The first four coded words from her sister’s note kept swimming across Kiva’s thoughts, the order, the demand. And then there was Cresta’s threat, her hissing voice repeating over and over: Save the Rebel Queen, and you save the boy. If she dies, he dies.

Kiva’s mind was a battleground.

Don’t let her die . . . If she dies, he dies . . . Don’t let her die . . . If she dies, he dies.

Kiva had no idea what to do, no idea how to save Tilda, how to save Tipp. There was only one way she could think of that might work, but . . . the risk . . . and the cost . . .

Don’t let her die.

If she dies, he dies.

When Naari arrived at the infirmary just before midday, her face grim, Kiva’s stomach was in knots.

“It’s time,” Naari said.

“B-But . . . she’s still so sick,” Tipp said, his fingers closed around Tilda’s limp arm, as if to comfort the woman.

Tilda was awake, but she wasn’t coherent. She was mumbling to herself and staring out at nothing, her body twitching with a muscle spasm every few seconds.

“I have my orders,” Naari said, unapologetically. “Prince Deverick and Princess Mirryn have arrived, and they don’t intend to stay longer than they have to.”

Kiva fought against rolling her eyes. What a shame it would be for the royals to have to spend any amount of time in this hellhole. Everworld forbid they saw what really happened behind the walls: the fatal work, the vicious guards, the poor conditions. The moment they left this place, they’d be headed straight back to their winter palace, giving no further thought to the prisoners and their daily challenges.

And why should they? Kiva mused scornfully. As far as the royals were concerned, everyone in Zalindov was guilty and deserved to be there.

“Can she walk?” Naari asked.

Kiva didn’t want to answer, but the look Naari sent her was clear: today Naari was a Zalindov guard, just like all the others. There would be no yielding, no compassion.

“Yes,” Kiva said, hoarsely. “But she needs help. And she has no idea what’s happening.”

Naari’s jaw tightened, the slightest hint of how she felt about this, but she still nodded. “Get her up. The rest of the guards are assembling the prisoners in the eastern quad.” She paused. “Be prepared, they’ve called everyone in from their work assignments.”

“Guess the r-royals want an audience,” Tipp said, his young face pale.

Kiva, however, was stuck on Naari’s mention of the eastern quad. Not only was it the furthest point inside the grounds from the infirmary, but it was also where the gallows stood. Was that what they had in store for Tilda? Was she to be hanged for the Trial by Air, to see if she could survive a broken neck, or the more likely death by suffocation?