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Kiva stopped squirming in an instant.

Healer Maddis’s wrinkles deepened as she smiled. “I knew whose daughter you were the moment you walked through the door.”

Unsure whether she should flee or wait to see what the healer said next, the choice was taken from Kiva when Maddis asked, “How is your father? Still saving the world, one patient at a time?”

A million responses came to Kiva’s mind, but she settled on simply saying, “He died. Nine years ago.”

Maddis’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Kiva only nodded, seeing no reason to reveal how he had died. Or where.

The Matron Healer cleared her throat. “Your father was my best student — ignoring the fact that he wasn’t a Silverthorn student at all. Young Faran Meridan was always sneaking into my classes, acting like an innocent novice.” Maddis huffed with amusement. “He showed enough promise that I never reported him to the Matron Healer at the time, knowing he’d be banned from the grounds. Someone with such natural, intuitive talent deserved the chance to hone his skills. I believed that then.” She paused. “And I believe it now.”

The look Maddis sent Kiva caused her breath to catch.

“Faran’s death is devastating, but I’m thrilled to learn his passion was passed on,” the healer said. “Should you wish it, you would be welcome to study here at Silverthorn. No sneaking in necessary.”

Kiva’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Studying at Silverthorn would be a dream come true. The things she would learn ... Tears welled in her eyes at the very thought.

And they welled even more because she knew she couldn’t accept.Mother is dead.

I’m on my way to Vallenia.

It’s time to reclaim our kingdom.

Kiva had written those words to her brother and sister upon leaving Zalindov, and she had to see them through, denying her own ambitions in order to put her family first.

“Think on it,” Healer Maddis said, when Kiva remained quiet. “Take however long you need. The offer will remain open.”

Blinking back more tears, Kiva prepared to utter a polite refusal. But when she finally spoke, what she said was, “I’ll consider it.”

Despite her words, Kiva knew Silverthorn wasn’t in her future. As soon as Maddis learned where she’d practiced her skills for the last decade, the invitation would be withdrawn. All Kiva had to do was raise her sleeve and uncover the Z scar on her hand.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sabotage herself with such finality. Instead, she uttered a quiet farewell and stepped out of the examination room into the sterile hallway beyond.

Mind reeling, Kiva paid little attention as she walked down the long corridor, passing white-robed healers and students, along with a mixture of plain-clothed visitors and patients. She’d already had a tour of the campus earlier that day, learning that there were three large infirmaries — one for psychological trauma and healing, one for long-term patient care and rehabilitation, and this one, which was for diagnosing and treating physical ailments specific to illnesses and injuries. There were also a handful of smaller buildings dotted across the campus, like the apothecaries’ workshop, the quarantine block, the morgue, and the healer residences. Only the main infirmaries were accessible to the public, all connected by outdoor pathways with arched stone sides offering views of the gardens at the center of the grounds. The Silverthorn Sanctuary, as those gardens were known — a place where patients and healers could retreat and relax, enjoying the tranquility of the bubbling brook and aromatic wildflowers all from atop a hill that overlooked the city, straight down to where the meandering Serin River met the Tetran Sea.

It was to the sanctuary that Kiva headed once she left the largest of the infirmaries, walking along the stone path a short way before stepping off it, her sandals sinking into the lush grass, the late afternoon sunshine warming the chill from her bones. She kept moving aimlessly until she reached a small footbridge affording safe passage over the trickling stream, pausing to lean on the wooden railing in an attempt to gather her thoughts.

“Uh-oh, you’re wearing your serious face.”

Kiva stilled at the familiar voice, ignoring how it made her feel —allthat it made her feel. She braced herself and turned to see the approaching figure just as he came close enough to stop beside her.

Jaren Vallentis — or Prince Deverick, as most of the world knew him. Her fellow escaped inmate, her traveling companion, her once-friend — and once-potentially-more-than-that — and her family’s sworn enemy.

Hersworn enemy.

“This is my normal face,” Kiva said, struggling not to stare. His deep blue shirt with gold embroidery along the collar looked far too good on him, as did his tailored black jacket and pants. It took a supreme effort of will for her to cast her gaze away.

“Yes, and it’s much too serious,” Jaren stated, reaching out to tuck a strand of dark, windswept hair behind her ear.

Kiva’s stomach gave a traitorous leap, and she frowned inwardly at herself. Casual affection from Jaren wasn’t uncommon. Even when they’d been in Zalindov together, he’d been overly friendly toward her. Since they’d escaped, Kiva had sought to keep him at arm’s length, but her will was beginning to crumble. It was as if he’d been born for the sole purpose of tempting her, of distracting her from her task.

And that was unacceptable.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked, his unique blue-gold eyes capturing hers.

Kiva smoothed her outfit — a simple green dress paired with a thin white cardigan — and weighed her response. Jaren was the reason she was even at Silverthorn; he’d called in a favor, resulting in her being awakened at dawn and bustled out of the River Palace for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend a day at the best healing academy in the kingdom.