Casting her gaze out, Kiva took in the other horses already stabled, and the empty, waiting stalls between them. Perpendicular to where she stood was a lone carriage that she recognized as belonging to the Warden, having seen him use it to come and go from Zalindov, if infrequently. Rooke rarely left the prison—just as a king rarely left his kingdom.

“Psst.”

Kiva looked away from the carriage and frowned at the horse that was now butting her shoulder.

“Psst, Kiva. Down here.”

Her eyes widened as she peeked over the stall door and found the stablemaster, Raz, crouching near the horse’s front leg. The middle-aged man held a brush in his hand and was covered in fine hair, indicating that he’d been grooming the creature upon their arrival and had chosen to stay out of sight.

Kiva didn’t know Raz well. In fact, she was careful to avoid him, since any interaction between them could end in either of their deaths. For Kiva, it was a risk she was willing to take, given the reward. But Raz wasn’t a prisoner, nor was he a guard, and while he had been employed by Zalindov since long before she’d ever arrived, he had a lot more to lose than she did.

Raz was Kiva’s link to the outside world. Ten years ago, his pregnant wife had visited him during the day and gone into early labor. If not for Kiva’s father, they would have lost both the baby and the mother. In thanks, Raz had offered to sneak a message out and send it on, knowing how tight the channels of communication to and from Zalindov were.

Faran Meridan had been clever. He’d known better than to risk prying eyes, so he’d used a substitution code Kiva and her siblings had invented for fun, one that everyone in their family could interpret with little effort. And so had begun their discourse, with Raz offering to continue his services for Kiva.

Despite Raz’s kindness, it was challenging for Faran and, later, Kiva to get letters out of the prison. Only a handful of times had it been worth the risk of seeking out Raz, especially with him being in the stables—outside the limestone walls. Just twice had Kiva managed to send her own messages through him, the first time with three words: Father is dead; the second with five: I’m the new prison healer.