“It’d make a g-good story,” Tipp said, skipping off toward the wooden workbench to begin gathering the items Kiva needed next. Her face softened at his thoughtfulness, though she was careful to school it into indifference before he turned around.

Attachments were dangerous at Zalindov. Caring only led to pain.

“I’m sure you’ll make it a good story even if it isn’t,” Kiva said, finally moving up to the man’s hair.

“Mama used t-to always say I’d grow up to be a b-b-bard,” Tipp said with a grin.

Kiva’s fingers spasmed on the cloth, her heart giving a painful clench as she thought about Tipp’s mother, Ineke, for the first time in three years. Having been accused of stealing jewelry from a noblewoman, when Ineke was sent to Zalindov, the then eight-year-old Tipp wouldn’t let go of her skirts, so he was thrown in the wagon with her. Six months later, Ineke got a cut while working in the slaughterhouse, but the guards wouldn’t let her visit the infirmary until it was too late. The infection had already spread to her heart, and within days, she was dead.

Kiva had held Tipp for hours that night, his silent tears soaking her clothes.

The next day, red-eyed and puffy-faced, the small boy had said only five words: She’d want me t-to live.

And so he had. With everything within him, Tipp had lived.

Kiva was determined he would continue to do so—outside of Zalindov. One day.

Dreams were for fools. And Kiva was the biggest fool of them all.

Returning her attention to the man lying before her, she slowly worked the tangles from his filthy hair. It wasn’t long, which helped, but it wasn’t short either. Kiva debated whether it would need to be shaved, inspecting it closely. But she could see no sign of infestation, and once the blood and dirt were gone and it began to dry—revealing a rich golden color somewhere between blond and brown—a lustrous shine became more noticeable.

Healthy hair, healthy physique. Both rare in new arrivals.

Again, Kiva found herself wondering what kind of life this man had come from that had led him to fall so far.

“You’re not g-going to swoon, are you?” Tipp said, appearing at her elbow with a bone needle and spooled catgut in hand.

“What?”

Tipp nodded down to the man. “Swoon. Because of h-how he looks.”

Kiva’s brow furrowed. “How he . . .” Her eyes flittered to the man’s face, taking him in properly for the first time. “Oh.” She frowned deeper and said, “Of course I’m not going to swoon.”

Tipp’s mouth twitched. “It’s all right if you d-d-do. I’ll catch you.”

Shooting him a look, Kiva opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, Naari appeared right beside them, having approached on swift, silent feet.