But he didn’t finish, because he coughed again, and then continued coughing, until his eyes rolled to the back of his head . . . and his chest stopped moving.

“No,” Kiva breathed. “No, no, no, no, no.” She moved her bloodied hands over his heart. “Tipp, please.”

It was still beating, but only just. The slightest of thumps, and it wouldn’t remain that way for long, not now that he was no longer breathing.

“I can’t lose you, too,” Kiva sobbed, her tears falling down onto him. “I can’t lose you, too.”

And suddenly Kiva wasn’t seeing Tipp anymore; the infirmary faded as she was swept away to a freezing winter’s evening ten years earlier. With sickening clarity, she remembered the moment the sword had been pulled from Kerrin’s chest and he’d fallen in slow motion to the ground, how her father had pressed his hands to the wound and screamed for help, how Kiva had reached for him—but been pulled away before she could so much as touch him.

No one was going to pull her away today.

Promise me, little mouse, her father had whispered, their very first night together in Zalindov. Promise me that you’ll never do it again.

But, Papa, your hand was bleeding. You were hurt.

It doesn’t matter, he’d told her urgently. You know why I’ve been teaching you the healing craft, you know why it’s so important, why you have to keep learning.

So that no one ever finds out, Kiva said dutifully.

That’s right, sweetheart, Faran said, kissing her cheek. You have to stop. You can’t risk it, not in here. Not even for me.

But—

I mean it, Kiva. Promise me, Faran said firmly. Promise me that, as long as you’re in here, no matter what, no matter who, you’ll never, ever do it again.

And so Kiva had promised.

Even when she’d feared her father had become sick like so many others, even when he’d died, she had kept her promise.

But she couldn’t keep that promise any longer.

It might have been over ten years, but her blood had been calling to her that whole time, waiting, waiting, waiting. She was untrained, untested when it came to wounds as serious as this, but desperation guided her to focus on Tipp’s fading heartbeat, on his gaping stomach, on the life that was swiftly leaving him.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she concentrated harder than ever before, praying that she could do for Tipp what she’d longed to do for her brother by the river all those years ago. If only she’d been able to place her hands on Kerrin—all she’d needed was a moment, a single touch before his heart had stopped, and it would have changed everything. “Please.”

That was all it took.