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

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

“I’ll take him,” Kiva repeated firmly, knowing that Jaren’s adrenaline might be keeping him standing, but there was no way his injuries would allow him to carry the boy. Plus, Kiva needed to feel Tipp in her arms and the life beating within him, if only to reassure herself that he was still alive.

Unlike Tilda.

Kiva couldn’t look at the woman, not even when she saw Naari and Jaren glance between her and the Rebel Queen with pitying expressions, both knowing how much she’d given to protect Tilda. If only Kiva could have arrived sooner, she might have been able to do for her what she’d done for Tipp. But not even she had the power to bring back the dead.

It was too late for Tilda.

It wasn’t too late for Tipp, nor for Jaren, Naari, and Kiva herself.

But it would be, if they didn’t get out of Zalindov before the chaos escalated.

“Hurry,” Naari urged, glancing at the door again.

Kiva didn’t need to be told twice, and pulled Tipp up into her arms. Jaren was right about his weight, and she grunted and stumbled a little, but then steadied herself and looked at the guard.

“Follow me,” Naari said, moving swiftly toward the door, her two swords bloodied and held defensively before her, the prince’s Golden Shield ready to give her life if it meant protecting him. Protecting all of them.

“Don’t worry, she’ll get us out of here,” Jaren told Kiva when he saw her hesitate.

“I know,” she replied, before striding after the guard.

Her hesitation hadn’t been fear of following—she had been summoning the strength to look back at Tilda, one last time.

But she made herself do it.

Made herself whisper a final, “May peace find you in the everworld.”

And then she hurried out the door, never more grateful that the infirmary was close to the prison gates, and equally grateful that the bulk of the fighting remained in the center of the grounds—still too close for Jaren to risk anyone seeing him use his elemental magic to protect them, but far enough away that he didn’t need to.

Before Kiva knew it, they were standing at the massive iron entrance, the gates closed now because of the riot.

“This way,” Naari said, moving toward the base of the watchtower, where a much smaller door was cut into the limestone wall. Kiva hadn’t noticed it before, having never been this close to the gates when they were shut.

Pulling a large brass key from within her bloodied armor, Naari inserted it into the door.

“Stop!”

Dread filled Kiva at the commanding voice, and she turned to find the Warden striding toward them, a contingent of guards at his heels.