“How did you do that?” Kiva asked.
“I didn’t.”
Kiva waited for Delora to expand, but she said no more.
“So . . . you do still practice?” Kiva said, recalling her siblings’ claim that Tilda hadn’t suffered because she’d never stopped using her power.
“No, I don’t.”
Kiva’s brow furrowed. “If you don’t take this” — she indicated the vial — “and you don’t use your magic, then how do you keep it from —”
“Question time is over,” Delora interrupted firmly enough that Kiva knew not to press.
Hobbling back into the living room, the old woman returned her dagger to its book and repeated, “Come back in three days.” Upon seeing the fear creep into Kiva’s expression, she sighed and added, “I’ll have a think about other ways that might help you. But I can’t make any promises.”
If Kiva hadn’t thought she’d end up with a cane slamming into her stomach, she might have hugged her crotchety grandmother.
“Thank you for this,” she said quietly, pocketing the vial and reaching for her travel cloak. She didn’t like how the potion made her feel, but there was no denying that her anxiety levels were already much improved.
Delora waved away her thanks. “Go on, get out of here. And keep your eyes open on the path back into town.”
The last thing Kiva wanted was a reminder about the unknown Mr. Chomps being out on the prowl, so she nodded her agreement — while repressing a shiver. With a quiet but grateful goodbye, she left the cottage, eager to leave the swamp far, far behind her.
In three days, she would be back again.
She would find a way.
She always did.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The skies opened up again when Kiva was halfway back to Vallenia, leaving her a shivering, sopping mess by the time she rode through the palace gates.
With an affectionate pat to her mud-flecked horse, she left him in the hands of the royal grooms, before sloshing her way up the darkened gravel toward the palace.
Painfully aware of how late it was, Kiva braced as she dripped water up the red-carpeted staircases, certain she’d find Caldon waiting in her suite, ready to unleash his fury.
What she hadn’t anticipated was that Jaren would have returned in time to witness it.
Kiva repressed a groan as his gaze sliced to her upon entry, his face uncharacteristically blank.
Caldon, however, was staring at her with unbridled rage, his arms crossed, his cobalt eyes blazing.
Both princes were standing, as was Naari, who frowned at Kiva with clear disappointment. Mirryn alone reclined on the couch, appearing entertained.
Kiva paid the princess no mind, nor did she worry about anyone else for the moment, because her eyes landed on the final person in the room. Tipp was huddled on the armchair she’d left Caldon in, his arms around his knees, his face pale, looking anywhere but at her.
Alarmed by his posture, Kiva hurried over and crouched by his side, her clothes sloshing with the movement.
“Tipp?”
He didn’t respond, and her concern only grew, until finally he looked at her, his lip wobbling as he whispered, “I’m s-s-sorry. You were g-gone for so long, and everyone was s-so worried. I had t-to tell them.”
Kiva closed her eyes with resignation, all the excuses she’d come up with on her ride back now useless. Even so, she cupped his cheek with her ice-cold hand and said, “It’s all right. I don’t blame you.”
Rising again, she turned to face the others. No one spoke, as if waiting for her to make the first move. But when she continued to just look at them, Caldon finally snapped, pointing a finger at her face and demanding, “Where the hell have you been?”
“I —”
“You were abducted barely a week ago!” he interrupted loudly. “You don’t go wandering off on your own, and you certainly don’t leave the city for any reason, least of all to see your siblings who haven’t cared a whit about you for a decade. Gods, Kiva, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“But I —”
He cut her off with another finger jab. “And you do not, under any circumstances, gods-damned drug me.” Yelling now, he finished, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Kiva curled her arms around her middle, unable to defend herself in the face of his — admittedly justified — anger.
“Cal,” Jaren said quietly, lowering his cousin’s hand. “Let her speak.”
“This ought to be good,” Mirryn said gleefully from her position on the couch, a goblet of wine in her hand.