It was useless, she knew. She had no idea what had made him sick, just as she had no idea what was making anyone sick. She called herself a healer, but what did she really know? She’d never had any official training, nor had she apprenticed under a master or studied at an academy. All she knew was what her father had taught her in the short time they’d had together, and with such limited resources. Nothing had prepared her for an illness of this magnitude, for how many people were dying without any known cause . . . for the possibility of losing another person she loved.

Her father had already succumbed to this sickness. She couldn’t stand the thought that Tipp might soon follow in his footsteps.

“K-Kiva?”

Kiva’s head shot upward. Confusion fogged her mind before adrenaline cleared it, making her realize that she’d dozed off with her cheek on Tipp’s bed, her sleepless night and the long hours of the previous day having caught up to her.

“Tipp,” she gasped, reaching for his hands. They were ice-cold, but also clammy with sweat. She frowned at the sensation, since none of the other sick patients had exhibited a similar symptom, but she cast it from her mind and focused on the young boy staring at her with tears in his scared blue eyes.

“Am I g-g-going to die?”

“Of course not,” Kiva told him sternly, as if the idea was preposterous, even if every part of her was shriveling on the inside.

Two sets of footsteps approached from behind her, belonging to Jaren and Naari. Strong hands came to rest on her shoulders, and a whiff of honey, ginger, and mint touched her nose—ingredients she’d asked Jaren to mix into a healing tea in the hope that Tipp might be able to drink some.

“Hey, buddy, looking good,” Jaren said from over Kiva’s shoulder.

“J-Jaren,” Tipp said, his pale lips stretching into a smile. It made him look even more sickly, like the effort cost him dearly. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Jaren said, letting go of Kiva to crouch beside the bed. “This is where all the fun is.”

Tipp laughed, a low, almost painful sound. Kiva wasn’t sure if she wanted Jaren to shut up and go away so the young boy could rest or if it was more important for him to lift Tipp’s spirits and give him a fighting chance.

“And N-Naari, too,” Tipp said, looking over Kiva’s shoulder to where the guard stood.

“I wouldn’t try talking to her,” Jaren warned conspiratorially. “She skipped breakfast, so you know what that means.”

Tipp’s smile widened, a hint of light touching his cloudy eyes. “Hungry?”

Jaren nodded solemnly. “And angry. She’s worse than a wooka after hibernation.”