Relief swept over Kiva, and it only grew stronger when Tipp sent her a gap-toothed grin, tremulous as it was. She reached out to take his hand again, holding it tightly as she said, just for him, “I’m going to do everything I can not to leave you, do you understand? I promised your mother, and I keep my promises. We’re in this together, you and me.”

Kiva prayed that Rooke would agree to what she planned on asking him, even if it would only be valid in the worst-case scenario of her having to endure all three of the remaining Ordeals. According to the law, they were to be held fortnightly, so she had two weeks before the next one. If her family and the rebels failed to arrive before then, then she was on her own—and if she didn’t succeed, her death would leave Tipp abandoned.

Looking to Jaren, Kiva found his eyes already on her. She didn’t shy away from his gaze, but instead tried to communicate everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. If she died, she needed to know that someone would look out for Tipp, for as long as possible.

Jaren, to his credit, didn’t fight her silent communication. His lips tightened, and his expression intensified, as if willing her not to even consider her own demise, but when she continued looking at him calmly, pointedly, he blew out a breath and gave a terse nod of acceptance. Of agreement.

Feeling slightly unsettled that they’d just had a conversation without words, Kiva tore her eyes from him and leaned forward to place the back of her hand on Tilda’s brow. Her fever hadn’t returned, but she was restless, moaning in her sleep.

“Any change today?” she asked, unable to keep from transitioning back into healer mode.

“Not with h-her,” Tipp said. There was a hesitant note to his voice, and Kiva glanced up at him as he continued, “but the p-patients with the stomach v-virus are getting worse. And it’s still spreading. The guards d-d-dragged in three more while you were sleeping.”

Sleeping was a very kind word for Kiva’s state of unconsciousness. She turned toward the quarantine door, wondering if she had the strength to go and check on the sick prisoners herself.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Kiva swiveled back to Jaren, noting his set features, and she pulled a face.

“Scrunch your nose at me all you want, but you’re going straight back to bed,” he told her.

True to his threat, he wrapped his arm around her again and gently eased her up to her feet. This time she bit her tongue to keep from moaning, but the look Jaren sent her made it clear that he knew she was muting her pain.