, but with one arm around Naari and the other clutching her cloak, all she could do was try and smile at the crematorium worker, even if it more likely looked like a grimace.
“How did you survive?” Grendel whispered.
The lowered tone wasn’t to keep from being overheard, since the prisoners around them were making a gods-awful racket as they filed in disorganized groups out of the assembly area.
No, her hushed voice was because she was still shocked that Kiva was alive when what she’d faced should have killed her.
“It’s a long story,” Kiva forced out, wincing at how much harder it was becoming to speak. “I’ll tell you another time.”
It was an empty promise, since Kiva wasn’t sure she’d even remember this interaction after she’d drugged herself into oblivion.
As if sensing that she was on borrowed time, Naari told Grendel that she needed to get Kiva to the infirmary, and then the guard began to help Kiva stumble in that direction. Fortunately, only the morgue was between them and their destination, and Kiva felt confident that she’d be able to make it.
But then her legs gave out.
Naari grunted under the added weight, and three male voices cried out Kiva’s name in alarm.
Tipp.
Mot.
And Jaren.
It was the last who reached her first, and before Kiva knew what was happening, he swept her up into his arms, taking her from Naari and striding quickly toward the infirmary.
Kiva wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed, let alone ask that he release her. Even if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to manage another step on her own, not without help.
“Sorry,” she whisper-rasped into his neck, holding on tight.
“Don’t talk,” he told her. “We’re nearly there.”
“What h-h-happened in the Trial?” Tipp asked, jogging to keep up with Jaren’s long strides. “We saw smoke c-come out of—”
“Hush, child,” Mot interrupted him. “Let Kiva rest awhile. Why don’t yeh come help me for the afte’noon, and yeh can check in on ’er later tonight?”
“But—”
“It’s all right, Tipp,” Jaren said. “I’ll take care of her.”
Kiva’s eyes were closing of their own accord, but she still heard Tipp say, “P-Promise?”
“I promise.”
Kiva wasn’t sure what happened next, since she began to float in and out of consciousness.
She was aware of Tipp and Mot leaving once they reached the morgue, after which she heard Naari and Jaren whispering to each other as they continued on to the infirmary.
She only caught snatches of their conversation, but from what she could follow in her semi-lucid state, Naari was talking about the amulet she’d taken from Kiva, likely filling? Jaren in on how it had been imbued with the princess’s—no, the prince’s —fire magic, and that it had saved her life.
The next thing Kiva knew, she was in the infirmary, lying on the bed she’d awoken in after the last Ordeal. But instead of Mirryn being by her side, this time it was Jaren.
“How long was I out?” she croaked, her voice still sounding terrible.
“Only a few minutes. We just got here,” Jaren said, pointing to Naari, who was standing by the workbench and frowning down at the organized chaos. “We’re not sure what you need. Poppymilk?”
Kiva nodded, then shook her head, before weakly pushing aside the blanket that had been draped over her bare legs.
“No, no, stay in bed,” Jaren said, halting her hand. “You tell us, and we’ll get it for you.”
Kiva willed her brain to focus and rasped out a few names, being careful to mention specific dosages. Too much of the wrong combination, and she’d end up feeling worse than she already did.
After downing copious amounts of tallowfruit nectar for her lungs and throat, crown nettle for her headache and dizziness, yellownut for an energy boost, and a small dose of poppymilk for the rest of her lingering aches and pains, Kiva proceeded to swallow nearly an entire pail of fresh, cool water, before finally lying back in her bed, ready to sleep for the next thirteen years.
“Anything else?” Jaren asked.
“I wouldn’t say no to some aloeweed gel,” Kiva murmured, relieved that her voice didn’t sound—or feel—as painful. It was still hoarse, but nowhere near what it had been before the swift-acting tallowfruit nectar.