The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(123)

“Don’t worry, she’ll get us out of here,” Jaren told Kiva when he saw her hesitate.

“I know,” she replied, before striding after the guard.

Her hesitation hadn’t been fear of following—she had been summoning the strength to look back at Tilda, one last time.

But she made herself do it.

Made herself whisper a final, “May peace find you in the everworld.”

And then she hurried out the door, never more grateful that the infirmary was close to the prison gates, and equally grateful that the bulk of the fighting remained in the center of the grounds—still too close for Jaren to risk anyone seeing him use his elemental magic to protect them, but far enough away that he didn’t need to.

Before Kiva knew it, they were standing at the massive iron entrance, the gates closed now because of the riot.

“This way,” Naari said, moving toward the base of the watchtower, where a much smaller door was cut into the limestone wall. Kiva hadn’t noticed it before, having never been this close to the gates when they were shut.

Pulling a large brass key from within her bloodied armor, Naari inserted it into the door.

“Stop!”

Dread filled Kiva at the commanding voice, and she turned to find the Warden striding toward them, a contingent of guards at his heels.

He’d come down from his hiding place for her—for Kiva. He wasn’t going to let her go free. Or any of them. Not as long as they knew his secret.

“Step away from the gate, Arell,” Rooke growled. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Naari said, moving a step in front of Kiva and Jaren, renewing her grip on her blades. “Not anymore.”

Rooke’s eyebrows shot upward, and he looked pointedly at the guards with him. “What exactly do you think is going to happen here? That I’ll just let you go?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

“Too bad yeh don’t ’ave a choice, yeh horse’s ass.”

Mot hobbled swiftly into view, his hand clasped around a vial raised like a weapon before him.

“Uh-uh-uh,” the apothecary tutted when the guards moved in his direction. “Did yeh see what ’appened to the watchtower? Unless yeh want a repeat of that right ’ere”—he shook the vial tauntingly—“then yeh’ll let Kiva and ’er friends go.”

Kiva’s heart clutched at his words. Not at his threat, but because he hadn’t said anything about going with them.

“Mot—”

“Get outta ’ere, Kiva luv,” Mot said, his gaze softening as he looked her way, then settled on Tipp in her arms. “Give ’im a good life, yeah? Yeh both deserve to find ’appiness.”

“Come with us,” she begged, even if she could already see the decision in his eyes.

“I’ll only slow yeh down. And besides, I still got work to do ’ere, don’t I?” He winked and sent her a brown-toothed grin.

“Mot—” Kiva tried again, but the Warden cut her off.

“What are you waiting for?” Rooke yelled at his guards. “Do something!”

At his command, they stepped toward Mot again, swords raised, while Rooke himself moved closer to Kiva.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the Warden spat at her.

“No, yeh’re not goin’ anywhere,” Mot said, and before anyone else could speak, he threw the vial at Rooke’s feet.

Fire erupted on impact, enough that Naari swore as she, Jaren, and Kiva scrambled backwards to get away from the immense heat, until they slammed into the limestone wall behind them. It wasn’t a blast, like that which had brought down the tower, but the inferno was sudden and violent, forming a barricade of flames between them and the Warden, causing Rooke to retreat or risk being burned alive.

“Go, Kiva!” Mot bellowed from the other side of the fire. “I’ll hold ’em off—just go!”

Naari tugged on Kiva’s sleeve, and she knew she had to follow, knew she had to honor Mot’s sacrifice even if every part of her wished she could save him, free him.

“I’m sorry, Kiva, but we have to—”

“I know,” she interrupted Naari’s warning, her voice breaking. “I’m right behind you.”

And she was.

As Naari turned her brass key and opened the door, Kiva held Tipp tighter and staggered through the exit after her, with Jaren bringing up the rear.

“This way,” Naari said the moment they were all on the other side of the wall, leading them at a fast clip toward the stables.

Kiva swallowed back her questions—and her emotions—as they entered the large building, praying that Naari had a plan.

And then she saw the carriage.

Kiva would have laughed if she hadn’t feared she’d start weeping.

What better way to escape the perimeter guards than in the Warden’s own private transport?

“Jaren, can you—” Naari started, but she was interrupted by another voice.

“What’re you doing in here?”

Kiva whirled around, Tipp’s legs swinging madly in the air, just in time to see Raz step out of an empty stall, a pitchfork held loosely in his hands.

Half a second later, the pitchfork was gone, and the stablemaster was face-down on the ground, Naari’s knee in the center of his spine and one of her blades pressed to his throat.