Jaren’s face turned white, and Caldon sucked in a sharp breath.
“I’d always intended to use it on you one day, taking your magic away,” Zuleeka declared, “but this opportunity is too good to resist. Why take your magic when I can just kill you?”
Kiva stopped breathing, her power slipping away like water through her fingertips.
Zuleeka pressed the blade up against Jaren’s heart, looking back and asking, “Any final words, sister?”
Kiva’s mouth loosened, but she didn’t speak, forcing aside her terror and concentrating, concentrating on the burning beneath her skin, the tingling at her fingertips, pulling power from the very essence of who she was. But still, the blackness swirled around her, no sign of her golden light even though she could feel it right there, just out of reach.
Your magic is pure, your heart is true. You have to fight it.
Kiva didn’t need Delora’s encouragement, already fighting with everything she had. Sweat dripped down her face, mixing with her tears — which only flowed faster when Zuleeka shrugged and resealed her lips, turning back to Jaren and crowing, “I guess she doesn’t care enough to say goodbye.”
You’re different from them, Delora had said, the light to their darkness.
Zuleeka drew back her dagger arm.
Be the light in the dark.
“Farewell, Prince,” Zuleeka said, her snake-smile growing.
Be the light in the dark.
Zuleeka’s dagger sliced through the air —
BE THE LIGHT IN THE DARK.
— and with an almighty scream, golden light burst from Kiva, the darkness vanishing under its sheer force, releasing her, releasing Caldon, releasing Jaren, leaving no trace of her sister’s corrupt magic to be seen.
But then Zuleeka’s blade stabbed into Jaren’s flesh.
Right into his heart.
A wave of power erupted from him, sending Kiva and Caldon flying into the wall, the windows shattering, the chandelier crashing to the ground. Zuleeka alone remained standing as Jaren slid to his knees, his mouth open in a gasp of pain, his now-free hands clutching at the dagger lodged in his chest.
“NO!” Kiva shrieked, her ears ringing, head pounding, not just from the strength of his shockwave, but also from how much it had cost her to banish Zuleeka’s magic.
She tried to get up, a sob leaving her when she couldn’t stand, but she needed to get to Jaren — she needed to get to Jaren.
Caldon was groaning, bleeding from his head, barely conscious. He couldn’t help her. She had to — she had to —
Crawling on hands and knees, heedless of the broken luminium shards cutting her skin, tearing her dress, she scrambled toward Jaren, reaching him just as Zuleeka viciously tore out her blade and declared, “Save him, or stop me. The choice is yours, sister.”
And then Zuleeka was gone, donning her mask — her Viper mask — and sprinting out of the room to go make her bargain with the queen.
But Kiva didn’t care.
Zuleeka could have the kingdom.
Just as long as Jaren lived.
His eyes were already fluttering shut, blood gushing from his chest. And yet, at seeing Kiva hovering over him, he still managed to lock his pained gaze with hers, whispering in a ragged, agonized voice, “How . . . could . . . you?” before he lost his battle for consciousness.
The accusation in his words broke something inside Kiva, but right now she had greater concerns than how much he — deservedly — hated her.
“No, no, no,” she cried, pressing her hands against his wound.
He couldn’t die.
He couldn’t die.
And even though Kiva had nothing left, even though it had taken everything in her to free them all, she still closed her eyes and called to the deepest recesses of who she was, begging for even the smallest speck of power to come forth, to rise.
“Please,” she croaked. “P-Please.”
For one terrifying moment, nothing happened.
But then she felt it.
Her fingers tingled, her skin burned — and the golden glow poured from her hands, straight into Jaren’s wound.
Kiva sobbed, laying her head on his bloodied torso, unable to hold her own weight as her healing light flooded him.
She heard another groan from Caldon, sensed him crawling across the room toward them, but she didn’t look, pushing all her remaining strength into her magic until the glow finally faded.
And when Kiva sat up, she sobbed anew at the sight of the wound sealed shut.
But then another sob left her, this one not from relief, but with sorrow as she recalled how Jaren had once explained his power: My magic is a part of me. Like an arm or a leg.