“It’s still a risk we have to take,” Jaren maintained.
No one was pleased, but they all knew there was no alternative. They’d just have to hope Zofia Sage would relinquish the ring for a price they were capable of paying.
Devising a quick plan of action, they all agreed to rest for a few hours in the separate bedrooms connected to the suite before meeting up again close to midnight. Unlike the others, however, once Kiva was alone, she didn’t try to sleep. Having no distractions for the first time since that morning, she could no longer hold back the tide of what she’d been ignoring all day, with every detail of her talk with Jaren replaying in her mind.
You made me fall in love with a lie.
I don’t even know who you are — and frankly, I don’t want to.
And perhaps the worst:
You and I will never have to see each other again.
She curled into a ball on her teal-colored bed, her arms around her knees, her wounded heart thumping dully. And finally, she released the tears she’d been fighting for hours, allowing them to flow in silent rivers down her cheeks, all while she begged for the pain to ease.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kiva felt hollow as she walked with Jaren, Caldon, and Tipp into the Midnight Markets later that night.
Cresta and Naari had left earlier in the evening, choosing to scout ahead rather than rest. Kiva had wished she’d known in time to accompany them, because now she was stuck with a much more intimate group, including the one person she greatly wished to distance herself from. But she did her best to ignore Jaren, instead channeling her energy into keeping her eyes on Tipp. She’d wanted him to remain back at the palace, but their encounter with the king had made her wary about leaving him alone. And while she’d almost offered to stay with him, she was also aware that the dangerous nature of the underground Markets could result in her friends needing her magic.
So there they were, the four of them having just climbed down one of the many public entrances into Ersa’s underground network, with the aboveground hatch having revealed a set of ladders eerily similar to those at Zalindov. They weren’t all like that, Caldon had shared, rattling off other entrances he’d used during past visits — sandstone staircases and even mechanical shafts powered by luminium, along with different trapdoors with more ladders and ropes and pulleys and slides. Ersans had made it all too easy to access their criminal world from all across the city — and to escape it quickly.
“It smells b-bad down here,” Tipp said, wrinkling his nose as they headed along a vast thoroughfare.
Kiva didn’t feel as if she was underground; as long as she didn’t look up at the dark rocky ceiling, it was just like walking through a normal street, with vendors lining the sides of the road, some peddling their wares, others sitting silently behind tables and watching as they passed. There were also a surprising number of Ersans moving from stall to stall, some angling furtively down narrow alleyways and through secretive doors cut into the earth. Kiva couldn’t help being curious about those hidden establishments, what they contained and how they’d been hewn out of the sandstone itself. She didn’t, however, dwell on the question of how safe she and her companions were, and tried to forget that there was an entire city resting just above their heads.
“Should we split up?” Caldon asked as they walked past a woman who had three snakes coiled around her arms and neck, and dozens more for sale in a glass enclosure. The red streaks in their black scales identified them as necros adders, a single bite from which would cause death within seconds. Kiva quickly pulled Tipp away when he moved in for a closer look.
“Maybe we should just ask someone where we can find Zofia,” she suggested, not wanting to separate, even if it meant she wouldn’t have to be near Jaren. She’d scrubbed her face before leaving her room, but her eyes had still been red from crying, making her mumble an excuse about them being irritated from the sand when Tipp had expressed his concern. He’d bought the lie — but the look Caldon sent her said he hadn’t.
Kiva hadn’t dared glance at Jaren.
“It’ll be faster to split up, but safer to stay together,” Jaren answered, frowning at the mass of people. “We don’t want to draw attention to what we’re doing, not in a place like this, but Kiva’s right — we’re probably going to have to ask for directions.”
“Ooooh, l-l-look!” Tipp said, pointing to a stall up ahead and beaming. “An a-apothecary. We should a-ask her. Everyone knows apothecaries h-help people.”
Kiva couldn’t help thinking of Mot from Zalindov, who, while thoughtful and kind to her, had deliberately misdiagnosed his patients so he could test experimental remedies on them, causing multiple deaths. The Midnight Markets were the kind of place he would have thrived at, so Kiva followed Tipp with caution as he skipped toward the woman behind a table covered in vials. Numerous plants and flowers and vines hung along the sides and across the top of her stall, most of which were unknown to Kiva, aside from a few highly poisonous buds that had her eyes rounding. The booth itself had copious stoppered flasks and bottles scattered over every available surface, none of which were labeled, and there was also a preparation area, where the woman was meticulously chopping ingredients and transferring them to a large stirring pot.
All of this Kiva took in quickly, but it wasn’t the woman or her task that held her focus — it was the shelf behind her, stocked high with clear containers full of a familiar golden powder.
Angeldust.
So much angeldust. More than Kiva had ever seen in one place.
Her insides twisted, and she tore her eyes away.
“Excuse m-me,” Tipp said before Kiva, Caldon, or Jaren could stop him. “We’re l-l-looking for Zofia S-Sage.”
The woman didn’t look up, her hand steady on her dagger as she continued to chop, chop, chop.
Jaren stepped forward and spoke in the guttural Hadrisan language.
“I heard the kid,” the woman replied in the common tongue, with barely a trace of an accent. “What’s in it for me?”
“You would have our gratitude,” Caldon said, offering her a winning smile.
“Gratitude don’t pay the king’s taxes,” she shot back.
Jaren pulled out a small pouch of gold. “No, but this will. For your information — and your silence.”
The woman finally glanced up, holding out her palm. When Jaren handed over the pouch, she weighed it thoughtfully, then opened her mouth to give a stream of directions, none of which Kiva understood, but Jaren and Caldon listened intently before murmuring their thanks.
The apothecary merely went back to her work, ignoring them once more.
They turned to leave, but as they did, Tipp asked, “What’s th-that?” while pointing to a large jar full of what looked suspiciously like blood, inside of which floated a pale —
“Nothing,” Kiva said quickly, grabbing his arm and dragging him away, her stomach roiling. Even Caldon made a quiet retching sound, while Jaren rubbed his eyes as they hurried from the apothecary’s stall, as if hoping to erase the image from his mind.
The four of them continued down the thoroughfare, passing everything from exotic creatures in cages to strange weapons that had the princes lingering with appreciation. There were also entire stalls piled high with more angeldust, poppymilk, and other unidentifiable drugs, causing Kiva’s anxiety to spike every time she saw a hint of the glittery powder. She still hadn’t told anyone — especially Jaren — what she’d gone through at Zalindov, the horrors of her addiction and withdrawal. Just seeing the angeldust glinting innocently under the luminium beacons made her heart race and her palms sweat, with her battling to keep her mind in the now and not fall back into the nightmare she’d barely survived.