The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(33)

We.

Are.

Coming.

Kiva had to believe this was what her sister’s note had meant: that now, after ten years, they finally were coming, ready to fulfill their promise. Especially now that Tilda was here—an added incentive for her followers to risk making a move against Zalindov, freeing Kiva in the process. That was what Cresta’s threat had implied: that a rescue attempt was in motion.

The Meridan family—Kiva’s family—had a complicated history with the rebels. Young as she’d been when she was taken from them, she still remembered. Her parents had tried to stay removed from the political unrest growing within Evalon, their little village tucked away at the base of the Armine Mountains, largely forgotten by outsiders. But things had changed in the ten years since Kiva had been imprisoned. Just as she had done what was needed to survive, so, too, it seemed, had her family.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . if she could live through the first Trial . . . if she could buy Tilda more time, long enough to keep Cresta off her back, for the rebels to come, for Kiva’s family to come . . .

Maybe she would finally see her freedom.

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

The princess stepped forward, her fur-lined red cloak rustling with the movement, pulling Kiva from her hopeful—if desperate—thoughts.

“Why risk your life?” Princess Mirryn eyed Kiva from behind her mask. “Why make such a claim, knowing that it can only have one outcome?”

Kiva didn’t waste her breath arguing that there could be a second outcome—that she could live. Instead, she simply said, “The woman you’ve sentenced is deathly ill, unable to stand on her own, let alone attempt today’s Ordeal. You’ve traveled a long way to be entertained, Princess. Rather than ask my reasons, why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show, as intended?”

Unlike the prince, whose golden mask fully hid his expression, the princess’s mask was like melted silver, flowing from one half of her face diagonally to the other. As such, her red lips were visible enough to be seen twisting into a smirk moments before she stated, “Definitely a death wish.”

And then Kiva was shooting into the air.

One moment, her feet were on the wooden gallows platform; the next, there was nothing beneath her, nothing holding her as she flew upward, yanked by an invisible chain. The bitter wind slapped at her face, her breath catching in her lungs and trapping a scream in her throat. She had barely seconds to wonder what was happening—was this the Ordeal? What was she supposed to do? How was she to survive?—before her upward momentum halted and she came crashing down again.

Sheer terror took hold in the single second that passed before her feet slammed into a solid surface, her body crumpling into a pile when her legs were unable to hold her weight.

She wasn’t dead.

But she wasn’t safely on the ground, either.

Instead, as Kiva rose, dread coiled within her when she realized that she was atop one of the freestanding watchtowers that overlooked the eastern quad, perpendicular to the outer wall.

She was so high. So high.

A thump behind her had Kiva whirling to find the Captain of the Royal Guard landing nimbly mere paces away, having also been delivered by the princess’s elemental magic.

“Be thankful Princess Mirryn didn’t drop you from much higher, or you wouldn’t be standing right now,” the captain said, noting Kiva’s full-body trembles.

Kiva feared she was going to be sick. She hoped that, if her dignity fled in such a manner, she could at least ruin the captain’s polished boots in the process.

“The prince and princess have agreed to accept your claim, transferring Tilda Corentine’s sentence to you, as per rule five in the Book of the Law,” the captain continued. His gaze was steady on her when he added, “If the reports of her ill health are true, you’re sacrificing your life for no reason. So I’m giving you one last chance to rescind your claim.”

Kiva said nothing, partly because she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would do exactly what the captain had offered. But, she reminded herself, all she had to do was take the Trials one step at a time. She could do this. She would do this.

Don’t let her die.

This was the only way Kiva knew how to keep the Rebel Queen alive. If—when—Kiva survived the Trial by Air, then Tilda would have more time to recover, and Kiva would have bought more time for the rebels to come for her—for both of them.

But . . . if Kiva did die today . . . the dead didn’t suffer the censure of the living. Tilda’s fate would no longer be her responsibility.

“So be it,” the captain said when she remained silent, though he seemed displeased. Kiva wondered if he knew who she was, if he remembered her, but then she realized he would be treating her much differently if that were true.

It’s all right. Everything will be all right.

Kiva breathed deeply through her nose and forced the memory away again.

“Kiva Meridan,” called the amplified voice of the crown prince, prompting both her and the captain to look down from the watchtower balcony. “You have volunteered to undertake the Trial by Ordeal in place of the accused Rebel Queen. Today you shall face the Trial by Air. Do you have any last words?”

Kiva had many, none of which would allow her to live if she managed to survive the Trial, so she held her tongue and shook her head. She didn’t dare look toward where she’d last seen Tipp, Jaren, Tilda, and Naari, nor did she look for Mot or any other familiar faces in the crowd, lest she lose her nerve.