“She’s got a death wish,” the princess countered, though she too seemed entertained.

Kiva burned with resentment toward them both, and swiftly turned back to the captain. But not before seeing the stormy look on Warden Rooke’s face. She swallowed, realizing her interference must have inconvenienced his plans for the Rebel Queen. He’d claimed not to care whether she lived or died, but Kiva knew his life would be easier if Tilda perished in today’s Trial. Her sentence would be delivered by her failure, her execution legal in the eyes of the law. Zalindov held little regard for justice, but with all of Wenderall watching, Rooke was being careful. His dark look told Kiva one thing: if she survived the first Ordeal, she would be answering to him.

“I don’t think you understand the ramifications of your claim, girl,” the captain said, folding his massive arms over his armored chest. “The second half of that rule states that your fate will be tied to hers. If you fail to pass all four Trials, both of you die.”

A murmur rippled over the listening crowd.

“NO, KIVA! D-DON’T!”

Kiva blocked out Tipp’s cry. She was doing this not just for Tilda, but also to save Tipp’s life, and her own. She would not be swayed, even as she felt the lightheaded sensation of panic gripping her, pins and needles prickling at her fingertips, her vision blackening at the edges.

Mustering courage she did not feel, Kiva dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain helping her focus as she declared, “And if I succeed, both of us will be granted freedom.”

She saw no point in admitting how the odds were against her. Everyone already knew. But if Kiva could make it through this first task . . .

We are safe. Stay alive.

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

We.

Are.

Coming.

Kiva had to believe this was what her sister’s note had meant: that now, after ten years, they finally were coming, ready to fulfill their promise. Especially now that Tilda was here—an added incentive for her followers to risk making a move against Zalindov, freeing Kiva in the process. That was what Cresta’s threat had implied: that a rescue attempt was in motion.

The Meridan family—Kiva’s family—had a complicated history with the rebels. Young as she’d been when she was taken from them, she still remembered. Her parents had tried to stay removed from the political unrest growing within Evalon, their little village tucked away at the base of the Armine Mountains, largely forgotten by outsiders. But things had changed in the ten years since Kiva had been imprisoned. Just as she had done what was needed to survive, so, too, it seemed, had her family.