Approaching with courage she didn’t feel, Kiva stepped past the guard, who was looking down at the woman with a closed, distrustful expression, and stopped at Tipp’s shoulder.

“I hear someone’s feeling a little better,” Kiva said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

“She hasn’t r-r-really said anything,” Tipp shared. “Just a-asked where she was. And for some w-water.”

Kiva felt a pang of alarm, since the last time Tilda had been even remotely lucid, she’d known she was in Zalindov—until she hadn’t, forgetting just moments later. It was good that she wanted water, though. Everworld knew Kiva was having trouble keeping her hydrated.

“Kiiiivva,” the woman said. “Kiiiiiva.”

“That’s r-right,” Tipp said encouragingly, patting her hand. “This is Kiva—the p-prison healer. I told you a-about her, remember? Kiva M-Meridan. The best healer in all of W-Wenderall. She’s been looking a-after you.”

“Kiiiiiiiiiiva,” Tilda said, staring sightlessly in the direction of Tipp’s voice.

Kiva’s nails dug into her palms at the sound of her name coming from Tilda’s lips. Despite Olisha’s summons, the Rebel Queen didn’t seem wholly lucid at all. Or perhaps she was again having trouble with her speech, as she had the last time Kiva had tried speaking with her, weeks earlier.

“Have you given her any gumwort?” Kiva asked Tipp.

His eyes lit up and he released Tilda’s hand, jumping from his stool and hurrying over to the workbench to collect the sludgy brown paste. He then handed it to Kiva and she smeared some on Tilda’s tongue, waiting to see if it would afford her any clarity and relax her mouth.

“Kiva,” the Rebel Queen said after a few moments, no longer slurring the word, but still saying nothing else.

“She’s h-here,” Tipp said. “And N-Naari as well. I told you a-a-about her, too. She’s a g-guard, but she’s nice. You’ll l-like her.”

Tilda turned her face this way and that, as if trying to see them. Kiva again wondered how long she’d been without vision, whether it was a side effect of whatever ailed her, or if she’d lost her sight some time ago.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Kiva made herself ask, determined to remember that she was the healer and she had a job to do. “Headache, nausea, pain anywhere? You’ve been here for nearly six weeks, and I still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong. Anything you tell me could help.”

“The . . . Trials,” Tilda said. “Why haven’t . . . they come . . . for me?”

Kiva, Tipp, and Naari were all silent, none of them knowing what to say.

“Why . . . am I . . . still alive?”

Tipp shifted on his stool. Naari crossed, uncrossed, and crossed her arms again.

“I . . . should be . . . dead.”