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“You really are concerned about this, aren’t you?” Jaren finally murmured, his hand shifting around to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her skin in comfort.

“You have no idea how much,” Kiva answered, speaking true.

He gave her one more comforting stroke before trailing his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled once more.

“Come with me,” he told her quietly. “I want to show you something.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jaren led Kiva to the less familiar western palace, guiding her through the halls until they came to a set of large gilded doors that opened into a library so magnificent that Kiva spent a full minute turning in a circle with her mouth open.

As with the rest of the palace, the library was colored gold and white, but here the walls were made of bookshelves that rose at least three floors high, with spiraling ladders between them and balconies on each level, all looking down to the open floor that was sparse but for the numerous comfortable reading chairs. In the center of it all and stretching up to the muraled ceiling sat a massive, twisting trunk of a pale oak tree, like an ancient guardian watching over the tomes.

“I take it you haven’t been in here before?” Jaren said, mirth filling his tone at Kiva’s reaction.

She could only shake her head, awed into silence.

Jaren chuckled softly, then led her deeper into the open space, toward the base of the leafless oak tree. “At the risk of you never leaving, there’s an entire section on the second floor dedicated to herbal lore and the healing arts. Silverthorn residents often make requests if their own library falls short on a specific subject.”

Kiva longed to run straight up the nearest spiraling staircase and bury herself in what could only be the rarest of books, but she shook off her wondrous daze and asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

“To show you this.” Jaren stopped before the tree trunk and indicated a small shelf that had been cut into the wood. On it lay a single book, the leather aged, the pages discolored and frail, and yet given how old it was — andwhatit was — it was remarkably well preserved. By magic, no doubt.

“Is this what I think it is?” Kiva whispered reverently as she read the title.

“The Book of the Law,” Jaren confirmed, opening the cover and flipping through the ancient pages. His serious eyes locked with Kiva’s. “No one other than my mother and the Royal Council knows what I’m about to tell you. The ruling monarch, their chosen heir, and Evalon’s supreme governors — that’s how it’s been since Sarana Vallentis sat on the throne and created the laws which we uphold to this day.” He tapped a finger against the book. “My father doesn’t even know, nor do Mirry or Cal or Ori or anyone else. Just Mother, the council, and me. I need you to understand what I’m saying.”

Kiva understood. He was trusting her. With his life — and with his kingdom.

In a wobbling voice, she said, “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”

Part of her prayed that he wouldn’t.

Because that same part feared that whatever he was about to share could spell his doom.

It’s him or us.Themor us. You can’t have it both ways.

Kiva shoved her sister’s voice away.

“It’s important to me that you feel safe here,” Jaren said quietly, “that you’re not worried about a future that will never happen. It goes without saying that this is my greatest secret —Evalon’sgreatest secret — but if it’s going to help you sleep better at night, then I want you to know it. I trust you, Kiva. You have to know that by now.”

Please stop,Kiva wanted to say.Please don’t.

But she held her tongue as Jaren flipped more pages, before pausing and pointing at the aged ink.

The scrolling calligraphy was written in ancient Evalonian, a language only the most educated of scholars still understood. At the very bottom was an addendum in minuscule print, the lettering so small that Kiva had to squint to make out the individual words.

It was to this addendum that Jaren was pointing as he said, “I told you that there’s a way the rebels could, theoretically, take over leadership of the kingdom in a legitimate manner, and the means to do so is written right here.”

Kiva’s heart sped up to unhealthy levels.

“It’s a clause buried in the fine print of our very own laws, one that reveals the only instance in which the citizens of Evalon must yield — peacefully — to a new monarch. Similarly, any current rulers must also surrender to the new leadership without contention.”

Kiva wondered if she was about to pass out.

“The clause states that the person or persons who possess the Royal Ternary in its entirety have an automatic right to the throne, above and beyond all blood ties, political powers, and royal lineages,” Jaren recited. His brow crinkled in thought. “So really, I suppose it doesn’t matter if the rebels have a Corentine heir or not. But since their entire movement is founded on the misguided premise of avenging Torvin for something he deserved in the first place, then I assume they’d flail without one of his descendants to lead them.”

Kiva’s head was spinning. The Royal Ternary — the words she’d heard the Royal Council speak during their meeting, the same words she’d asked her siblings about, none of them knowing just how secretive the answer might be.