The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(107)

Population control.

The two words echoed in Kiva’s mind, her fears confirmed.

The prisoners were being poisoned.

No, not just poisoned. Executed.

It was deliberate.

And it came from the top. From Warden Rooke himself.

Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden.

He was murdering prisoners now, just as he’d murdered them before.

Nine years ago.

Warden Rooke had killed her father.

Kiva felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut and then trampled to keep from getting up again.

Was that why she was locked away in the Abyss? Not just because of Jaren’s interference with the Ordeal, but also because, after Naari had confronted Rooke, he’d realized Kiva might find a cure to his poison, ruining his plans? Or had he decided to get rid of her before that, when he’d seen her holding the vial, and Jaren’s rescue in the quarry gave him the excuse he needed to lock her away before she could stop him?

With sudden clarity, Kiva now understood. He’d never wanted to protect her—he’d wanted to keep her close, to make sure she remained his submissive puppet. And as soon as he knew she wouldn’t . . .

Rooke didn’t answer to any single kingdom, he answered to all of them. But if they didn’t know what he was doing, if word never left Zalindov’s walls, then Kiva would have been his only threat. So he’d sent her to the Abyss, along with any chance of a cure.

Was that what he’d done with her father? Had Faran Meridan figured out the truth nearly a decade earlier? Kiva had assumed the sickness had taken him, but now she wondered if he’d learned of Rooke’s treachery—and paid with his life.

Fire ran through Kiva’s veins, her entire body trembling.

“It gets worse,” Naari said.

Kiva didn’t know how that was possible.

“We were in the infirmary when I spoke with him,” Naari continued. “He’d come to check on Tilda, wanting a report on her condition, as if hoping to get some scrap of rebel information from her while he still could.” The guard fiddled with the luminium beacon, but then made herself stop, clutching her fingers together instead. “Tipp was in the quarantine room, Olisha and Nergal weren’t around. I thought we were alone.” She paused. “I didn’t know Cresta had come to drop off another sick quarrier, that she’d hidden and overheard everything.”

Everworld help them.

If Cresta knew—

“By the time the news began circulating, it was too late,” Naari said. “There’s nothing to be done now. The prisoners know they’re being poisoned, they know who’s doing it, and they know it’s still happening, since Rooke doesn’t care that he’s been outed. He hasn’t changed his plans. As long as no one outside Zalindov knows, he’s safe.”

Safe. When no one else was.

“The inmates are terrified. And enraged. I’ve never seen them like this, all of them rallying together, rebels and anti-rebels alike. The other guards are beating them into submission, but it’s three thousand against a few hundred. I’m not sure how long before full-scale violence unfolds.”

Kiva’s trembles had turned to shakes. She could already see it playing out in her mind. There had been a number of riots during her time in Zalindov, each of which had been terrifying to live through, but the worst ones—the ones that left dozens, sometimes hundreds dead—had only occurred twice. Kiva had suffered nightmares for months after both, fearing every small sound would launch the beginning of another deadly riot, and the mass executions that followed.

The prisoners never won. They might have numbers on their side, but they were weak, underfed, and exhausted, while the guards were in perfect health and had lethal weapons, plus the advantage of the watchtowers and the walls.

Riots turned Zalindov into a slaughterhouse, and resulted in nothing but devastation.

“As soon as I learned what was happening, I rode to Vaskin and sent a missive to King Stellan and Queen Ariana,” Naari said, her voice stronger now, trying to let Kiva know that she was handling it, as if she alone could make everything better. “I’ve told them all about Rooke and his poison. They’ll put a stop to this. It’s barbaric, even for Zalindov. They won’t let it stand. And once prisoners are no longer dying, the rest of them will calm down. Everything will go back to normal.”

“Why would the king and queen care?” Kiva’s voice sounded distant to her own ears, her hopelessness all-consuming. “You’re a prison guard. You might as well be no one in their eyes. They won’t give a damn what you have to say.”

The words were harsh, and if Kiva hadn’t been so distraught after all she’d just heard, she would have been more tactful. But Naari didn’t take offense. If anything, she seemed confused.

“A prison guard?” she repeated, frowning. Slowly, she asked, “I thought you spoke with Jaren? Down in the quarry?”

Kiva’s mind was still on the poison revelation and the impending riot. She was overcome with fear, dreading what it might mean for any of them, for all of them. Naari was right—Rooke’s actions were barbaric. But to think that Evalon’s royal family would care enough to intervene, when they were the reason so many of the prisoners were in Zalindov at all . . . Naari was dreaming. And that was if they even read her missive, which Kiva thought was unlikely.