by Lynette Noni
“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.
Chapter Twelve
“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 everyt
hing 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.