The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(110)

But Jaren . . .

Kiva still couldn’t get over who he was, how he’d lied to her. But also . . . how he’d saved her.

No matter how long she’d spent in that cell, no matter how much time she’d had to think over everything, she hadn’t been able to come to a decision about how she felt, whether she could get past her anger and hurt. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop hearing the crack of the whip as it met his flesh, his moans of pain, the sight of his blood pooling on his back, covering the Butcher, dripping to the stone floor.

He had done that for her. The crown prince—a Vallentis—had risked his life by jumping into the quarry to rescue her, and in return, he’d been whipped to within an inch of his life. She couldn’t ignore that, even if she wanted to.

When Kiva had first learned about his duplicity, she hadn’t wanted to see him, nor hear his explanations. But that initial fury had faded, and now she did want to confront him, desperate to hear what he had to say. The problem was, with her Trial today—and her imminent death or release—she didn’t know if she would ever face him again.

“Kiva Meridan.”

The Butcher brought Kiva to a halt, and she looked up to see that they were near what she guessed was the entrance to the punishment block, the small space crowded with a handful of guards, one of whom was the Warden. It was he who had spoken, staring mildly at Kiva as if he weren’t responsible for the premature deaths of so many prisoners.

Including her father.

Hatred burned within Kiva, but she knew better than to act upon it. It was more important that she save her strength and try to survive this Trial. She would make sure Rooke saw justice, one day. But for that to happen, she had to remain alive.

Glancing past him around the room, Kiva wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved that everyone seemed relatively at ease. One of the things she’d worried about in the last eight days was whether the prisoners had escalated their violence, fearing that a full-blown riot had occurred. If it had, it was over now. And the poisoner—the Warden—was clearly still alive. Naari, too, for Kiva could see her in the corner, her body lined with tension, unlike the other guards. The sight of her nearly brought tears to Kiva’s eyes, a friendly face after being alone for so long.

“Today you will undertake your final Ordeal, the Trial by Earth,” Rooke said, wrinkling his nose as he took in her filth. She’d washed as well as she could in her cell’s dirty water, but she hadn’t worn fresh clothes since before the quarry. Part of her took pleasure in making him uncomfortable, the other part longed for a bath and a clean tunic.

Holding his gaze, Kiva waited for him to ask if she had any last words, but for the first time, he did not. She wondered if he feared her mentioning the poison, or if he was simply sick of playing by the rules and ready to be done with the Trial by Ordeal altogether.

“Owing to the nature of this task, there will be no audience today,” Rooke continued.

Kiva raised her eyebrows, curious if that was because the task itself didn’t allow it, or if things truly were so bad with the prisoners that the Warden didn’t want to risk amassing them together in one place. She assumed it was the latter, since all of her previous Ordeals had been deliberately planned spectacles. But she’d also spent the last two weeks racking her brain to think of what the Trial by Earth might entail, and had come up with too many possibilities to narrow it down. She’d eventually given up, having been wrong every other time, anyway. Her main regret was that she’d had no chance to see if Mot had formulated a remedy that might help her. For this Ordeal, she truly was alone.

“Should you succeed today, as stated by the fourth rule in the Book of the Law, you shall be forgiven for all crimes and granted your freedom,” Rooke went on, and Kiva’s stomach somersaulted. “Since you are acting as Champion for the accused, Tilda Corentine will also share in your pardon.” Rooke paused, then added, “However, should you perish in the task, then the accused shall be put to death.”

These were all facts that Kiva knew, but hearing them laid out like this, with such impending finality, made goose bumps break out on her skin.

“Similar to your previous Trials, you’ll have a time limit for your final Ordeal,” Rooke went on. “One hour—no more, no less. If you don’t return before then, you’ll have failed, and the Rebel Queen will be executed.” He paused, then added, “Should you survive but return after that hour is complete, you’ll follow Tilda into death.”

Kiva’s somersaulting stomach started doing backflips at the words return and survive. What in the everworld did he have planned for her?

“One last thing,” Rooke said, as if he’d been a fountain of information, when he had not. “Given what happened in the Trial by Water and the interference by fellow prisoner D24L103, we’ve made a decision regarding his punishment.”

Kiva jerked, and she saw Naari make a similar movement from the corner of her eye, before the guard caught herself.

“Hasn’t he been punished enough?” Kiva croaked, her voice raspy from lack of use. She couldn’t believe she was defending? Jaren—Prince Deverick—but she also couldn’t forget that she was the reason he was in this mess to begin with. Nor could she forget the wounds on his back, the sounds of the whip hitting his skin, his blood flowing into that drain. If his injuries were half as bad as Kiva imagined, two weeks weren’t enough time for him to have healed, even if the Butcher had left him alone since then. He didn’t deserve to suffer any more.