The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(111)

But the Warden didn’t agree with her, because seconds later, Jaren was hauled into the room by Bones, stumbling, clearly in pain, and struggling to remain upright even with the white-knuckled grip the guard had on him.

“Ah, just in time,” Rooke said.

The Butcher snickered behind Kiva, having said something similar to her before he’d slammed his cat-o’-nine-tails into Jaren’s flesh. She swallowed back the memory, her eyes locking with Jaren’s. She could almost hear his voice in her head asking if she was all right, his fear and concern—forher—splashed across his pale, pained features.

She tore her gaze away and focused on the Warden, her heart pumping as she waited to hear what he would say.

“Since D24L103 was so eager to join you in the third Trial,” Rooke said, “we’ve decided that he’ll share your fate in the fourth.”

Kiva’s eyes leapt back to Jaren, and despite the tumultuous storm she felt toward him, a flare of hope lit within her. She wouldn’t have to face the Ordeal alone. He’d be with her—him and his elemental magic.

But then she noted that his gaze had moved to Naari, so Kiva did the same, finding the guard looking aghast, like she was three seconds away from unsheathing her swords and shredding everyone in the room in order to protect her charge.

Kiva feared bloodshed was imminent, but at the slightest of head shakes from Jaren, Naari’s fists unclenched. Her features tightened at the silent order, yet she did not reach for her blades.

Exhaling with relief—though she wasn’t sure why, since part of her would have been very satisfied to see Naari tear down Rooke—Kiva turned back to the Warden.

Foreboding began to curl within her at the slow smile that spread across his face. She’d been so distracted by the interplay between Jaren and Naari that she hadn’t considered why he thought sending? Jaren with her was to be a punishment.

The Warden didn’t delay in sharing, and with six words, he revealed their fate.

“Congratulations, you’re about to die together.”

And then, for the second time in two weeks, something hard slammed into Kiva’s head, and she sank back into darkness.



* * *





When Kiva regained consciousness, the first thing she did was press her fingers to the egg on the back of her skull, wincing at how tender it was, while trying to think past the drums beating a rhythm through her brain. She was lucky she could think at all, fully aware of how serious concussions could be and how even the shortest of blackouts could cause irreversible brain damage. She’d been fortunate, no matter how much her aching head and churning gut said otherwise.

Pushing past the pain and nausea, Kiva struggled to her feet, seeking to get her bearings. Wherever she was, it was pitch-black, and after shutting down her immediate panic that the head trauma had turned her blind, her next fear was that she’d been sent back to her isolation cell. But when she expanded her senses, she realized that it smelled different, felt different. The air wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t foul like in the Abyss. It was . . . wet. Musty. Earthy. And while it wasn’t warm, it also wasn’t as cold as where she’d been for a fortnight; there was a humidity to it, a dampness.

Kiva’s skin began to crawl as she reached out her hands, feeling for anything that might tell her where she was or ease her dread about where she was beginning to think she was. Waving her arms, she shuffled carefully forward, but before she could make it two steps, her foot caught on something, and she tripped, falling blindly.

She didn’t land on solid ground.

She landed on something hard, but also soft.

Something that groaned when her weight landed on it; something that moved.

There was only one thing it could be.

Only one person it could be.

Kiva hurried to untangle herself from Jaren in the darkness, accidentally elbowing him as she scrambled backwards, eliciting another moan of pain.

“Sorry!” she rasped out. The last thing she wanted was to apologize to him, of all people, but it was an automatic response.

“Kiva?” Jaren rasped back, his voice equally hoarse with lack of use. “Is that you?”

She wanted to snap out a barbed reply asking who else would it be, but she held her tongue, only saying, “Yes, it’s me.”

Another low moan, followed by the rustling sound of Jaren sitting up.

“My head feels like it’s been split in two,” he said.

Kiva didn’t confirm that she felt the same. She didn’t know what to say to him at all.

“Hang on,” Jaren said. “Just let me—”

Kiva recoiled and shielded her face as fire burst into being, like a floating ball of flames lighting the space around them. Her eyes watered as they adjusted, but then she was able to take in where they were, her fears confirmed.

“We’re in the tunnels,” Jaren said, realizing it as well, his tone almost puzzled.

Kiva looked at him, seeing him for what felt like the first time. A prince, disguised as a prisoner, still wearing the same clothes she’d seen him in two weeks ago, but now stained with blood. His blood. If she didn’t know who he really was, if she didn’t have the evidence of it floating in the air before her, she never would have believed it possible.

“Kiva, did you hear me?” Jaren asked, looking from the tunnel back to her. What he saw on her face caused him to still.