The words were harsh, and if Kiva hadn’t been so distraught after all she’d just heard, she would have been more tactful. But Naari didn’t take offense. If anything, she seemed confused.

“A prison guard?” she repeated, frowning. Slowly, she asked, “I thought you spoke with Jaren? Down in the quarry?”

Kiva’s mind was still on the poison revelation and the impending riot. She was overcome with fear, dreading what it might mean for any of them, for all of them. Naari was right—Rooke’s actions were barbaric. But to think that Evalon’s royal family would care enough to intervene, when they were the reason so many of the prisoners were in Zalindov at all . . . Naari was dreaming. And that was if they even read her missive, which Kiva thought was unlikely.

“Didn’t he tell you?”

The guard’s words pulled Kiva’s attention back to her. And to the disbelieving expression on her face.

“Tell me what?”

“You saw his magic.” Naari seemed at a loss. “He used it to save you.”

Kiva was having trouble keeping up, failing to understand why Naari seemed so distressed. “I know that.” She waved to the cell. “It’s why we’re here—because he interfered.”

Not that Kiva was complaining, since Jaren had pulled her back from certain death. She might hate everything about the Abyss, but at least she was still alive. Jaren, too.

“Then . . . you know who he is,” Naari said haltingly, as if it were she who didn’t understand.

Kiva’s brow furrowed. “Who he . . .” She trailed off, something clicking in her brain.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

In the quarry, Jaren had said that to her. He’d thought she’d understood then, that she’d realized on her own. He hadn’t said not to tell anyone what he could do, hadn’t asked her not to mention his magical ability. Instead, he’d warned her not to reveal who he was.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

She’d assumed he was an anomaly. She’d been waiting for an explanation as to how he had magic when it was so rare outside of those born to the royal houses of Corentine or Vallentis—the Corentine bloodline with healing magic, and the Vallentis bloodline with . . . with . . .

With elemental magic.

Kiva gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth.

She’d been such a fool.

Such a blind, stupid fool.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

Jaren wasn’t a prisoner—he was a Vallentis.

And not just any Vallentis.

He’s quite taken with you.