Page 95 of The Gilded Cage

“A modest trade,” Zuleeka said, ducking her head in a contrived show of humility. “But my mother always encouraged me to follow my dreams.”

The words hit Kiva right in the chest.

“And you dream of being a seamstress?” This time there was no missing the derision in Mirryn’s tone.

Jaren must have heard it too, and despite his frosty demeanor, he saved Zuleeka from answering by asking another question. “We haven’t heard much about your mother — does she live with you in Oakhollow?”

Kiva wished he’d left Zuleeka to face Mirryn’s disdain. As far as she could recall, she’d never shared anything about her mother — for good reason — and whatever prison records Caldon had unearthed would have only had information on her father. She scrambled to think of a way to redirect the conversation.

Zuleeka, however, didn’t blink an eyelash before responding, “She did. But unfortunately she passed while Kiva was at Zalindov. They say it was natural causes, but if you ask me, Mother was heartsick for her daughter. It was a terrible loss for us all.”

When I look at you, I can’t help thinking of how she went to find you. She left us, and she died. For you.

Kiva’s grip on her fork turned painful at the memory of Zuleeka’s words.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Jaren said softly, and Kiva knew the sentiment was for her.

“It’s tragic, both our parents dying while she was gone,” Zuleeka said, nibbling on some cheese. “But at least she still has us.”

Jaren reached for his crystal goblet, his body so tense that Kiva feared the dainty stem would snap in his hand.

“Can you t-t-tell us some stories from when K-Kiva was younger?” Tipp asked eagerly.

Kiva could have launched across the table and kissed the boy for his attempt at lightening the atmosphere, unwitting as it was.

“The more embarrassing, the better,” Caldon put in. “We need something to use against her next family night.”

“Family night?” Zuleeka repeated, her brows raised in perfect imitation of how Mirryn had looked at her. “How ... quaint.”

“We used to have family night,” Torell said quickly, with a warning look at their sister. “Of course, ours was almost every night, since our parents weren’t busy running a kingdom.” He forced out a short laugh before turning to answer Tipp. “Young Kiva was a menace. A real wild child.”

“Was she really?” Caldon asked, leaning forward with delight. Kiva couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was just doing his part to help bring some levity to the meal.

“She was always running off and getting lost in the woods, swimming so deep in the river that she’d get caught in the current, rolling through fields of wildflowers and returning home covered in mud — the list of trouble she got up to was endless.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t right there beside me,” Kiva said, pointing her fork at him.

Tor ignored her and went on, “But there was this other side to her, too. This serious side that came out whenever she helped our father treat his patients. Her compassion, her empathy, her patience — we knew years ago that she would follow in his footsteps. Our sister, the healer.” He met her eyes across the table, his voice gentle as he finished, “This world is lucky to have her.”

A lump rose in Kiva’s throat at the affectionate look on his face.

“Kiva’s the b-best healerever,” Tipp declared around a mouthful of food. “She saved m-my life at Zalindov. I wouldn’t be h-here without her.”

Every part of Kiva froze at his words.

Did he — Did heremember?

An image of his bloodied torso assailed her mind, of her hands flooding him with golden light, her magic healing his fatal wound until it was barely a scratch. If he knew what she’ddone—

“I got r-really sick,” Tipp went on, his face solemn. “Lots of people were d-dying. But Kiva stayed b-by my bedside and looked after me until I w-was better.” He looked at her with such love in his eyes that Kiva nearly cried — partly from that look, but mostly from relief at the story he was recounting.

He didn’t remember.

Her secret was safe.

“She saved lots of people there, kiddo,” Jaren said. “Over many years.” Quieter, he finished, “Too many years.”

At the sorrow in his tone, Kiva couldn’t keep from reaching under the table and placing her hand on his leg. He instantly lowered his own and entwined their fingers, his thumb making soothing circles as if thinking she needed his comfort, rather than the other way around.

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