With that in mind, when Rhess asked if she wanted to walk down to the river and grab some lunch, Kiva hesitated only a moment before agreeing.
It was all right, she told herself, to start building a life. To start making friends — especially outside of the palace, since everworld knew any relationships she built there were going to crumble soon enough.
“So what’s your story?” Rhess asked as they left the academy and began strolling down the hill.
“I don’t have a story,” Kiva said, too quickly.
“Right,” Rhess said with clear disbelief.
“I don’t,” Kiva argued. “I’m just your normal, everyday kind of girl.”
“The scar on your left hand says otherwise.”
Kiva nearly missed a step. But Rhess wasn’t finished.
“Not to mention, you were abducted by rebels, you’re living at the palace, and the crown prince looks at you like he would burn the world to keep you safe. But sure, you’re just a normal, everyday kind of girl.”
Kiva said nothing, unsure which of Rhess’s observations was the most damning.
“Personally, I think normal is overrated,” the healer said. She unfastened the band around her hair, her ashy locks catching in the breeze. “Normal is tedious, it’s boring. The best people are the ones with stories, the ones who have lived through things others can only imagine in their wildest dreams — and their worst nightmares.” She looked pointedly toward Kiva’s hand. “People like you.”
It was too late for Kiva to cover her scar, but Rhessinda didn’t seem perturbed by it. There was no judgment in her tone, just curiosity.
“As for me,” the healer went on, sidestepping a small child toddling away from his mother, the crowds growing thicker as they reached the River Road, “I have a story, too.”
It was a taunting statement, begging for Kiva to ask more, but she knew that in order to receive answers, she had to be willing to give some.
Swallowing against her dry throat, she said, “I assume that story has something to do with how you ended up at Silverthorn?”
Rhess came to a stop beside the railing overlooking the river, her eyes turning dark. “It might.”
Kiva took a minute to think before deciding that since Rhess had seen her scar and knew about her link to the royals, she might as well hear the rest.
So she told her.
She shared about her time at Zalindov and how she’d met Jaren. She shared about their escape and how they’d spent weeks recuperating in the mountains before venturing to the capital. She shared what she’d been doing with her days, training with Caldon and getting to know the royals, but then she stopped sharing, knowing better than to reveal anything about her family or the rebels to a near stranger. Even so, it was still more than she’d told anyone, ever.
When she was finished, Rhess whistled through her teeth. “I’d heard rumors that the Rebel Queen was at Zalindov and someone had volunteered to take her place in the Trial by Ordeal. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”
Kiva’s insides pitched. “There are rumors about me?”
She looked around the bustling River Road, half expecting to see families pointing and staring.
“People like to gossip,” Rhess said. “But don’t worry, everyone thinks you’re dead.”
Kiva jolted. “Excuse me?”
Shrugging, Rhessinda said, “No more news came after the fourth Ordeal, so the general consensus was that you’d failed.” Thoughtfully, she added, “It probably wouldn’t be too hard to get word out about your victory, if that’s what you want. You’d get a lot of attention.”
Kiva recoiled at the idea. “No, thanks. I’d rather be dead.”
Rhess choked on a laugh, and, realizing how that had sounded, Kiva quickly amended, “You know what I mean — I’d rather they think I’m dead. The last thing I want is strangers coming up to me and asking questions.”
“Oh no, strangers,” Rhess said with a dramatic shudder. “They’re the worst.”
Kiva rolled her eyes. “Your turn. How did you become a healer?”
Rhessinda tugged at her white robe, her humor vanishing. “My parents were healers, so I guess you could say I followed in their footsteps.”
“Do they live here in Vallenia?”
“No. They don’t.”
Something in Rhessinda’s voice had Kiva bracing.
The healer sighed, as if reluctant to speak now that it was her turn, but nevertheless she shared, “When I was fourteen, a band of Mirraven mercenaries slipped past the border guards and raided our village — that’s not uncommon that far in the north; they usually just take their spoils and leave. But those raiders were different. They weren’t after coin. It was winter, they wanted bodies to warm them, and they didn’t care how unwilling those bodies were. Our townspeople fought hard, but the mercenaries were ruthless. They —” Rhess turned to stare out at the water. “They made us pay. All of us.”