That was all it took.

Golden light poured from Kiva’s fingertips, seeping into Tipp’s chest, flooding along his torso, sealing his flesh, inch by painful inch.

It was working—it was working.

His heartbeat was growing stronger, beat after beat after beat.

And then—

He sucked in a breath, his chest expanding.

Kiva wept openly, keeping her hands in place, willing that golden light to keep healing, to keep sealing. She was nearly there, only a few more inches to go and he’d be completely—

“KIVA!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Kiva lurched backwards, her hands flying from Tipp as she whipped her head toward the door, the golden light disappearing a fraction of a second before Jaren came stumbling into the infirmary, Naari at his heels. The guard was splattered with blood, her eyes wild as she took in the mess, her gaze flying around the room before landing on Tilda, then finding Kiva and Tipp on the floor.

“Kiva!” Jaren cried again, seeing her at the same time as the guard. The two of them rushed over, Jaren heedless of his own pain as he stared in horror at the young boy surrounded by a sea of red.

“He’s all right,” Kiva rasped. “It’s Tilda’s blood. He just has a small cut on his stomach, and a bump to the head. He’ll be fine.”

She had no idea how the lies were pouring from her so easily. All she could think of was her father’s warnings and the promise she’d made him. She’d already broken that promise, but she knew better than to let anyone know, least of all her present company.

“Can he be moved?” Naari asked.

Kiva’s shaking hands traveled down to Tipp’s stomach, checking the damage. The smallest of cuts remained—he wouldn’t even need a stitch. Kiva nearly sobbed anew, but instead, she croaked out, “Yes. He just needs to sleep it off.”

That part wasn’t a lie. Tipp needed a good, long, healing sleep. And once he awakened, Kiva would have to convince him that his wound hadn’t been as bad as it had seemed. Tipp would believe her. He had no reason not to.

“Good,” Naari said, glancing back at the door with clear unease. “This place is turning into a death zone. We need to leave. Right now.”

Jaren held his hand out for Kiva, and she took it, too stunned by all that had just happened—and was now happening—to remember his injuries. He uttered only the slightest of pained sounds and immediately steadied her when her legs nearly gave out, the trauma of what she’d just gone through wreaking havoc with her body. Exhaustion threatened to topple her; the strain of what she’d done was unlike anything she’d ever known. But even so, when Jaren reached down to collect Tipp, Kiva stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“I’ll take him,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Jaren warned.