Page 6 of The Gilded Cage

Vallenia was known as the River City, Kiva had learned upon her arrival two days earlier. With numerous meandering waterways, none was more impressive than the mighty Serin River, which twisted and turned like a serpent throughout the capital.

It was to the river that Jaren was leading Kiva, an easy downhill walk from Silverthorn until they reached the main thoroughfare, where people were already beginning to crowd the sidewalks bordering the water, the thrill of anticipation heavy in the air.

As they wove their way through the masses, Kiva assumed Jaren was taking her back to the River Palace — a feat of architecture split in half by the Serin, the two sides connected by a gilded bridge. Not even Kiva could deny the magnificence of the royal residence, the luminium threaded into its outer walls creating a glittering effect that was dazzling.

So far, Kiva had only set foot in the eastern palace, where Jaren had a whole wing to himself — including guest quarters, inside which Kiva had been allocated a lavish suite. His siblings, Mirryn and Oriel, also resided in the eastern palace, but their parents lived on the western side of the river. Kiva had yet to lay eyes on the king or queen, but given how she felt about the monarchs, she wasn’t in a rush to meet them.

The crowds became uncomfortably thick as they approached the River Palace, offering a valid excuse for Kiva to free her hand from Jaren’s. She refused to acknowledge the loss she felt once their connection was severed, focusing instead on the back of his tousled gold-brown head as he led her off the main street and into a grimy alleyway well before they reached the guarded palace gates. The dilapidated buildings on both sides were tall enough to block out the quickly setting sun, casting deep shadows across their path.

“Is this the part where you kill me and hide my body?” Kiva asked, squinting into the gloom.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jaren said, before adding, “I have people to do that kind of thing for me.”

Kiva was grateful for the darkness hiding her smile. “I guess you wouldn’t want to get your royal hands dirty.”

Jaren snorted. “Myroyal handsare busy doing other things.” He guided her around a puddle, remaining close enough that their arms brushed as they walked. “Not much further — it’s just up here.”

“What is?” Kiva asked.

“I told you — we want a good view.”

“Of the river?”

“And the palace,” Jaren said, halting beside a decrepit-looking doorway, the brass knob falling uselessly off the wood at the turn of his hand.

“You’re not serious,” Kiva said flatly when she looked inside and saw the staircase — or rather, the slats of rotten wood that rose from the empty room and ascended around the corner out of sight.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Jaren asked, dragging her through the doorway.

If not for the faintest trace of light trickling in from somewhere high above them, Kiva wouldn’t have been able to see anything. “I’ve had enough adventure for one lifetime, thanks,” she said, even as he began leading her toward the stairs and nudged her upward in front of him.

“It’s just a few little steps,” Jaren coaxed, as she climbed one, two, three, and continued higher. “See? They’re perfectly safe.”

No sooner had he uttered the words than the wood she’d just placed her weight on splintered. A squeak of fear left her, but rather than crashing back down to the ground, her foot was caught and held aloft midair.

Gaping at the empty space beneath her, Kiva turned back to find Jaren shaking his head with fond amusement. “You really need to learn to trust me.”

A weightless feeling overcame Kiva until suddenly she was hoveringabovethe rotten steps, Jaren’s elemental magic floating them both up to the top of the staircase, bypassing any further danger.

Kiva waited until she was standing on her own again before she said, “You could have done that from the beginning.”

“Magic always has a cost,” Jaren said, ushering her through another battered door that led out to an open-air rooftop. “Only a fool would waste power for no reason.”

“What does it cost you?” Kiva asked, curious.

“Depends on how much I use. Something like that” — he indicated the staircase behind them — “doesn’t require much. But larger things can become exhausting.”

Kiva cocked her head to the side. “So it’s like an energy transference?”

Jaren nodded and steered her around a stone chimney top. “As far as I understand it. The more energy I have, the stronger my magic. And vice versa.”

“Have you ever run out? Of magic, I mean.”

“A couple of times, when I was younger,” Jaren admitted. “I try to avoid that happening now, since it leaves me feeling strange, like a piece of me is missing. My magic is ...” He paused, thinking. “It’s a part of me, you know? Like an arm or a leg. If I use too much too fast, it’s like I’ve cut off a limb and have to wait for it to regrow. Does that make sense?”

Kiva nodded, recognizing the similarities with her own magic — the forbidden healing power in her veins, a mark of the Corentine bloodline.

Unlike Jaren, however, Kiva couldn’t relate to his wistful tone, the joy and contentment in his voice as he spoke about his magic. For her own safety, she’d had to keep hers hidden deep within her. She’d come to consider it more a burden than a gift, something to deny at all costs, lest she risk exposure. In the last decade, she’d used it just the once, during a moment of true desperation to save —

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