Kiva wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed, let alone ask that he release her. Even if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to manage another step on her own, not without help.

“Sorry,” she whisper-rasped into his neck, holding on tight.

“Don’t talk,” he told her. “We’re nearly there.”

“What h-h-happened in the Trial?” Tipp asked, jogging to keep up with Jaren’s long strides. “We saw smoke c-come out of—”

“Hush, child,” Mot interrupted him. “Let Kiva rest awhile. Why don’t yeh come help me for the afte’noon, and yeh can check in on ’er later tonight?”

“But—”

“It’s all right, Tipp,” Jaren said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Kiva’s eyes were closing of their own accord, but she still heard Tipp say, “P-Promise?”

“I promise.”

Kiva wasn’t sure what happened next, since she began to float in and out of consciousness. She was aware of Tipp and Mot leaving once they reached the morgue, after which she heard Naari and Jaren whispering to each other as they continued on to the infirmary. She only caught snatches of their conversation, but from what she could follow in her semi-lucid state, Naari was talking about the amulet she’d taken from Kiva, likely filling  Jaren in on how it had been imbued with the princess’s—no, the prince’s—fire magic, and that it had saved her life.

The next thing Kiva knew, she was in the infirmary, lying on the bed she’d awoken in after the last Ordeal. But instead of Mirryn being by her side, this time it was Jaren.

“How long was I out?” she croaked, her voice still sounding terrible.

“Only a few minutes. We just got here,” Jaren said, pointing to Naari, who was standing by the workbench and frowning down at the organized chaos. “We’re not sure what you need. Poppymilk?”

Kiva nodded, then shook her head, before weakly pushing aside the blanket that had been draped over her bare legs.

“No, no, stay in bed,” Jaren said, halting her hand. “You tell us, and we’ll get it for you.”

Kiva willed her brain to focus and rasped out a few names, being careful to mention specific dosages. Too much of the wrong combination, and she’d end up feeling worse than she already did.

After downing copious amounts of tallowfruit nectar for her lungs and throat, crown nettle for her headache and dizziness, yellownut for an energy boost, and a small dose of poppymilk for the rest of her lingering aches and pains, Kiva proceeded to swallow nearly an entire pail of fresh, cool water, before finally lying back in her bed, ready to sleep for the next thirteen years.

“Anything else?” Jaren asked.