The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(113)

“I came for Tilda,” Jaren said, as if it were obvious. And really, it was, even if Kiva struggled to accept it, to understand. “When Mirraven finally agreed to send her here, I realized there was a way for someone to speak with her—yes, all right, interrogate her—without them knowing. We can’t risk open war right now. But if someone could come in undercover and get close to her, encourage her to reveal her plans . . . It made sense to try.”

“It made sense?” Kiva repeated, incredulous.

Jaren reached up to scratch his jaw, then quickly returned his hand to his middle. “In hindsight, it was a foolish plan.”

“You don’t say.”

“We all knew it was a risk,” Jaren defended himself. “But we couldn’t let the chance slip by, not when the knowledge Tilda holds could be vital for the safety of our kingdom.”

“Pause there,” Kiva said, holding up her hand. “Who is we?”

“There were three of us in on the plan. I was only meant to be overseeing it from afar,” Jaren said. “Once we found out Tilda was coming, Naari and another Royal Guard volunteered to infiltrate the prison. But that other guard, Eidran—”

“Broke his leg,” Kiva said, suddenly recalling Naari’s words in the Abyss. “So you came in his place.”

Jaren squinted at her. “You already know?”

“That’s all. Nothing else.”

Jaren considered her words, then explained, “My sister and I were heading to our family’s winter palace in the Tanestra Mountains when news arrived about Tilda’s capture. I sent a missive to my parents, but as frustrated as they were, all they could do was try to negotiate with Mirraven for Tilda to be brought to Zalindov. I knew those negotiations would take weeks—enough time for Naari, Eidran, and me to form a plan; enough time for Naari to go on ahead and insinuate herself as a prison guard, waiting for Eidran, who would arrive later and assimilate with the other inmates, then find a way to interrogate the Rebel Queen.”

“But then Eidran was injured,” Kiva said.

Jaren nodded, a sheen of sweat beginning to dust his forehead, his eyes glazed with pain. “The timing was terrible—it happened the day he was meant to be transferred here. I made a snap decision and took his place when the wagon from Vallenia passed by the winter palace, figuring I’d get into the prison, get answers, and then Naari would sneak me out, as had been the plan with Eidran.”

He paused, then admitted, “We didn’t know Tilda was sick, though. Or that she’d been sentenced to the Trial by Ordeal. That wasn’t something my parents had shared before I arrived. I had to change tactics after those discoveries, which meant staying longer than intended. I moved my focus to the other rebels in here, trying to get them to trust me enough to offer any scraps of information. But I made a crucial error in judgment.”

“Just one?” Kiva said.

Jaren ignored her tone and said, “I didn’t realize Cresta was their leader. And after I defended you to her that night . . .” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I had trouble making friends with them from that point onward, no matter how hard I tried.”

Kiva thought back to when he’d arrived in the infirmary after scrapping with the rebels, recalling the strained look on his face when she’d told him who Cresta was. She’d thought he’d been worried about making enemies. She’d had no idea that he’d wanted them to be his friends—if only so he could use them, then toss them away.

“Sounds like you got more than you bargained for, coming here,” Kiva stated, unable to summon any compassion.

Jaren sighed, then winced as the movement jolted his torso. “Admittedly, my plan fell apart alarmingly fast, but my strategy was sound.”

In a flat voice, Kiva said, “That strategy being that you’d make everyone think you were a prisoner, not a prince.”

Jaren grimaced. It was the first time she’d used his title, and the word hung in the air between them.

“I thought staying undercover would help the rebels think I was one of them,” Jaren confessed, sliding a little further down the wall, as if even leaning against it was requiring too much effort. “After realizing Tilda wasn’t going to be able to share anything, I thought I could become a part of a community here, that her followers might trust me and reveal . . . I don’t know . . . something that could help.”

“Help what?” Kiva demanded, her anger flaring again. “Help you keep your kingdom? Your crown?”

“Screw my crown,” Jaren said, his declaration heated enough to surprise her. “I don’t care about that, I care about them.” He waved an arm but then winced again and quickly returned it to his stomach. “My people—they’re who I care about. They’re the ones who are suffering and dying because of this uprising. Husbands, wives, children. Innocents. It’s turning into a civil war.” His eyes were locked on hers, glowing in the light of the fire. “And despite how it might sound to you, I care about what’s happening to the rebels, too. Because whether they like it or not, they’re my people as well. As long as they call Evalon home, they come under my family’s protection.” The flames in his eyes dulled as sadness filled his voice. “But I can’t protect them from themselves.”

Kiva’s head was spinning from all that Jaren had just revealed, from the heart he’d just shared. She wanted to keep hating him for lying to her—and for who he was. But this . . .