Kiva was having trouble drawing air into her lungs. This blind, sick woman—the most wanted person in Evalon—was now in Kiva’s care. The Rebel Queen. And not only that, but—

“W-What’s this?”

Tipp’s voice drew Kiva back from her panicked thoughts. She spun to find him plucking something from the ground—a small scrap of parchment.

“I think it f-fell out of her blanket when they m-moved her off the stretcher,” he said, unfolding the parchment and squinting at it. He turned it on its side, then upside down, and a sinking feeling hit Kiva’s stomach.

“Let me see,” she said, her voice croaking slightly in the middle.

“It’s nothing. Just some d-doodles,” Tipp decided, but he handed it over as requested.

Kiva’s heart rate skyrocketed as she saw the familiar coded symbols and translated what they said.

The message was clear:

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

Kiva’s breath caught as those final three words repeated in her mind.

We are coming. We are coming. We are coming.

No longer a vague promise of one day, but imminent.

Her family was coming. Finally, after waiting so long, they were coming. For Kiva—but also for Tilda.

They were coming for the Rebel Queen.

Kiva swore inwardly. The woman might very well not last the night, and even if she did . . .

For ten years, Kiva had followed her coded orders. But for the first time ever, she had no idea how to do what she was told. Because even if she could save Tilda from her illness, there was no way to keep her from her fate.

Her death was coming, one way or another. And there was nothing Kiva could do about it.

Chapter Eight

Two days passed, three days, four days, and still no sign of improvement in the Rebel Queen—in Tilda. Kiva treated her as well as she could, but without knowing what had led to her current state, it was more a case of trial and error than anything else.

“Her symptoms just don’t make sense,” Kiva complained to Tipp five days after Tilda’s arrival. They were standing over the woman, with her having been moved to a pallet in the far corner of the infirmary. Kiva was confident that whatever ailed her wasn’t contagious, so it was safer to isolate her from those already in quarantine.

“She’s not g-getting any worse,” Tipp said. “That’s something.”

“There’s only two days left before her first Ordeal,” Kiva said, “and I can’t even get her fever to break.” She shook her head. “At this rate, she won’t be able to leave her bed, let alone face whatever they have in store for her.”

“Maybe they’ll change the d-date?” Tipp said. “Give her more t-t-time to recover first?”

Kiva sent him a look that made it clear what she thought of that idea.