When she closed her eyes, she saw Naari lying in a pool of blood after being struck by Zuleeka’s death magic; she saw Caldon looking down at the barely alive Jaren before screaming at Kiva to flee, his loyalty to his family at odds with his love for her; she saw Tipp’s devastation when he realized she’d lied to him for years, followed by his small body crumpling after a blow from Zuleeka, who had claimed he’d be a liability until Kiva had a chance to explain — a chance she’d never been given. He’d been placed in the care of Rhessinda, who had promised to watch over him, just as she’d promised to care for Torell after he’d been stabbed during the skirmish with their Mirraven abductors. But it wasn’t the abductors who had nearly killed him — it was Zuleeka.
It was always Zuleeka.
Everything that had happened could be blamed on Kiva’s sister, who had partnered with Mirryn Vallentis to overthrow Evalon, the princess having been coerced by Mirraven’s King Navok to turn on her own family for the sake of her love for Navok’s sister, Serafine.
But despite knowing all of that, Kiva still blamed herself. Because she was the reason they’d succeeded. She’d told them everything they’d needed to steal the throne, betraying everyone she loved in the process.
Betraying Jaren.
He was never going to forgive her.
She was never going to forgive herself.
People like her didn’t deserve forgiveness.
They deserved death.
It was only fitting that she was back in Zalindov, awaiting her end. There was no escaping this time — no one was coming for her. She was on her own, just the way it should be.
She’d earned that, the suffering, the pain. But even so, there was no punishment in the world that could mend what she’d broken. That was something she had to live with — and soon enough, die with.
“Time!” called the nearest guard, with the word being echoed by other guards spaced further along the tunnels. “Back to work!”
Kiva heaved herself up to her feet, aware of Cresta at her side, as always. Once, Kiva had dreaded encountering the other girl around the prison, her antagonistic attitude and penchant for stirring up trouble making Kiva steer clear of her. And despite whatever stalemate they’d reached now, Kiva would never forget that Cresta had once threatened Tipp’s life, claiming she would kill him if Kiva failed to keep the Rebel Queen alive. Kiva hadn’t needed the motivation, seeing as Tilda Corentine was her own mother.
Or she had been, once.
Tilda was dead now.
Kiva hadn’t been able to save her.
She hadn’t been able to save her father, either.
Or her brother, Kerrin.
Half of her family, gone.
Despite their deaths not being her fault, Kiva was plagued by the knowledge that the healing magic in her blood could have kept them from the everworld, if she’d had the chance to use it. If she’d had the courage to use it.
She’d failed them.
And now she was paying the price.
For that, and for so many other things.
“What are you doing?” Cresta murmured. “Dig.”
Kiva blinked, realizing that while her fellow prisoners had reclaimed their tools, she was just standing there, staring at her hands again.
Hands that were covered in blood.
And filled with power.
If she wanted, she could summon the magic to the surface, calling it forth in a blaze of golden light. Or, with one wrong thought, one wrong desire, she could summon the death magic inherited from her ancestor, Torvin Corentine. The same magic that had cursed her mother and corrupted her sister. It was inside her now. It had always been inside her.
Kiva shuddered and balled her hands into fists.
“Pick up your axe,” Cresta hissed.
As if through a haze, Kiva looked across at her, noting the urgency puckering her serpent tattoo. And then she saw the reason for Cresta’s concern: the guard who had just rounded the corner and was heading straight for them.
It was Bones.
A latent survival instinct caused Kiva to swiftly collect her axe and swing it toward the limestone.
Along with the Butcher, Bones was one of two guards whom she had come to truly fear during her ten years at Zalindov. The pale, black-eyed man was wild and unpredictable, usually found with a crossbow over his shoulders, patrolling atop the outer walls or posted to the guard towers. That he was underground now . . .
Kiva’s skin crawled as he approached, waiting for him to pass.
He didn’t.
Instead, he stopped directly behind her, his hand shooting forward until his fingers curled around her axe, tugging it away.
Cresta slowed her digging, tension emanating from her as she kept one eye on Kiva and the other on Bones, her hazel gaze screaming a warning.
Kiva swallowed and turned to face him.
“Hello, healer,” he purred.
The gleeful look in his eyes pierced through the numbness she’d felt for weeks, causing fear to flood her veins. Before, as the prison healer, she’d had a modicum of protection from guards like Bones. Not just because she was the only person who could competently provide their medical treatment, but also because she’d had the favor of the Warden. While that hadn’t guaranteed her safety, she’d never faced some of the horrors many of the other prisoners had suffered through.
As a tunneler, she no longer had that protection. And she certainly didn’t have Rooke’s favor anymore.
Bones moved a step closer, and Kiva automatically shifted backwards, her shoulders colliding with the limestone. The inmate to her left hesitated, but then he continued to dig, faster than ever, as if not wanting to draw attention to himself.
But on Kiva’s right, Cresta stopped digging entirely.
“Can we help you?” she asked, leveling a look at Bones.
He barely glanced at her. “Get back to work, Voss.”
It didn’t bode well that he knew Cresta’s name — guards rarely addressed prisoners by anything other than their identification numbers.
Moving his free hand to rest on his crossbow, Bones smirked at Kiva and said, “Let’s take a walk.”
He threw her axe to the ground and reached for her, causing Kiva’s stomach to somersault. But before he could make contact, Cresta wedged her way in between them.
“I like walking,” the redhead said conversationally. “Where are we going?”
Bones slitted his eyes toward Cresta. “This is your only warning.”
She was unmoved, remaining between them like a human barrier.
“Cresta —” Kiva attempted, but her mouth was too dry to continue.
“If Kiva gets to stretch her legs, we should all get to stretch our legs,” Cresta stated, heedless to the danger. Perhaps reveling in it. “Fair’s fair.”
Bones cocked his head to the side as he considered her. “Normally, I’d be curious to see how this plays out. But I’m not in the mood today.” He looked past her and signaled to a pair of tunnel guards, who quickly approached, before his eyes flicked back to Cresta. “You can start digging again, or they can make you. Your choice.”
Kiva’s anxiety grew when Cresta remained defiantly in place, prompting the new guards to grab her, one on each side.
Mirth flashed across Bones’s face as he watched Cresta struggle in their arms, but then he turned back to Kiva. “You. Come with me.”