Prince Deverick had made the same offer to Kiva two weeks earlier, and just like then, she held her tongue—partly because she didn’t want to provoke the Warden, and partly because she didn’t want to vomit all over her own feet. Instead, she looked out at the crowd, feeling their energy. Some of the nearest prisoners sneered, their resentment toward her and the Trials palpable. Others were invigorated, as if the prospect of this Ordeal thrilled them, whatever the outcome might be. Finally, there were those who stared with wonder clear on their faces. If she could survive, they could survive. If she could go free, then maybe one day they could, too. She was their hope, their faith in a different, brighter future.

But Kiva was a long way from success. And she was reminded of this when she caught Cresta’s hazel stare, the rebel leader standing with her arms crossed, her expression all but screaming that Kiva had better survive. Or else.

“Very well,” Rooke said when she remained silent. To the amassed crowd, he said, “Given the nature of this task, you will not be bearing witness today. However, you’ll stay here until a verdict has been reached, and only then will you be released back to your work.”

Kiva felt a ripple of discontent from the prisoners, enough for her worry to expand beyond herself for a split second. This many inmates in one place was a recipe for disaster, the perfect breeding ground for a riot to break out. The guards would get the upper hand, they always did, but the casualties . . . Kiva swallowed and forced away her fears. There was more anticipation than anger, more excitement than outrage, indicating that, for now, they were safe.

Or at least, everyone but Kiva was safe.

“Follow me,” the Warden ordered, turning on his heel and striding through the stone door into the darkened building beyond.

Naari grabbed Kiva’s arm and ushered her forward. To the onlookers, her actions would appear pushy. What they didn’t see was how gentle her touch was and the encouraging squeeze of her fingers, a silent assurance that everything would be all right.

The kindness almost brought tears to Kiva’s eyes, and she wondered if this would be the last human contact she ever felt, if things didn’t go as planned. Mot’s waxy mixture would be almost useless in what she was about to face, meaning that Princess Mirryn’s amulet was all Kiva had. If it didn’t work . . .

Stop, Kiva told herself. She couldn’t allow herself to doubt, not when so much was at stake.

She would survive.

She would survive.