The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(118)

Understanding filled his expression, and he squeezed her again, this time in comfort.

“I was just saying, we need to go that way.” He used his free hand to point to the left fork. “About twenty minutes of walking, and we’ll be out, with plenty of time to spare.”

Kiva looked at the passage, then back to Jaren. “How do you know?”

“Because I can feel it.”

“You can—”

Kiva cut herself off when she saw what Jaren was doing, using the same free hand to point at the ground. Before her eyes, the earth shifted, and out of the limestone came a green stem, leaves and thorns appearing on it, the end budding and flowering into the most perfect snowblossom Kiva had ever seen.

But that wasn’t all.

More of the earth cleared away around the base of the blossom, easing backwards, and seconds later, a small moat appeared, filling swiftly with water.

Kiva stared at the display. Stared and stared and stared as realization hit her.

Jaren couldn’t just harness air and fire.

He could also control earth and water.

All four of the elements.

No one had claimed such power since Queen Sarana herself.

“Now you know all of my secrets,” Jaren said, his voice quiet. “And that’s why the Royal Council chose to name me as heir, not Mirryn.”

Kiva’s breaths sounded loud to her ears. She wasn’t sure how to process what she’d just learned, the magnitude of what he’d just shared. But she could feel how tense Jaren was beside her, his body locked as if afraid of her reaction, so she forced herself to relax and said, “So, we go left?”

Air rushed out of Jaren, a relieved, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “We go left.”

As if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple—his unspoken gratitude for her not making a big deal out of what was most definitely a big deal.

“Twenty minutes, huh?” Kiva said, still trying to remain as calm as possible on the outside while inside she was reeling. “I’m looking forward to seeing Rooke’s face when he realizes we’re alive.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing his face when he has to let you go free,” Jaren said, as they slowly began to walk in the direction of the bobbing firelight.

“That too,” Kiva said, unable to keep the wonder from her voice. As far as the Trials went, this one was the easiest—by far—but only because of Jaren. Without him and his elemental magic sniffing out the exit, Kiva would have met her death in these tunnels. She was sure of it.

Jaren hesitated for a moment, but then, as they turned down the left fork and continued on, the fire floating before them, he warily said, “Tilda will be freed with you.”

Kiva understood how this was a problem for him. Frankly, she was still amazed that he’d saved her in all of the Ordeals, when it meant he was also saving his mortal enemy. A strange, tingling sensation blossomed within her, but she stamped it down. Now was not the time. She still had so much to think about, so much to reconcile.

“She’s really sick, Jaren,” Kiva said. “Rebel Queen or not, she’s hardly a threat.”

“For now,” he returned. “But if she gets better—”

“That’s a problem for another day,” Kiva said firmly.

Jaren’s tension didn’t fade, and Kiva couldn’t blame him, knowing who he was, and who Tilda was to him. She grappled for a compromise, something that would get Tilda out of Zalindov, but also neutralize the danger he feared her to be.

“You could take her back to Vallenia with you,” Kiva said, though it cost her. “Your royal healers would be able to do so much more for her than anyone else. And if she recovers, then you might still be able to get the answers you came here for. You could find out what the rebels are planning, even ask why she was in Mirraven to begin with. She’d be free of Zalindov, but safe in your custody.”

Kiva wasn’t sure if she’d ever hated herself more. But this way, Tilda stood a chance at getting better—a good chance, since the royal healers were renowned for their skills. The only problem was, it would leave the Rebel Queen in the hands of her enemies.

But at least she would be alive.

To Kiva, that was what mattered the most. She hadn’t risked her life over and over just so Tilda could die.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jaren admitted. “But if it doesn’t work out”—Kiva braced herself, certain he was about to mete out Tilda’s execution sentence right then and there—“the most important thing is that you’re free, even if it means she is, too.” Jaren’s thumb stroked her shoulder. “We’ll deal with the consequences later.”

If Kiva hadn’t been bearing most of his weight, she might have collapsed into a heap at the significance of his words. He was willing to let the Rebel Queen walk free just so that she could, too? That was . . . that was . . .

It was outrageous.

It was unbelievable.

And it filled Kiva with warmth from head to toe.

But then she had another thought, and while she didn’t want to push her luck, she couldn’t keep from asking, “You know how you’re a prince?”

Jaren chuckled, his body moving against hers as they turned down another passageway lit by his flames. “I’m aware.”