Kiva raised her eyebrows, curious if that was because the task itself didn’t allow it, or if things truly were so bad with the prisoners that the Warden didn’t want to risk amassing them together in one place. She assumed it was the latter, since all of her previous Ordeals had been deliberately planned spectacles. But she’d also spent the last two weeks racking her brain to think of what the Trial by Earth might entail, and had come up with too many possibilities to narrow it down. She’d eventually given up, having been wrong every other time, anyway. Her main regret was that she’d had no chance to see if Mot had formulated a remedy that might help her. For this Ordeal, she truly was alone.

“Should you succeed today, as stated by the fourth rule in the Book of the Law, you shall be forgiven for all crimes and granted your freedom,” Rooke went on, and Kiva’s stomach somersaulted. “Since you are acting as Champion for the accused, Tilda Corentine will also share in your pardon.” Rooke paused, then added, “However, should you perish in the task, then the accused shall be put to death.”

These were all facts that Kiva knew, but hearing them laid out like this, with such impending finality, made goose bumps break out on her skin.

“Similar to your previous Trials, you’ll have a time limit for your final Ordeal,” Rooke went on. “One hour—no more, no less. If you don’t return before then, you’ll have failed, and the Rebel Queen will be executed.” He paused, then added, “Should you survive but return after that hour is complete, you’ll follow Tilda into death.”

Kiva’s somersaulting stomach started doing backflips at the words return and survive. What in the everworld did he have planned for her?

“One last thing,” Rooke said, as if he’d been a fountain of information, when he had not. “Given what happened in the Trial by Water and the interference by fellow prisoner D24L103, we’ve made a decision regarding his punishment.”

Kiva jerked, and she saw Naari make a similar movement from the corner of her eye, before the guard caught herself.

“Hasn’t he been punished enough?” Kiva croaked, her voice raspy from lack of use. She couldn’t believe she was defending  Jaren—Prince Deverick—but she also couldn’t forget that she was the reason he was in this mess to begin with. Nor could she forget the wounds on his back, the sounds of the whip hitting his skin, his blood flowing into that drain. If his injuries were half as bad as Kiva imagined, two weeks weren’t enough time for him to have healed, even if the Butcher had left him alone since then. He didn’t deserve to suffer any more.