The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(115)

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” he said, sliding further down the limestone wall, sounding weaker by the second. “You once told me that the world needs people like Tipp out there in it, that he’s wasted in here. I’d argue that the same is true about you.” Quieter, he finished, “I don’t expect anything from you, Kiva. I just want you to live. I want you to be free. And for that, you need to survive.”

Kiva closed her eyes at his words, at the longing she felt in her soul for them to be true. And they could be—right now, they were only just barely out of her reach. All she had to do was make it through this Trial, and she would have all of what Jaren wanted for her, all of what she wanted for herself.

“Then I guess we’d better find a way out of these tunnels,” Kiva said, emotion clogging her voice. She was sure everything she felt toward Jaren was shining in her eyes when she reopened them, so she looked away from him and into the dark passageway. “But we’re running out of time. And Rooke seemed pretty confident that we would die down here.”

“We’ll be out within the hour, easily,” Jaren said. At Kiva’s surprised look, he added, “Rooke made a mistake sending me. He all but guaranteed your success.”

Kiva raised an eyebrow.

“That sounded cockier than I intended,” Jaren said, his cheeks flushing again. “I just meant—” He shrugged slightly with his embarrassment, but the motion cost him, and he cut off with a groan, slipping even further down the wall, nearly on the ground again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kiva finally found it in her to ask. “Is it your back?”

But she knew it wasn’t, not from the way he was holding himself.

“I’m fine,” Jaren panted, trying to reclaim the height he’d lost. “I just need a second.”

Kiva stepped toward him. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine, Kiva,” he repeated. “Really, it’s noth—”

“Let me see,” she interrupted, using her sternest healer voice.

Jaren didn’t protest again, but he did sink down until he was on the ground completely, his shoulder propped against the wall, keeping his back from it, but also keeping his front from it.

“What happened?” she asked, pushing aside the sea of emotion still swirling within her to focus on him.

“The Butcher decided to leave me with a parting gift,” Jaren shared, if reluctantly.

Kiva’s stomach hollowed out as she knelt before him. Slowly, carefully, she reached for the hem of his tunic, drawing it up above the waistline of his pants, her mind at war with her heart. Inch by inch, his torso was exposed, the muscles rippling as the firelight revealed what the Butcher had done.

Kiva sucked in a swift breath at the deep, multicolored bruises, her eyes flicking up to Jaren’s to find him watching her steadily, waiting for her verdict.

Don’t think of him as a prince, she told herself, knowing it was what her father would have said. Don’t even think of him as Jaren—and definitely don’t think of him as a Vallentis. Just think of him as a patient.

“Let’s see what we have to work with here,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice, before she gently pressed her hand to his flesh.

Jaren hissed, and Kiva snapped her arm back, looking at him with concern, since she’d barely touched him.

“Sorry, your fingers are cold,” Jaren said, sounding embarrassed. Looking it, too.

Kiva could have laughed. Might have, had she not been so raw from everything they’d just waded through.

“We can’t all make fire burst from our hands,” Kiva said, though she did rub hers together to heat them a little before reaching for him again.

As carefully as possible, she pushed against his bruises, trying to determine how bad the damage was. Despite everything, she hated that she was causing him pain, unable to miss his staggered breathing and muscle clenches every time she pressed too deep.

Kiva wasn’t sure who was more relieved when she finally sat back and declared, “A few cracked ribs, but I don’t think there’s internal bleeding. We’ll keep an eye on you, just to be sure.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to leave me on my own down here?”

His tone was joking, but Kiva saw a hint of worry in his eyes—not about whether she’d abandon him in his injured state, but about whether she was still upset enough to consider it.

Kiva didn’t ease his mind and only said, “Lean forward. I want to check your back.”

“It’s—”

“If you say ‘it’s fine,’ I will leave you down here.”

Jaren promptly leaned forward, and Kiva pushed his tunic further up. What she saw caused her to simultaneously ice over and fill with fire. The deep, thick wounds were only partially healed, even after a fortnight. What the Butcher had done . . . the damage he had caused . . .

“These are healing well,” Kiva made herself say as she tried to stifle her anger—and her guilt. She ran her finger along one of the scabs, and Jaren shivered at her touch. “They look sore, though.”

“It was worth it,” Jaren said quietly, causing Kiva’s heart to stutter at his implication. He cleared his throat and added, “But yeah, they don’t feel great. Walking isn’t much fun.”