Page 72 of The Blood Traitor

“You deserved it,” Ashlyn stated, her silvery eyes still wet with tears, her cheeks red and puffy. But there was a lightness to her expression that hadn’t been there before, a weight now lifted from her shoulders. Despite her words, the princess smiled brightly at her brother and finished, “You actually deserve a lot more, but I’m feeling generous.”

Caldon’s glare deepened. “I’m going to regret apologizing to you, aren’t I?”

“Too late now,” Ashlyn said, wiping her face and grinning wider. In this moment, even wearing her bloodied armor, she didn’t look anything like a fierce general; she was nothing more than an older sister teasing her younger brother.

“As adorable as this is,” Cresta interjected, not even trying to hide her disgusted expression, “would someone like to explain what happened after we left the arena? Did the kings hand over the ring?”

“They’re presenting it to us at the feast,” Caldon answered, wrinkling his nose as he saw the battle mess his sister had transferred onto his own darker clothes.

Cresta’s eyebrows arched upward. “You believe them?”

“They’re honor-bound by Jiirvan law to reward us for completing the Arzavaar,” Naari said, pressing a hand to her side — where fresh blood was still flowing. “They have to give —”

She didn’t finish before her knees gave out, a pained sound leaving her as she collapsed onto a white cushion.

Kiva and Jaren both lunged forward and reached her at the same time, with him watching anxiously as Kiva examined the worst of Naari’s wounds. Her hands trembled at the sight of dried blood on her own flesh, but she took a deep breath and repressed everything she was feeling until they stilled again.

Jaren’s proximity made it hard for Kiva to concentrate, when allshe wanted was to lean into him and ask why he’d encouraged Tipp to forgive her. But she made herself focus, especially when she realized how deep Naari’s injury was.

“Gods,” Jaren muttered, seeing the same.

“Is thatbone?” Cresta asked, peering over their shoulders. “Ew.”

Caldon swiftly wrapped an arm around her torso and dragged her to the far side of the room.

“Is she g-going to be all r-right?” Tipp asked, kneeling on Kiva’s other side. He looked at her and said, “You can h-heal her, can’t y-you?”

The numbness she’d felt since leaving the arena evaporated, replaced by warmth that only grew as the young boy continued looking at her with such trust, such hope. Seeing that, Kiva’s magic rose to the surface effortlessly. It felt as natural as breathing, with it flowing out of her in a glorious golden light, stitching together not just Naari’s largest wound, but all those she’d sustained in the battle.

And not only her — a gasp came from Ashlyn and a surprised oath from Cresta as the glow of Kiva’s magic spread outward from Naari, flooding the room. She glanced up to see both of them staring at their previously burned and grazed flesh in wonder.

“Did you mean to do that? Heal everyone at once?”

The quiet question came from Jaren, and Kiva turned to him, finding him close enough to take her breath away.

“No,” she answered, hoping he didn’t notice how husky her voice was. “But it was easier than it’s ever been. I didn’t even have to think about it. It just...happened.”

A knock on the door kept him — and anyone else — from responding, and they all jumped quickly to their feet. Kiva’s pulse sped up at the thought of someone having seen the unnatural flare of light, but with the bright sunshine outside, even a brief burst from the balcony should have gone unnoticed.

Her shoulders slumped with relief when two white-clad servantsentered the room bearing a tray of fruits and cheeses, and an urn full of liquid. They spoke rapidly in their native tongue before bowing and leaving again.

“Refreshments to tide us over until dinner,” Jaren translated.

They all eyed the offering warily, given what had happened the last time they’d accepted the so-called Jiirvan hospitality.

“Pass,” Cresta said, glaring at the food.

Naari, however, walked straight over to the urn and poured herself a drink. Since she was the only one who had refused the yijapilly juice earlier, everyone looked at her with surprise.

“They only drugged us to get us into the arena,” she said after downing half the liquid. “We’ve already earned what we came for. They have no reason to cause us further harm — and their own laws forbid it.” She tipped back the rest of her drink and then refilled it. “It’s safe. All of it.”

That was all Tipp needed to hear before he bounded over and began stuffing his mouth, while the others followed more slowly.

Watching them, a wave of exhaustion hit Kiva, a delayed response to the magic she’d just used — or from everything else she’d endured that day. Rather than join her friends, she slipped through the nearest door and entered the bedroom beyond. Like the common room, it was bright and luxurious, with afternoon sunshine streaming in through curtains, which she quickly closed, plunging the space into darkness. Only then did she sink onto the heavily cushioned bed and curl into a ball, wishing she could remember the feeling of Tipp’s arms around her, but instead only recalling the life leaving the golden warrior’s eyes.

Chapter Seventeen

Kiva had no idea how she made it through the feast that night.

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