With those two words, sudden dizziness overcame Kiva as she began to realize why Jaren was so upset — so angry. Warden Rooke’s voice whispered in her ears, a conversation they’d had when she’d tried to get him to free Tipp:
As long as he has no guardian to claim him, Rooke had said, he’s considered a ward of Zalindov. He can go free, but only if someone comes to collect him.
Tipp hadn’t had anyone left to come for him. But Kiva . . .
She swayed on her feet, Caldon’s arm being all that kept her standing.
Jaren lowered his sword, stepping right into Torell’s space and glaring at him eye to eye. “Evalonian law states that children under the age of twelve are exempt from any punishment that results in a life sentence. Kiva became a ward of Zalindov the moment she arrived, but the only thing you” — he jabbed a finger into Tor’s chest — “had to do was claim guardianship, and she would have been released. That means you had five years to get her out. All you had to do was ask — and you gods-damned know it.”
Kiva couldn’t breathe.
Her throat was too tight, her airway too blocked.
. . . Her devastation too real.
“Sunshine, I need you to take a breath.”
Kiva could barely hear Caldon’s frantic whispering, but when blackness started dotting the edges of her vision, she managed to suck in a pain-filled gasp.
“Good girl,” Caldon murmured.
She didn’t hear him.
Because as Kiva somehow moved out of her own cloud of agony, her eyes landed on Torell’s pale, horror-struck face.
I would give anything, everything, to have kept you out of Zalindov, he’d told her nearly a week ago. I would have traded my life in an instant if I’d known they would let you go.
Jaren was wrong — Torell hadn’t known about the law, that he could have freed Kiva anytime before her twelfth birthday. He’d only been a boy himself, just two years older than her — how was he supposed to have known? But despite that, his torment was splashed across his face, enough that even Jaren could see, the anger bleeding right out of him.
“Torell, I —” Jaren started to apologize, but Tor raised a hand to cut him off.
His emerald eyes shimmered with tears as he looked at Kiva, but then he turned to Zuleeka, his voice rough as he asked, “Did you know?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly.
Kiva’s heart cracked, hearing the lie. Given Torell’s tortured expression, he’d heard it, too.
Zuleeka had known.
For five years, Kiva could have been freed. All it would have taken was for someone to claim her. Someone to come for her. Someone to want her.
And if Zuleeka had known —
“Did Mother know?” Tor rasped.
Zuleeka met his gaze and repeated, “Of course not.”
Lie.
Lie, lie, lie.
Torell closed his eyes, tears leaking from them as he handed his sword back to Jaren. “I think it’s time for my sister and me to leave.”
“Torell —” Jaren tried again, but again Tor interrupted him.
“Thank you for doing what I couldn’t,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t manage anything louder. “Thank you for protecting her, for freeing her. I wish —” His voice broke. “I wish I’d known. I would have — I would have —”
Jaren placed a hand on Tor’s shoulder. “I know that now. I’m sorry.”
Torell only nodded, wiping his face and murmuring quiet goodbyes to the silent Mirryn, Caldon, Tipp, and Naari, unable to even glance at Kiva before spearing a look at Zuleeka and storming off in the direction of the stables.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Zuleeka said after a long pause. “He can be emotional sometimes.” She sent them all a smile that no one returned, not even Tipp, and finished, “I’d best follow him. We’ll look forward to seeing you at the masquerade.”
And then she dipped into a quick, almost mocking curtsey, and hurried after Torell.
Without looking at anyone, Kiva croaked out, “Excuse me.”
She took off toward the stables, catching up with her siblings just as they reached the entrance and called for their horses to be brought out.
“What the hell was that, Tor?” Zuleeka demanded. “You —”
“Do not talk to me right now,” Torell cut her off, his expression livid.
Kiva moved closer and took his white-knuckled hand, opening his clenched fist and lacing their fingers together.
“Tor, it’s all right,” she said quietly, her throat thick with unshed tears.