Promise me, little mouse, her father had whispered, their very first night together in Zalindov. Promise me that you’ll never do it again. But, Papa, your hand was bleeding. You were hurt. It doesn’t matter, he’d told her urgently. You know why I’ve been teaching you the healing craft, you know why it’s so important, why you have to keep learning. So that no one ever finds out, Kiva said dutifully. That’s right, sweetheart, Faran said, kissing her cheek. You have to stop. You can’t risk it, not in here. Not even for me. But— I mean it, Kiva. Promise me, Faran said firmly. Promise me that, as
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