Only when they were deep underground did Kiva begin struggling anew, because she now realized where Navok was taking her.
The dungeons.
“Settle,” he murmured, tightening his grip. “I told you, I have a wedding gift for you. We won’t stay long — once you’ve met him, we’ll leave again.”
Him? Kiva stopped trying to free herself, her curiosity — and her dread — piqued.
After navigating a complicated labyrinth of cold stone corridors and passing numerous Gray Guards patrolling more cells than Kiva had ever seen in one place, including Zalindov, Navok finally came to a stop.
In front of them was a set of rusty iron bars leading to small space lit by a single luminium lantern affixed to the obsidian wall. In the corner of the cell was a thin pallet piled high with raggedy blankets — or so Kiva thought, until those blankets moved.
Suddenly, there was a man forming out of them, standing slowly as he realized he had company. He’d been roughed up by the guards, his weathered face mottled with bruises and swelling, and he was swaying unsteadily on his feet. To Kiva’s relief, there was nothing familiar about him, not his greasy shoulder-length dark hair with hints of gray, nor the unkempt beard that grew on his square jaw. His soulful brown eyes, however, were locked on hers — and wide with shock.
“Kiva?” he rasped, his deep voice barely audible from lack of use.
Unconsciously, Kiva stepped backwards, but she was halted by Navok’s hand.
“Allow me to introduce you to Galdric Shaw,” the king said, his handsome features entertained as he watched for her reaction. “As you may be aware, he was a close acquaintance of your mother’s. He’ll be able to tell you anything you wish to know about her from the ten years you were parted.” Navok gestured to the bruised man with his free hand. “Consider him yours to interrogate at your leisure.”
Kiva gaped at the man, now realizing exactly who he was — the once-leader of the rebels, her mother’s mentor and friend. She couldn’t believe he was standing before her.
Mostly, because he was meant to be dead.
Galdric was the first to realize she was gone, and he went after her, probably trying to stop her, Torell had said, when revealing how Tilda had snuck out of the rebel camp to head to Mirraven. But he never came back. All we found was his cloak, covered in blood.
Tor and Zuleeka had assumed Galdric had been killed by Tilda, claiming she wasn’t in her right mind toward the end. But whether or not Tilda had attacked him, he’d clearly survived, after which he must have followed her all the way to Zadria.
Kiva did a quick mental calculation, deducing that Tilda had arrived at Zalindov six months ago. That meant Galdric had been locked in Navok’s dungeon for half a year, presumed dead by the rebels, with no hope of freedom.
“Is it really you?” Galdric croaked out, staggering closer to the bars. His gaze remained locked on hers, and then he whispered, “It is. You have your mother’s eyes.”
All the breath fled Kiva as she realized this man had known her mother better than perhaps anyone. He knew how Tilda had changed from a woman who had never wanted to touch her magic, to someone who had used it freely to heal others, and then to the person who had succumbed to evil and become a monster. He’d witnessed her at every point in the journey. He had answers to questions Kiva didn’t know how to begin asking.
But . . . she also didn’t want to ask anything with an audience present, and especially not with Navok listening in.
“I’d like to speak with him alone, please,” Kiva said, her throat tight.
“Not tonight,” the king said.
He began to pull her away.
“No, wait —”
“Not tonight,” he repeated, his voice firm. “You’ve had a long journey. Rest up, then you can visit him again tomorrow.”
Kiva looked over her shoulder, finding Galdric’s steady gaze on her as she was towed down the corridor. He didn’t call out, didn’t beg to be released. But there was a promise in his expression.
There was also pain.
It wasn’t from his bruises — it was from seeing her. Whatever he felt when he looked at her hurt him. Whether that was because of what her mother had done, or perhaps because of how much he missed his friend, there was no doubting the connection he shared with Tilda. Nor was there any doubting how much he longed to speak with Kiva.
Tomorrow, Navok had said. She could wait one more day.
But as she was dragged back up the many staircases toward her room, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer than that. Because in two days, she would be forced to marry, and that meant she needed to be long gone from Blackmount Castle before she was bound to its king forever.
Chapter Seven
Brynn was waiting in Kiva’s bedroom when Navok pushed her through the door and left without saying anything.
Clearly, her husband-to-be wasn’t interested in wooing her, but Kiva already knew he only wanted her for one thing — a blood tie to Evalon’s throne. Or perhaps two things, as he seemed to think she was a weapon he could wield against her sister. That wasn’t going to work in his favor. She was almost tempted to linger at Blackmount if only to witness his inevitable confrontation with Zuleeka — but that temptation was nowhere near strong enough for her to risk having to marry him. No, Kiva’s priority was to escape the castle and put as much distance between herself and Mirraven as possible.
“You’re very pale, Lady — uh, Kiva,” Brynn said, rushing to meet Kiva in the doorway and guiding her toward the bed. Her silvery gaze was alert — and concerned — as she asked, “Did he hurt you?”
Kiva was both curious and alarmed by the question. Brynn had warned that Navok was known for his temper, but the idea of him being physically violent hadn’t crossed Kiva’s mind.
“No, I’m fine,” she answered, slumping down onto the velvety blankets and resisting the urge to hug a cushion in comfort. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on her feelings, or to wonder why her mother had offered her to Navok on a platter. Her emotions and questions could come later — what she needed now was a plan.
She also needed Brynn to leave, since despite her intuition saying she could trust the maid, the danger of her being an informant was too high.
Sensing that Brynn was about to ask what had happened in Navok’s receiving room, Kiva quickly said, “It’s been a long day. I’d like to be alone.”
Brynn grimaced down at the blood-red carpet. “I’m sorry, but Madam Merit told me to remain with you. Just in case you need anything in the night.” She indicated a pallet Kiva hadn’t noticed, set up on the far side of the lavish room. “I promise you won’t know I’m here — unless you call for me.”
No wonder Kiva hadn’t been locked in her quarters, something she’d wondered both times she’d been left there. Brynn would know the moment she tried to sneak out.
Kiva muttered a curse, but then made herself take a deep breath, mentally acknowledging that it was late and her mind was too knotted to figure anything out right now. She still needed to speak with Galdric tomorrow, so she would have to wait until after that to make a move anyway, and then . . .
Then, what? Kiva asked herself. Even if she did escape Blackmount Castle — which the female guard had said was impossible — what was her next move? She needed to return to Evalon, but she might as well try to reach the moon for how far away her home kingdom seemed.