“It’s a shame about the c-c-cut on his face,” Tipp said, as Kiva finished wrapping the man’s hand and began to make her way around the rest his body, adding sutures to the open wounds as she went and applying the antibacterial sap over the top.

“Why’s that?” Kiva murmured, only half listening.

“It’ll ruin his p-pretty face.”

Kiva’s fingers paused midstitch over the cut she was closing on his right pectoral. “Pretty face or not, he’s still a man, Tipp.”

“So?”

“So,” Kiva said, “most men are pigs.”

There was a loaded silence, the only sound being a quiet huff from Naari at the door—almost as if she were amused—before Tipp finally said, “I’m a man. I’m not a p-pig.”

“You’re still young,” Kiva returned. “Give it time.”

Tipp snorted, thinking she was joking. Kiva didn’t enlighten him. While she hoped Tipp would stay as sweet and caring as he now was, the odds were against him. The only man whom Kiva had ever held any respect for was her beloved father. But . . . he was one of a kind.

Not allowing the nostalgia to overwhelm her this time, Kiva quickly and efficiently finished sealing the rest of the cuts on the young man’s abdomen and back, double checking that there were none on his legs before moving to his face.

It was then, just as she lowered her bone needle toward his brow, that his eyes opened.

Chapter Four

Kiva staggered backwards as the young man sat bolt upright. She wasn’t sure which of them was more startled—her, him, Tipp, or the guard.

“What the—” the man started, his gaze moving frantically around the room. “Who— Where—”

“Easy,” Kiva said, raising her hands. His eyes homed in on the bone needle before noting the blood staining her arms—his blood. The next second, he scrambled off the other side of the metal bench and was backing away like a cornered animal.

Aware that Naari was approaching fast, Kiva spoke again, trying to calm the man before things could escalate. “You’re at Zalindov. You were hurt on the way here. I’ve been”—she motioned helplessly to her bloodied hands—“stitching you back together.”

It was then that the man’s gaze settled on the guard. His eyes were blue, Kiva noted, but there was a gold rim in the center around the pupil. Striking eyes, unlike any she’d seen before.

Striking eyes, in a striking face. There was no denying it now that he was awake. And yet, her words to Tipp remained true: she would not be swooning anytime soon.