“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuleeka said, swirling her tea. “I’m delighted to see you. You’ve made my week.”
Torell sighed wearily and muttered something too low for Kiva to hear.
Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself that she had no idea what Zuleeka had been through in the last ten years. While she couldn’t imagine that it compared to being abandoned inside a death prison, there were many different kinds of hell a person could live through.
Focusing on her task, she considered why she was there, debating where — and how — to begin. There was so much she needed to tell them, but she couldn’t keep her own curiosity contained a moment longer.
“I’d like to know about Mother,” Kiva said. “How did she end up at Zalindov? How did you end up with the rebels? What happened after — that night?”
Zuleeka snorted. “Look at you, risking your life for a story. Figures.”
“I’m not risking my life.”
“No, just all our lives.” Zuleeka’s humor fled so fast that Kiva realized it had never been there to begin with. “Did you think of that before you tore off out of Vallenia? Did you give a damn about anyone but yourself? You were never this selfish when we were younger, but I guess ten years of putting yourself before everyone else leaves a mark.”
“Zuleeka,” Tor snapped. “That’s enough.”
Kiva tried not to show how much her sister’s words hurt, how unfair they were. A lump lodged in her throat, but she spoke around it to say, “I came here because I’m having trouble controlling my magic, and I need your help to keep from getting caught.” She swallowed. “But I’m also not leaving until you tell me about Mother. I deserve to know the truth.” She didn’t mention the Royal Council meeting, unwilling to reveal all her cards without first getting something in return.
“What’s wrong with your magic?” Tor asked, concern flooding his face.
Kiva shook her head. “You first.”
Seeing the serious set of her features, he yielded. “The night the soldiers came, we fled to a cottage in the mountains. There were people inside waiting for us. Rebels.”
“But the rebels never knew about our family,” Kiva argued. “Mama and Papa were so careful to —”
“They didn’t know anything for sure, but they’d been chasing rumors for years, one of which eventually led them to us in Riverfell. Their leader at the time, a man named Galdric, had already approached our parents in the marketplace, but Mother and Father had laughed away his claims.” The corded muscles in Tor’s arms tightened. “The night that . . . everything happened . . . Mother took us straight to Galdric and offered to join the rebel cause in exchange for one thing.”
“What thing?” Kiva whispered.
It was Zuleeka who answered, uttering one word. “Vengeance.”
Unbidden, the memory of Kerrin being stabbed flooded Kiva’s mind, followed by Faran being dragged away by the Royal Guard. She pushed the images away, even knowing they would never leave her completely.
“Over the next few years, we stayed with Galdric and his closest confidants, moving from safe house to safe house, with them plotting and planning and scheming with Mother,” Tor went on. “We learned to fight, to protect ourselves. And Mother —” His voice caught. “Mother started using her magic publicly, no longer caring who might discover us.”
“Skip ahead, Tor,” Zuleeka said, still swishing her tea. “She doesn’t need a history lesson.”
“Feel free to jump in at any time,” Torell shot back.
Zuleeka sent him a sickly sweet smile. “But you’re doing such a good job.”
Kiva looked closely at her siblings, noting the unmistakable tension between them. A decade ago, they’d been close — not as close as Kiva and Tor, but close enough to love each other dearly. This strain between them, this anger . . . Kiva had no idea what might have caused it.
“Eventually, they decided that it was time for Mother to take over leadership from Galdric,” Torell told Kiva. “She had Corentine blood, she was their rightful ruler. Our rightful ruler,” he corrected. “Galdric remained her closest adviser, but she had final say over everything the rebels did. Up until then, our numbers had been slowly growing as whispers spread about the return of Torvin’s heir, but Mother was restless and wanted things to move faster. Once the reins were in her hands, she started a campaign for active recruitment, with rebels going from village to village, encouraging people to follow her cause. Our cause.” Another quick correction.