Perhaps you might share with us your intentions for her.
Councilwoman Zerra’s words returned to Kiva, an odd swooping sensation hitting her, the feeling not entirely unpleasant.
Jaren didn’t seem to expect a response, and after waiting for her nod of consent, he plucked the mask from her numb fingers, gently sticking it to her face.
“It suits you,” he murmured, smoothing down the edges.
Kiva was having trouble drawing air into her lungs, but she managed to wheeze out, “Erm, thank you.”
Jaren grinned, his mask ending at the tip of his nose, leaving his mouth visible. His eyes were like twin pools of sunlit ocean staring out from behind the golden filigree, impossibly beautiful and frustratingly distracting.
Kiva cleared her throat and looked away, touching the cool metal on her face. “All right, Prince Deverick,” she said, his official name feeling strange on her tongue. “I think it’s time you explained why we’re heading to Silverthorn.”
Jaren didn’t respond other than to grin wider and lead her onto the campus. She tried to keep an eye out for Rhessinda as they traveled the stone pathways, but was distracted when they started up a fork in the path toward the infirmary for long-term patient care and rehabilitation.
As soon as they stepped into the large building, it became clear that Jaren knew his way around the sterile hallways, with healers and residents waving as they passed, none surprised to see him. They did, however, send curious glances toward Kiva, making her grateful that the mask shielded her from their prying looks.
“Nearly there,” Jaren said as they ascended a wide, spiraling ramp up to the higher levels.
“Nearly where?”
Once again, he didn’t answer, but he did halt when they reached the top of the ramp, turning to her and asking, “Would you mind if I borrowed your amulet? I have to wear it when I’m here because — well, you’ll understand in a minute.”
Kiva squinted at him in question, but when he just waited patiently, she huffed out a breath and fished the amulet from beneath her sweater, handing it over. He immediately placed it around his own neck, making sure the crest was resting over his clothes, clear for all to see. Only then did he continue guiding her along a white corridor until they reached a closed door at the end.
Frustrated by the lack of answers, Kiva started to say, “Jaren —” just as he opened the door. Before she could finish, multiple shrieks of “PRINCE DEVERICK!” pierced her ears, and she abruptly swallowed her complaint.
Kiva stood in the doorway, stunned, as the beaming Jaren strode into the room, waving to all the delighted faces around him.
Children, Kiva mentally corrected — waving to all the delighted children around him.
One quick glance at the small beds lined up beside each other, the mishmashed art plastered to the walls, and the colorful toys strewn haphazardly across the floor told Kiva that they were in the children’s ward of the long-term patient infirmary.
And at the center of it all was the crown prince, his arms stretched wide as the children scrambled from their beds — some much slower and weaker than others — and hurried over to him.
“He’s always so good with them.”
Kiva turned to find a white-robed Silverthorn healer having crept up beside her, the middle-aged, dark-skinned woman watching the prince with clear adoration — not for who he was, but for what he was doing. Because as Kiva watched, Jaren raised his hands . . . and the children started flying.
Squeals of joy left them as they zoomed around the ward, with Jaren seeming to know who needed to be more careful and treating them accordingly. Parents and visitors looked on, all smiling at the prince with love and appreciation, as if they’d seen this before. Numerous times.
It was enough for Kiva to turn to the healer and ask, “Does he come here often?”
“Every week,” the woman replied, motioning for Kiva to step further into the room. “Well, at least when he’s here in the city. He was gone for most of the winter — the children were devastated — but he came again as soon as he returned. He’s so generous with his time, especially since he divides his hours evenly amongst the other places, too.”
Kiva watched as Jaren waved his hand and flowers appeared around the room, joined by blossoming vines that crept across the ceiling and up the walls, the ward coming alive with natural beauty. And with it, Kiva suddenly understood why he’d needed the amulet.
It was a cover.
The public knew Prince Deverick controlled both wind and fire magic, but nothing more. If he’d been here and done this before, he must have come up with a story about the amulet, making them believe his family had imbued it with power for him to manipulate — when really, he wasn’t using it at all.