When Kiva was a child, her father had spoken often about Silverthorn. Having grown up in the city of Fellarion, he’d used any excuse to visit Vallenia and sneak into the academy’s classes. His greatest regret was that he’d never relocated to study on campus full-time, instead accepting an apprenticeship from a master healer nearer to his home — an honored position, but one that paled in comparison to being a Silverthorn student.
Faran had made it his life’s purpose to help people, something Kiva had inherited to the point that, even when she’d been locked away in a nightmare, she’d still used everything he’d taught her to make the lives of others better.
A shadowy feeling overtook Kiva as she thought of the long years that were now behind her. A decade of her life spent behind thick limestone walls and impenetrable iron gates.
Zalindov prison.
It was a death sentence for most, but Kiva had survived.
And now she was here, standing at the heart of her father’s dream, when she should have been somewhere else. Anywhere else.
There was no excuse for her actions today. But when the opportunity to visit Silverthorn had presented itself, she hadn’t been able to say no, even knowing that her own desires should have been at the bottom of her priorities.
It had been six weeks since Kiva had escaped Zalindov. Six weeks since she’d discovered that the crown prince had helped keep her alive through the deadly Trial by Ordeal, a set of four elemental challenges she’d undertaken in order to save the life of the Rebel Queen, Tilda Corentine.
Kiva’s mother.
Her efforts had been in vain, with a violent prison riot ending Tilda’s life. But even in death, her purpose remained, inherited by Kiva and her two older siblings. Together, the three of them would seek vengeance for what had been stolen generations ago; together, they would reclaim Evalon’s throne for the Corentine bloodline.
The problem was, Kiva had no idea how to find her brother and sister. The only hint she had was a coded note she’d received before leaving Zalindov, containing a single word: Oakhollow.
The village was barely half an hour’s ride away from Vallenia, but Kiva hadn’t had a spare moment to explore since arriving in the city two days ago, having spent the previous weeks holed up in the Tanestra Mountains waiting for the spring thaws. The first chance she’d had to sneak away was today. But instead of using the opportunity to seek out her long-lost siblings, she was indulging in her own dreams.
Tilda Corentine would have been livid.
Faran Meridan would have been delighted.
Kiva chose to side with her father, deciding that her mother’s mission could wait another day.
Guilt had simmered within her when she’d made her choice that morning, but a knot of anxiety had also eased in her stomach. She had no reason to be nervous about a reunion with her siblings, and yet . . . ten years was a long time. Kiva wasn’t the same carefree child anymore, and she could only assume the same must be true for them. Too much had happened — to them all.
And then there was what the three of them intended to do . . .
The sound of chiming bells interrupted her thoughts, the noise making her jump, a lingering effect of the years she’d spent listening for the smallest of sounds that could herald her death. But she was no longer in Zalindov, the peaceful chimes merely echoing through the walls of the sterile examination room to signal the end of class.
The students, all clad in pristine white robes, scrambled to finish writing their lesson notes as Healer Maddis dismissed them.
“And remember,” she called as they started toward the door, “for those heading to the festival this weekend, there will be no mercy come Monday should you partake of excessive libations. Consider yourselves warned.”
There was a twinkle in her gray eyes as she uttered her half-hearted threat, with some of the braver students grinning in response as they headed out the door, Kiva following in their footsteps.
“Miss Meridan, a word?”
Kiva halted at the threshold of the small examination room. “Yes, Matron Healer?” she asked, using the honorific owed to the woman, not only because of her age and experience, but because she was the head of Silverthorn Academy.
“Few people would have noted the discolored nailbeds as quickly as you did,” Maddis said, covering the deceased man with a sheet. “And even fewer without proper training.” She looked up, their eyes meeting. “You impressed me.”
Kiva squirmed and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“Faran Meridan once impressed me, too.”