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“That’s not a thing,” Tor said, humor threading his tone. “We’re coming up to camp, and I don’t want to risk anyone seeing your face, so pull it back up.” He dug through one of his saddlebags and withdrew a silvery object, passing it back to her. “Put that on, too.”

Kiva was vaguely aware of Tor withdrawing another silvery object, keeping that one for himself, but her focus was on what she held.

Between her fingers was a mask — one made almost entirely of coiled serpents.

Vipers, if she had to guess.

Leaning around Torell, she saw he also held a mask, his forged into a distinctly canine shape.

“The Viper and the Jackal,” Kiva mused. “They really have no idea who you are, do they?”

“We don’t trust easily,” Torell said, affixing the mask to his face. “Not even among our own.”

Kiva followed his lead, donning what must have been Zuleeka’s mask and raising her cloak again.

“It’s served us well,” Torell went on as they picked their way through the now-thinning trees. “Only those in our inner circle know our identities, the rest of the time we wear masks, even doing day-to-day work around the camps. It was Mother’s idea —all royals wear masks,she told us. But mostly she wanted Zulee and me to be able to move about the kingdom as freely as possible, not having to look over our shoulders all the time.”

There was a sad, wistful note in his voice that had Kiva giving him a gentle squeeze around his middle. She opened her mouth to offer comfort, but the words dissolved when they reached the edge of the forest, the trees falling away to reveal an immense glade, the view beyond making her gasp quietly in amazement.

Tent after tent lined the clearing, too many for her to count, each one basic aside from some larger structures toward the center of the camp. It was in that direction Tor was steering them, with men and women of all ages calling out greetings as they rode by — addressing him as Jackal — and staring with clear adoration in their eyes.

He was their general, Kiva remembered. He’d fought with them, foughtforthem. Everything he did was for these people — these rebels.

Theirrebels, Kiva reminded herself.

Because these were her people too, all of them devoting their lives to see her family reclaim what was stolen from their ancestor when he was nearly killed and forced into exile. For centuries, the rebel movement had slowly grown, dedicated to taking back the throne on Torvin’s behalf, but never before had they allied with any of his heirs and stood a chance at legitimately removing the Vallentis family from power.

Kiva needed to know how it had happened — how Zuleeka had become the rebel commander, how Torell had become their general. She needed to know why their mother had forsaken her own warnings about the rebels, having always claimed they could never learn that the Corentine bloodline lived on. For so long Tilda had denied her own magic to keep their family from discovery, and yet here Kiva was, at the heart of the movement her parents never,everintended for them to join.

“Zuleeka’s in the command tent, just up ahead,” Tor said, pulling Kiva from her thoughts. “The canvas is thick enough for privacy — we can talk freely in there.”

Kiva’s palms began to sweat as they came to a halt outside the largest tent. Tor helped her slide down to the ground, dismounting after her and giving Olix a hearty pat on the neck. At his low whistle, a young boy ran over, smiling fondly at Tor before leading the horse away.

“After you,” Torell said, indicating the tent’s entrance.

Straightening her shoulders, Kiva stepped inside, noting the open space that was mostly empty aside from a long wooden table laden with papers. A map of Wenderall was strung along the canvas wall, nearly identical to the one Kiva had seen in the Royal Council room. Movement caught her eye, and she turned to find Zuleeka sipping from a steaming mug, watching her closely. There was no sign of surprise in her blank features. No sign of warmth, either, especially when she said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Stung, Kiva unfastened her mask and shot back, “If you’d hit me much harder the other night, I wouldn’t be anywhere.”

Torell stopped beside her, removing his own mask to reveal his puzzled expression. “What’s this about?”

Zuleeka didn’t answer him, and despite still being upset about the head wound, Kiva didn’t want to tattle on her sister. Only two days ago she’d decided to try harder at mending what had broken between them, and she was determined to follow through on that — even if they weren’t off to a promising start.

“Nothing,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of time. I came from Vallenia with a friend, and she’s meeting me back at the tavern in a few hours.”

“A friend?” Zuleeka raised a dark eyebrow. “From the palace?”

“Of course not,” Kiva said. “I’m not stupid.”

She didn’t appreciate the way her sister’s mouth twitched into a smirk, so she ignored Zuleeka entirely and walked over to the table, resting the serpentine mask on its surface and taking a seat. Tor followed and sat beside her, with Zuleeka only doing the same after a firm look from him — but not without rolling her honey-gold eyes, as if she was horribly inconvenienced by Kiva’s visit.

“What brings you to see us, little sister?” Zuleeka drawled. “Feeling homesick? Wanted a cuddle?”

Kiva’s good intentions evaporated swiftly at her sister’s passive aggression. “What’s your problem with me? We’re on the same side. You can cut the attitude.”

“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.