The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(108)

“Didn’t he tell you?”

The guard’s words pulled Kiva’s attention back to her. And to the disbelieving expression on her face.

“Tell me what?”

“You saw his magic.” Naari seemed at a loss. “He used it to save you.”

Kiva was having trouble keeping up, failing to understand why Naari seemed so distressed. “I know that.” She waved to the cell. “It’s why we’re here—because he interfered.”

Not that Kiva was complaining, since Jaren had pulled her back from certain death. She might hate everything about the Abyss, but at least she was still alive. Jaren, too.

“Then . . . you know who he is,” Naari said haltingly, as if it were she who didn’t understand.

Kiva’s brow furrowed. “Who he . . .” She trailed off, something clicking in her brain.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

In the quarry, Jaren had said that to her. He’d thought she’d understood then, that she’d realized on her own. He hadn’t said not to tell anyone what he could do, hadn’t asked her not to mention his magical ability. Instead, he’d warned her not to reveal who he was.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

She’d assumed he was an anomaly. She’d been waiting for an explanation as to how he had magic when it was so rare outside of those born to the royal houses of Corentine or Vallentis—the Corentine bloodline with healing magic, and the Vallentis bloodline with . . . with . . .

With elemental magic.

Kiva gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth.

She’d been such a fool.

Such a blind, stupid fool.

You can’t tell anyone who I am.

Jaren wasn’t a prisoner—he was a Vallentis.

And not just any Vallentis.

He’s quite taken with you.

Mirryn hadn’t been talking about the masked man from the gallows parading as a prince, the rogue who had flirted with Kiva in the infirmary. She’d been talking about her brother—her real brother—who had been wearing a dirty tunic and standing in the crowd. The same brother who had kept Kiva from falling to her death and then infused fire magic into his family’s crest, making Mirryn, his sister, deliver it.

Because he cared for Kiva.

Because he didn’t want her to die.

Because he had the power to save her.

So he did.

The real Prince Deverick—it was Jaren.

“No.” Kiva was unable to keep the exclamation from bursting out of her.

“I thought he told you,” Naari said quietly. “I thought you knew.”

Kiva shook her head. Shook it again. Kept shaking it, as if doing so would wipe away what she’d just discovered.

Jaren was a Vallentis.

His family was the reason her brother was dead, the reason she had been torn from her family and lost a whole decade of her life, the reason her father had died at the hands of a murdering psychopath in this hellhole.

You’re to be imprisoned for suspected treason against the crown.

The crown—the Vallentis crown.

Jaren’s crown.

He was the heir to the throne.

The crown prince.

And he’d lied to her.

For weeks.

Tears glittered in Kiva’s eyes. Naari reached for her, but she recoiled. Hurt splashed across the guard’s face, but Kiva was struggling too much with her internal war to feel any remorse.

“Why is he here?” she rasped out.

He was the Prince of Evalon—why was he masquerading as a prisoner at Zalindov? Why was he risking his life down in the tunnels day after day? Why didn’t anyone but Naari know?

“I can’t tell you that,” the guard answered. When Kiva opened her mouth to object, Naari quickly added, “I’m sorry, I swore an oath. But he’ll tell you. He will. He’ll explain everything, Kiva, as soon as he’s able to.”

“You swore an oath?” Kiva repeated. Her vision was blurry, the tears threatening to fall. She remembered what the guard had said, how she seemed to believe that the king and queen would listen to her. Even before that—weeks ago, she’d been surprised to learn that Princess Mirryn was in a relationship, as if she should have already known. “Who are you?” Kiva demanded.

Naari’s gaze was steady on hers. “I’m Jaren’s Golden Shield.”

Golden Shield—the highest position of honor for a guard. For a Royal Guard.

I was protecting someone I care about, Naari had said when Kiva asked how she’d lost her hand. They made sure I was taken care of afterward.

No wonder her prosthesis was so advanced. It had been gifted to her by the crown prince himself. Who she worked for. Who she protected.

But Naari had arrived at Zalindov weeks before Jaren. So how—

“He’s not meant to be here,” Naari said, seeing the questions flash across her face. “It was meant to be another Royal Guard, Eidran, with the plan being for me to arrive before him so we wouldn’t raise suspicions. But Eidran broke his leg just hours before the prison transfer, and Jaren—” Naari bit off with a curse. “I can’t tell you anything else, Kiva. You’ll have to wait. But none of this was meant to happen.” Her expression turned haunted. “When you cleaned the blood from Jaren that first day, and I recognized him . . .” She shook her head. “He’s the only person I know reckless enough to get into a wagon with two thugs bent on killing each other and then try to play peacemaker. Of course he ended up beaten half to death, the fool.” She made an aggrieved sound and continued mumbling under her breath about idiotic royals.