The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(20)

Leaping into action, Kiva approached the unconscious woman, listening in as Jaren asked, “What did he mean about a Trial?”

To Kiva’s surprise, it was Naari who answered, having remained behind when her fellow guards departed. “This woman has been sentenced to undertake the Trial by Ordeal.”

Kiva, who had been reaching for the rags obscuring the new arrival’s face, froze and spun back to look at the guard. Jaren, too, was staring at Naari with incredulity, though there was also something else in his expression, something Kiva didn’t know him well enough to read.

Noting their reactions, Tipp asked, “What’s a T-T-Trial by Ordeal?”

No one spoke.

“Guys? What’s g-going on?” Tipp demanded. “What’s this T-Trial thing?”

Kiva slowly turned from Naari to the young boy and said, “The Trial by Ordeal is only ever sentenced to the most dangerous of criminals. The last time it happened was something like twenty years ago.”

“Thirty,” Jaren said, his features tense as he looked toward the unconscious woman that Kiva remained frozen above.

“B-But what is it?” Tipp asked.

“Four elemental tasks—called Ordeals—to determine a person’s guilt: Trial by Air, Trial by Fire, Trial by Water, Trial by Earth,” Jaren answered, as if reading from an archive. “If the person survives, they’re deemed innocent.”

If Kiva hadn’t been so shocked by the woman’s sentence, she might have questioned the origin of Jaren’s knowledge. She herself had heard whispers throughout her years at Zalindov, legends of prisoners who had received the unforgiving sentence. But she’d known nothing of the Trials prior to her arrival.

“Elemental t-tasks?” Tipp’s forehead was bunched. “But only the r-royal family has elemental m-magic these days.”

“The tasks might be inspired by magic of old,” Jaren continued sharing, “but it’s said that if a person is truly innocent, they’ll be able to make it through the four Ordeals without needing any kind of power.”

“So . . . if this woman d-does these Trials, she’ll be able t-to leave Zalindov? Free?” Tipp asked, looking awed by the thought, as if he wished it for his own future.

“No one has ever survived the full Trial by Ordeal, Tipp,” Kiva broke in softly. “One or two of the tasks, maybe. Just enough to lull them into a false sense of security. But never all four.” She whispered to finish, “It’s a death sentence.”

Jaren nodded grimly in agreement.

Tipp paled, then looked toward the unconscious woman. He bit his lip and said, “I guess that m-makes sense, if she r-r-really is who they think she is.”

Kiva finally unfroze her fingers to remove the cloth from the new arrival’s face. “Who do they think she is?”

It was Naari who answered as Kiva drew the rags away, revealing the woman’s features.

“It’s believed that she’s Tilda Corentine,” the guard said. “The Rebel Queen.”

Kiva’s heart stopped as she stared down at the middle-aged woman.

Straight nose, thick lashes, dark hair and brows. Her tanned skin had an unhealthy tinge to it, and when her eyes opened for a brief second before fluttering shut again, they were milky white. The woman was blind, and, with her both shivering and sweating at once, it was clear that she was very ill.

All of this Kiva took in within the space of half a breath, because that was how long it took for the shock to hit her.

“King Stellan and Queen Ariana want to make an example out of her,” Naari went on, “especially since she was captured while recruiting more followers in Mirraven, and Evalon doesn’t have an extradition treaty with them, given the tenuous relationship between our two kingdoms. The best the king and queen could do was petition to have her sent here, where justice could be served, even if it meant they couldn’t interrogate her beforehand.” Naari looked at the sick woman. “Though . . . in this state, I doubt she would have been able to reveal anything, even if they’d been able to intercept her before arrival.”

Kiva was having trouble drawing air into her lungs. This blind, sick woman—the most wanted person in Evalon—was now in Kiva’s care. The Rebel Queen. And not only that, but—

“W-What’s this?”

Tipp’s voice drew Kiva back from her panicked thoughts. She spun to find him plucking something from the ground—a small scrap of parchment.

“I think it f-fell out of her blanket when they m-moved her off the stretcher,” he said, unfolding the parchment and squinting at it. He turned it on its side, then upside down, and a sinking feeling hit Kiva’s stomach.

“Let me see,” she said, her voice croaking slightly in the middle.

“It’s nothing. Just some d-doodles,” Tipp decided, but he handed it over as requested.

Kiva’s heart rate skyrocketed as she saw the familiar coded symbols and translated what they said.





The message was clear:

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

Kiva’s breath caught as those final three words repeated in her mind.

We are coming. We are coming. We are coming.

No longer a vague promise of one day, but imminent.

Her family was coming. Finally, after waiting so long, they were coming. For Kiva—but also for Tilda.