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.

“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.