“We’re ready to—what are you doing?”

Jaren’s voice was close enough that Kiva jumped, the last symbol of her coded note smudging across the material, but it was still legible.

“I’m writing to my family,” she answered, seeing no point in lying. She was about to tell him more, to explain about Raz playing messenger for years, but Naari called out to them, warning them to move faster, so Kiva tore her gaze from Jaren and handed the bloodied material to the stablemaster.

“Please get this to them as soon as you can.”

Kiva didn’t care whether he sent it off as it was or if he transposed her code onto parchment first, as long as her family received the message.

“I will,” Raz promised as she drew Tipp back up into her arms. “Take care, Kiva.”

“You too,” she whispered, before turning on her heel and following Jaren toward the carriage where Naari was waiting, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

“Quick, get inside,” the guard said, leaping up front to drive them. “We need to pass through the perimeter fence before Rooke sends word to the guards there. We’ll be free after that—they won’t risk leaving their posts to chase us.”

Urgency thrummed between them as Naari prepared for them to leave and Jaren opened the carriage’s side door, holding a hand out to help Kiva. Together, they maneuvered Tipp inside, both panting when they were finally secured, with Jaren yelling out the window to Naari once they were ready to go. Seconds later, they were moving, bursting out of the stables and leaving Raz behind them, racing down the dirt road to their freedom.

Part of Kiva wanted to look back, just for a moment, to see if the Warden had retreated to the safety of his wall, watching the pandemonium far below. Or perhaps he was watching the small horse-drawn carriage as it passed safely through the perimeter fence and continued out of sight.

But she didn’t look back.

Not even for the man who had killed her father.

Zalindov was behind her now.

She was free.

Tears prickled her nose as realization swept over her, all that had just happened hitting her anew. Tilda’s death. Mot’s sacrifice. Everything that came before and after.

Glancing down, she rearranged Tipp in her lap, the young boy sleeping off what should have been a fatal wound, his gentle face at peace, oblivious to their escape. He had no idea that he wasn’t a prisoner anymore. When he woke up, he’d have a completely new life.

Just as Kiva would.

“What did you write to your family?” Jaren asked. He was sitting across from her, his hands holding his abdomen, his face deathly pale. But he was alive.

They both were.

Despite the odds, they’d survived.

And they were out.

“I let them know that I’m safe. That I’m free.” Kiva swallowed, looking down at Tipp, thinking of Tilda, whose body remained at the prison, and finished, “I told them where they can find me, if they want. That I’ll be in Vallenia. With you.”