She’d tried so hard—so hard—to keep Tilda alive.

Don’t let her die.

A tear escaped Kiva’s eyes, then another, before her knees buckled and she collapsed over the woman, heedless of her blood, thinking only of all she’d suffered through to protect her. Kiva had survived the impossible, had completed the entire Trial by Ordeal, all for Tilda, all so that she might be safe, be freed. And now—

Now she was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” Kiva choked out. “I tried. I tried.”

Only twice before had she known such agony. Such heartache. It was all she could do to keep whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

“K-K-Kiva?”

Kiva’s head shot up, tears blurring her vision as she looked wildly around for the owner of the weak voice. “Tipp?” she rasped, barely able to form the word around her flooding emotions. “Where are you?”

When Tipp didn’t respond straightaway, Kiva swiped at her face, standing from Tilda’s bedside, and called again, “Tipp?”

But then she saw him over the opposite side of Tilda’s bed, tangled up in the torn privacy curtain on the ground . . . and lying in a pool of his own blood.

“TIPP!” Kiva cried, bolting around the end of the bed and dropping to his side so fast that her knees screamed in pain. She shoved the curtain aside, her eyes filling with fresh tears as she looked down at the young boy and found the source of the blood.

Whole-body shakes racked her frame as she reached for him, pressing her hands to his abdomen as she sought to stem the flow, already knowing that he’d lost too much. There was no treatment that could fix this, no medicine that could save him.

“I t-t-tried to p-protect her,” Tipp whispered, his face so pale that it was nearly as blue as his eyes. “I’m s-s-sorry. I t-t-tried.”

He coughed, blood bubbling out of his lips and over his chin.

“Shhh,” Kiva told him, tears streaming down her face. “Save your strength.”

“I l-l-love you, K-Kiva,” Tipp kept whispering, his voice fading more, as if he’d only been holding on long enough to see her one last time. “Thank y-you . . . f-f-for everything.”

Kiva hiccuped a sob. Her hands still pressed against his gaping stomach, where his blood now came alarmingly slow.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back, moving one wet hand to press it against his cheek, her tears flowing faster. “So I need you to stay with me, all right? We’ll get through this, just like everything else.”

Tipp smiled at her, and despite his pallor, despite the severity of his wound, he still lit up the room. “You’ve a-always b-been . . . a b-b-bad . . . liar,” he whispered, still smiling. “Y-You should . . . Y-You should . . .”