Kiva used the guilt she was feeling in an attempt to sway Tipp, sharing another partial truth. “There’s someone I need to visit, and I didn’t want him coming with me.”
“Who?”
It was a risk, Kiva knew, but she trusted the young boy to keep her secrets — if she asked him.
Some secrets, at least. Not all of them.
And so she said, in a whisper, “My family.”
Tipp’s anger vanished. “Your w-what?”
“I have a brother and sister living just out of the city,” Kiva answered, thinking it safer to share about Zuleeka and Tor rather than offer any mention of Delora. Her siblings were well hidden and desired to stay that way, whereas her grandmother was a wildcard. “I want to go see them.”
Tipp’s freckled brow furrowed. “Caldon could have t-taken you.”
“I haven’t seen them in ten years,” Kiva said, lying now. She made her lip wobble — not difficult, considering how dreadful she felt. “I don’t know if they’ll want to see me after . . . everything. And if they turn me away, I’d like to lick my wounds in private. That’s why I want to go alone.” Quietly she finished, “He’s only sleeping.”
Tipp was looking between her and Caldon, deep in thought. “This is important t-to you, isn’t it?”
Kiva nodded. “More than I can say.”
That, at least, was the truth.
The young boy remained silent for another minute, before finally nodding. “I’ll c-cover for you.”
Kiva blinked with surprise, but Tipp wasn’t finished. He headed toward his bedroom, talking to her the whole time.
“Everyone thinks h-he’s with you today anyway, so I’ll k-keep Ori out of here, and if anyone a-asks, I’ll say Cal was out late last n-night and is sleeping it off.”
Tipp returned to the sitting room carrying a pillow and blanket, carefully draping the latter over the prince, and lifting his head for the former.
“If he w-wakes up before you return —”
“He won’t,” Kiva said. “I’ll be quick.”
“If h-he does,” Tipp continued, “I’ll tell him you thought he m-might be sick and you left him to r-rest.”
Kiva’s eyes welled with gratitude. “You won’t say anything? About where I’m going?”
“I get the f-feeling you’d like it kept secret.”
Kiva was too choked to do anything other than nod.
“If it’s important t-to you, it’s important to m-me,” Tipp said quietly, walking over to wrap his arms around her waist. “We’re in this t-together, Kiva. Always.”
She pulled him close and only released him when he started to squirm, after which he sent her a gap-toothed grin and pushed her toward the door.
Needing no further encouragement, Kiva hurried outside and headed directly to the stables. Caldon had taken her out on horseback for two of the last three days, so the royal grooms didn’t ask questions when she politely requested they saddle her a mount. Within minutes, she was trotting along the path, waving to the guards as she passed through the front gates, and riding out into the city.
Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief, turning north to finally, finally seek out her grandmother.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The ride to Blackwater Bog was quicker than Kiva had anticipated, perhaps twenty minutes once she left the city’s walls and nudged her horse into an easy canter, with them skirting the Wildemeadow’s rolling hills until the land flattened and turned marshy, heralding the swamp up ahead.
Given how swift her travels were, Kiva remained confident she would return to Caldon long before he woke — and that she’d beat the looming rain clouds that were moving steadily closer. Her certainty only grew when she passed an elderly man walking his dog in the sleepy little village, and he happily provided directions to Murkwood Cottage, along with a warning that Delora valued her privacy. Because of that, Kiva had to travel much deeper into the Crewlling Swamplands than she’d hoped, but at least the path, while narrow and soggy, seemed safe enough.
“Easy, boy,” she told her nervous mount, patting his neck. “We’re nearly there.”
Rounding one final bend, she finally saw Murkwood Cottage up ahead, surrounded by thick vegetation and nestled beside a murky body of water. Made of stone with a thatched roof and a smoking chimney, the dwelling was quaint — in a creepy, swampish way.
When Kiva came to a halt, she’d barely dismounted before the front door burst open and a white-haired woman hobbled out, a cane in her hand that she lifted into the air and brandished like a weapon.