The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(114)

You have a right to be angry, but don’t let that stop you from forgiving him. He did what he did for the right reasons.

Naari’s rebuke floated across Kiva’s mind as she stared at Jaren, considering her next move. He gave her that time, watching her in silence, waiting to see what she would say.

He was the reason she’d lost her family and was in Zalindov to begin with. Maybe not directly, but the throne he represented.

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

Only . . . Jaren didn’t know. She’d told him about her brother’s death and that she’d been imprisoned with her father, but she’d never said what Faran Meridan had been arrested for, how he’d been spotted near a rebel in the marketplace. She hadn’t even mentioned that it was a Royal Guard who had killed Kerrin, which would have been a dead giveaway.

Jaren had no idea his family was responsible for all that she’d suffered through in the last decade.

“I’m not sure what else I can say, Kiva,” Jaren finally said, his voice weaker than before, his strength swiftly fading. “I understand that you’re mad at me, but even you have to see that I was trying to save lives. I couldn’t tell you until I trusted you. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out who I was, because that would have jeopardized everything.” He shook his head woefully. “Not that it matters now. I’ve learned nothing of worth since coming here. I failed, spectacularly.”

“If you weren’t getting information,” Kiva croaked out, “and you were never a real prisoner, then why didn’t you just leave?”

His blue-gold gaze locked on hers. “Because I found a reason to stay.”

Kiva’s legs nearly gave out, his meaning impossible to miss.

“You’re a fool,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

She expected his eyes to shutter and hurt to flash across his face. Instead, his lips stretched into a wry, self-deprecating smile.

“My sister said the same thing when she accosted me after the first Ordeal. Only she used much stronger words.”

Kiva recalled him sharing that only Naari and the injured Eidran had known the full version of his noble—but stupid—plan. “You didn’t even tell your family?”

“Mirryn and my cousin Caldon both knew a little.” He paused, before explaining further, “My brother, Oriel, was meant to be meeting Mirry and me at the winter palace, but he decided to stay in Vallenia at the last minute. Cal came instead, arriving a few days before Eidran broke his leg, so both he and Mirry were there when I changed the plan. I told them as much as I dared, then swore them to secrecy.” Jaren’s gaze turned inward as he went on, “When I learned that my family was to witness the first Trial, I had Naari send a message to Cal, begging him to come and act as if he was me. We’ve done it before—we’re the same height and build, and the masks hide our faces. Plus, he owed me a favor.” A quick, quiet snort. “Multiple favors. People call me reckless, but Caldon is a menace.”

A menace, indeed. Kiva now realized it was Jaren’s cousin who had been on the gallows that day, and then had later come into the infirmary and flirted with her. She’d thought he was the one who had saved her. But it had never been him, never been Caldon.

“You saved me,” Kiva stated numbly, having already figured out the truth deep in the bowels of the Abyss but wanting to hear his confirmation, his admission. “In the Ordeals. All of them. Right from the first one, the Trial by Air.”

Jaren’s cheeks darkened slightly, barely discernible in the flamelight but enough to give him away. “I couldn’t stand to watch you die,” he said quietly. “I was just lucky that Mirry and Cal realized what I’d done and covered for me.” His tone filled with remorse as he continued, “I was so angry with myself afterward. Not for catching you,” he added quickly, “but for taking so long to decide to do it, which left you hitting the ground so hard . . .” He trailed off, his eyes apologetic.

The prince should have caught you sooner, Jaren had said after the first Ordeal, his face tight with anger as he’d talked about himself, berated himself. But Kiva barely remembered the pain she’d felt, so his regret—for that—was unnecessary.

“And the amulet? That was you, too?” she said, though she already knew the answer. “That was why you weren’t concerned about me before the fire Ordeal? Because you knew the magic, your magic, would protect me?”

Jaren looked even more uncomfortable, but he nodded.

“And then the water Ordeal . . . Why, Jaren? Why save me?”

“Because you’re good, Kiva,” he said, as if that was all that mattered. “I’ve watched you with the other prisoners—even people like Cresta, who go out of their way to make your life miserable—and you treat all of them the same. Hell, you even treat the Rebel Queen like the rest of them. Better, even. And I know you’ve already told me why, just as I know I’ll never fully understand. But I don’t have to, because I can see your heart. You didn’t deserve to die, and it was within my power to keep you alive. So I did.”

The enormity of what he was sharing wasn’t lost on her. He’d interfered with the Trial by Ordeal, not once, not twice, but three times. He’d saved her life, over and over again.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” she admitted, her voice hoarse.