And then she saw the carriage.

Kiva would have laughed if she hadn’t feared she’d start weeping.

What better way to escape the perimeter guards than in the Warden’s own private transport?

“Jaren, can you—” Naari started, but she was interrupted by another voice.

“What’re you doing in here?”

Kiva whirled around, Tipp’s legs swinging madly in the air, just in time to see Raz step out of an empty stall, a pitchfork held loosely in his hands.

Half a second later, the pitchfork was gone, and the stablemaster was face-down on the ground, Naari’s knee in the center of his spine and one of her blades pressed to his throat.

“Move, and you’re dead,” the guard hissed at him.

“Naari, stop!” Kiva cried.

Raz made an alarming gurgle sound, but still Naari didn’t release him.

“He’s a friend,” Kiva said, stretching the truth but not wanting to see the stablemaster hurt. “Please, he won’t cause us any problems. Will you, Raz?”

Another gurgling sound was all that came in answer, but it must have been enough to satisfy Naari, since she returned to her feet and sheathed her blade.

Slowly, Raz stood as well, rubbing his neck, his face pale as he stared at them.

“There’s a riot happening inside the grounds,” Kiva told him, as Naari and Jaren moved away to begin preparing the carriage for their departure. “It’s a bad one—really bad.”

“I know,” Raz said, his voice trembling slightly, but not from the news of the riot. “They’ve locked the gates. No one in or out.”

Kiva didn’t waste time explaining how she and her friends had made it through the wall. Instead, she said, “We’re leaving. You should come with us.”

Raz took a moment to reply, still recovering from Naari’s attack. “I’m safe enough out here. And I can’t risk losing this job, Kiva.”

She’d known he would say as much, but she’d had to offer.

“I won’t stop you from going,” Raz continued, his voice lowering, as if he feared the Warden would hear. “You of all people deserve a chance at freedom.”

A renewed surge of emotion welled in Kiva, but she shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time, not when she had to focus on escaping, and then on everything that came next. “If you truly mean that,” she said, “can I ask for one last favor?”

Raz sighed, already knowing what she was going to request. “Be quick about it.” He jerked his head to where Naari and Jaren were coaxing a pair of horses toward the harness, the latter wincing with pain but working swiftly despite his injuries.

Aware that she was short on time, Kiva carefully lowered Tipp onto a hay bale, then searched the area for a scrap of parchment and something to write with. Finding nothing, she looked to Raz, but he made a helpless gesture. Clenching her teeth, Kiva ripped a patch from the bottom of her filthy tunic, dipped her finger in the wet blood coating her body, and began to pen her final letter as a prisoner of Zalindov.