Maybe . . . just maybe . . . if she could live through the first Trial . . . if she could buy Tilda more time, long enough to keep Cresta off her back, for the rebels to come, for Kiva’s family to come . . .

Maybe she would finally see her freedom.

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

The princess stepped forward, her fur-lined red cloak rustling with the movement, pulling Kiva from her hopeful—if desperate—thoughts.

“Why risk your life?” Princess Mirryn eyed Kiva from behind her mask. “Why make such a claim, knowing that it can only have one outcome?”

Kiva didn’t waste her breath arguing that there could be a second outcome—that she could live. Instead, she simply said, “The woman you’ve sentenced is deathly ill, unable to stand on her own, let alone attempt today’s Ordeal. You’ve traveled a long way to be entertained, Princess. Rather than ask my reasons, why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show, as intended?”

Unlike the prince, whose golden mask fully hid his expression, the princess’s mask was like melted silver, flowing from one half of her face diagonally to the other. As such, her red lips were visible enough to be seen twisting into a smirk moments before she stated, “Definitely a death wish.”

And then Kiva was shooting into the air.

One moment, her feet were on the wooden gallows platform; the next, there was nothing beneath her, nothing holding her as she flew upward, yanked by an invisible chain. The bitter wind slapped at her face, her breath catching in her lungs and trapping a scream in her throat. She had barely seconds to wonder what was happening—was this the Ordeal? What was she supposed to do? How was she to survive?—before her upward momentum halted and she came crashing down again.

Sheer terror took hold in the single second that passed before her feet slammed into a solid surface, her body crumpling into a pile when her legs were unable to hold her weight.

She wasn’t dead.

But she wasn’t safely on the ground, either.

Instead, as Kiva rose, dread coiled within her when she realized that she was atop one of the freestanding watchtowers that overlooked the eastern quad, perpendicular to the outer wall.

She was so high. So high.

A thump behind her had Kiva whirling to find the Captain of the Royal Guard landing nimbly mere paces away, having also been delivered by the princess’s elemental magic.

“Be thankful Princess Mirryn didn’t drop you from much higher, or you wouldn’t be standing right now,” the captain said, noting Kiva’s full-body trembles.

Kiva feared she was going to be sick. She hoped that, if her dignity fled in such a manner, she could at least ruin the captain’s polished boots in the process.