One sharp word, and Kiva found she didn’t know how to answer. There were so many reasons, most of which she couldn’t say. Especially with the guard listening in.

Don’t let her die.

“Because I’m— Because you’re— Because we’re—”

“The . . . Trials,” Tilda interrupted, her voice beginning to sound weaker again. “My . . . sentence. Why—” She inhaled a rattling breath, and with visible effort, continued, “Why keep me . . . alive . . . only so . . . I can . . . die?”

The broken words had Kiva fisting her hands in her lap, her nails digging into her flesh. Of all the things for Tilda to know, to remember . . . why did she have to ask about the Trials? What was Kiva to say? Too many answers sprang to her mind.

Because it’s my job.

Because the Warden ordered me to.

Because my sister wrote me a note.

Because Cresta will kill Tipp if I don’t.

Because I won’t be able to live with myself if—

“Where . . . am . . . I?” Tilda asked again, interrupting Kiva’s thoughts.

Slumping in on herself, Kiva was just about to repeat that Tilda was in Zalindov, but then she paused, wondering if perhaps that wasn’t what Tilda was really asking. With a quick look at the guard, Kiva weighed her words and, seeing no harm in it, answered, “You’re in the infirmary. Zalindov’s infirmary.”

A moment of silence fell, until Tilda asked, her voice a mere whisper now, “Who . . . are . . . you?”

With another quick look at the guard, Kiva offered the most honest reply that she dared. “Someone who wants you to survive this—all of this.” She reached out and, impulsively, gave Tilda’s hand a squeeze before coming to her senses and releasing her quickly. “You should rest. We can talk again tomorrow.”

But when morning dawned, Tilda had slipped back into her delirium. Not even the gumwort worked this time.

The hours trickled by, and Kiva waited to see if the woman would return to herself, but her hope was in vain. Tilda was still too sick, fully at the mercy of whatever ailed her. And when the following day arrived—the day of the first Ordeal—Kiva knew she was out of time.

Don’t let her die.

Don’t let her die.

Don’t let her die.

Kiva didn’t sleep a wink that night, praying Tilda would make a miraculous recovery, and that she would then have some way of surviving the Trial by Air. As Kiva had told Tipp, the first task wasn’t always impossible to overcome, more often used to tease the offender into believing they stood a chance at survival, which ultimately proved in vain once they reached the second, third, or fourth Ordeals. And yet, even if the difficulty level was lowered for the first, it would still be a challenge for any able-bodied person, which Tilda currently was not.

Don’t let her die.