But the Warden didn’t agree with her, because seconds later, Jaren was hauled into the room by Bones, stumbling, clearly in pain, and struggling to remain upright even with the white-knuckled grip the guard had on him.

“Ah, just in time,” Rooke said.

The Butcher snickered behind Kiva, having said something similar to her before he’d slammed his cat-o’-nine-tails into Jaren’s flesh. She swallowed back the memory, her eyes locking with Jaren’s. She could almost hear his voice in her head asking if she was all right, his fear and concern—forher—splashed across his pale, pained features.

She tore her gaze away and focused on the Warden, her heart pumping as she waited to hear what he would say.

“Since D24L103 was so eager to join you in the third Trial,” Rooke said, “we’ve decided that he’ll share your fate in the fourth.”

Kiva’s eyes leapt back to Jaren, and despite the tumultuous storm she felt toward him, a flare of hope lit within her. She wouldn’t have to face the Ordeal alone. He’d be with her—him and his elemental magic.

But then she noted that his gaze had moved to Naari, so Kiva did the same, finding the guard looking aghast, like she was three seconds away from unsheathing her swords and shredding everyone in the room in order to protect her charge.

Kiva feared bloodshed was imminent, but at the slightest of head shakes from Jaren, Naari’s fists unclenched. Her features tightened at the silent order, yet she did not reach for her blades.

Exhaling with relief—though she wasn’t sure why, since part of her would have been very satisfied to see Naari tear down Rooke—Kiva turned back to the Warden.

Foreboding began to curl within her at the slow smile that spread across his face. She’d been so distracted by the interplay between Jaren and Naari that she hadn’t considered why he thought sending  Jaren with her was to be a punishment.

The Warden didn’t delay in sharing, and with six words, he revealed their fate.

“Congratulations, you’re about to die together.”

And then, for the second time in two weeks, something hard slammed into Kiva’s head, and she sank back into darkness.

When Kiva regained consciousness, the first thing she did was press her fingers to the egg on the back of her skull, wincing at how tender it was, while trying to think past the drums beating a rhythm through her brain. She was lucky she could think at all, fully aware of how serious concussions could be and how even the shortest of blackouts could cause irreversible brain damage. She’d been fortunate, no matter how much her aching head and churning gut said otherwise.