Kiva pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please stop talking about this? I need to get back to work.”

“I have a q-question,” Tipp said, bouncing in his seat. “It’s quick, I p-promise.”

“Put your hand down, Tipp,” Kiva said wearily.

He did so, but continued bouncing as he asked, “How does their m-magic work? T-Torvin’s and Sarana’s? And the V-Vallentis family—they all have elemental p-powers. Well, not the k-k-king, but the queen and their heirs. How d-do they”—he made a flicking gesture with his fingers, as if imagining sparks shooting from them—“summon the m-magic?”

Kiva squinted at the boy. “How am I supposed to know?”

“It’s not just the royals,” Jaren jumped in, a small, contemplative crinkle between his brow. All eyes turned to him, and his expression cleared swiftly. “I mean . . . I’ve heard there are anomalies, too. Born outside the royal bloodline, just like in ancient days. They’re rare, but still—”

Kiva snorted. “We’ve all heard about those ‘anomalies.’ They’re nothing more than wishful stories for children, something they can dream about but never attain.”

“No, luv, Jaren’s right,” Mot said, scratching his bald patch. “I saw one, once.”

Kiva straightened. “What?”

“I was travelin’ around Mirraven, years ago, and that’s when I saw ’er,” the mortician said. “A little girl, maybe five or six, wavin’ ’er hands and makin’ water leap from a fountain.”

“Really?” Tipp said, wonder in his eyes.

Mot nodded. “It sure was somethin’. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it, before or since.”

Tipp turned to Kiva. “Do you think I c-could have magic? Maybe I just d-don’t know it yet?”

Kiva felt wholly unqualified to have this conversation. In the gentlest voice she could manage, she said, “I’m sorry, Tipp, but even if anomalies are real, Jaren’s right when he says they’re rare. We’re talking one in every hundred years. If that.”

“But Mot s-saw—”

“That one,” Kiva said, still gently. Though she wondered when Mot saw his magic-wielding child and if perhaps he’d been on the spirits that day.

She jumped down from the bench, ready to put this discussion to bed. “It’s getting late, and I have patients to check on, so story time’s over.” She looked at Tipp and, ignoring the pang she felt at seeing his disappointed face, said, “Can you help Mot with Liku?”

The boy hesitated, as if wanting to ask more questions, but whatever he read in Kiva’s expression had him nodding and sliding off the metal bench. Mot, too, looked like he wanted to continue talking, but wisely followed as Tipp led the way to the quarantine room.

Kiva walked over to her supplies and dug through them for another small jar of aloeweed to give Jaren, ready for him to leave. She didn’t realize he’d followed until he spoke up from right behind her.