“You’re welcome,” was Cresta’s only reply, her eyes lit with humor.
“There’s something very wrong with you,” Kiva snapped. She then turned to Caldon, just as furious. “And you — why did you hold me back?”
“Because I figured out what she was doing,” he said, shameless. “And she was right. You needed motivation.”
Kiva’s blood was boiling. She got right in Caldon’s face and demanded, “Is that how this is going to work? You’ll use how I feel about Jaren against me and hurt him every time you want me to use magic? Hasn’t he suffered enough because of me?”
She was breathing heavily, emotion coursing through her veins, and that was why it took her a moment to realize what she’d just said — and who had heard.
Unable to meet his eyes, Kiva turned woodenly toward Jaren and, staring at his bloodied leg, choked out, “Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer for so long that she was forced to look up at his face, only to find an unreadable emotion in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he eventually said.
Hearing that, Kiva felt relief, along with enough mortification and residual anger that she nodded tersely and strode away.
She didn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the day.
Chapter Fifteen
The following days continued much like the first, with the only change being the scenery shifting from Mirraven’s craggy landscape to Caramor’s barren, windswept plains. News of the broken alliance hadn’t yet spread, so they had no trouble crossing the border, and Kiva quickly found that where Navok’s kingdom was largely gray and desolate, Caramor was brown and yellow and equally bleak. It was said that the northern part of the kingdom was much more habitable, especially toward the seaside capital, Terith, but their travel party wasn’t venturing that far, instead skirting the edge of the expansive Wicker Woods and cutting straight across toward Hadris.
As the days passed, Kiva’s body ached relentlessly from being in the saddle for hours on end, only to toss and turn on the hard ground each night. If the others felt the same discomfort, none of them complained, not even Tipp, who continued to ignore all of Kiva’s attempts to speak with him. Jaren and Naari also treated her no differently — though Kiva did wonder if, during her morning training, Jaren’s eyes often came to her. But whenever she turned, he was always looking elsewhere, making her think she was only imagining what she wanted to see.
Caldon himself was much more cautious with Kiva ever since her post-stabbing outburst, but while that meant no one else was wounded — namely, Jaren — for the sake of her training, she also had little success with summoning her magic on command, and none at all without first placing her hands on someone. She was increasingly aware of the uneasy concern from her traveling companions, all of whom knew how much was at stake if she couldn’t learn to control her power.
A week after leaving Stoneforge, they finally neared the border into Hadris, and Galdric revealed they were now close enough to Jiirva for him to windfunnel them over the Forsaken Lands and all the way to Yirin. Despite Ashlyn having been working with the ex-rebel leader every morning, she still hadn’t managed to transport herself more than a few feet, so they would be relying solely on Galdric’s magic. Unlike last time, he was confident he wouldn’t pass out once they reached their destination, claiming that had never happened to him before, and that the high pressure of fleeing Navok’s dungeons coupled with exhaustion and hunger — and having been beaten by the guards — must have left him weaker than he’d realized.
“Why d-didn’t you just use your m-m-magic to escape when you were f-first locked up?” Tipp had asked him one night around the campfire, with Galdric answering that windfunneling only worked when outside and exposed to the full force of the elements. And besides, his magic couldn’t move him through objects — or walls — only over them.
His response had satisfied everyone except Cresta, who had drawled, “You didn’t answer the kid’s question. Why didn’t you break out of your cell earlier, like how Ashlyn used her power to get you out? You only needed to get outside before, whoosh” — she circled her fingers — “freedom.”
“On my own?” Galdric had returned, one eyebrow raised. “We barely made it out when there were three of us and General Ashlyn was at full strength. I stood no chance against the Gray Guards without help. Wisdom told me to wait and bide my time.”
“Wisdom speaks to me, too,” Cresta had replied, tossing a stick into the flames. “She’s particularly chatty when it comes to you.”
Galdric had been unfazed by her pointed remark, and since he’d given no reason for anyone to doubt his motivations, nothing else was said on the matter. But Kiva had lingered on Cresta’s attitude toward him, wondering how much of it came from the redhead’s years at Zalindov — where trust was a commodity that almost always ended in death — versus how much was just Cresta’s naturally prickly personality trying to stir up dissent among them all.
Kiva still didn’t have an answer after a week of them being in close proximity, so she put it to the back of her mind and instead gave a mental cheer that it was finally time for them to windfunnel to Yirin.
“Everyone, gather near,” Galdric called, waving their group toward him.
Kiva nudged Zephyr closer, ignoring his pinned ears. Despite her best efforts, he still detested her. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he and Jaren were soul-bonded. But he’d carried her across two kingdoms, and even if it was one-sided, she’d grown attached to the hateful beast.
“I’ll win you over,” she murmured, petting his neck to try and settle him as he pranced agitatedly beneath her.
“Kiva, are you listening?”
She looked up at Galdric’s question to find everyone watching her. Flushing, she asked, “Sorry?”
“I was saying, this should be smoother than last time since the air currents over the Forsaken Lands aren’t as turbulent as those gusting between Mirraven’s craggy hills, but it’s still going to be unsettling for the horses. Prepare yourself.”
Kiva was about to suggest they dismount before, essentially, flying their horses across hundreds of miles at speed, but before she could, Galdric raised his hands, and a rush of wind rammed into them like a solid wall of air.
Zephyr snorted, his muscles bunching as if ready to bolt, but Galdric’s magic was faster, thrusting them up into the air. Kiva barely stayed in the saddle as the browns and yellows of Caramor blurred into the reds and oranges of northern Hadris, and then into the golden sands of Jiirva’s sun-drenched lands.
Like last time, Kiva had no sense of how long the journey took, just that it was disconcerting and, despite Galdric’s claim that it would be smoother, still unpleasant. When their group finally touched down on the duned outskirts of a large sandstone city, her head was spinning enough that she stood no chance of keeping her seat when Zephyr reared up and threw her from his back.
Kiva hit the ground so hard that the wind was knocked out of her. She tried to suck in air, to move, but she couldn’t do either, not even when Zephyr reared up again, twisting on his hindquarters — until he was directly above her.