The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(23)

Naari had a prosthetic hand. And there, at the joint where the skin of her forearm met the prosthesis, was an indented mark where the blade had sunk in.

“Oh,” Kiva said stupidly. Even more stupidly, she added, “That’s convenient.”

Naari’s lips twitched. “It comes in handy.”

A startled laugh left Kiva at the pun, and she swiftly turned it into a cough, which prompted bolts of pain to shoot up her throat.

Seeking a distraction, as Naari pulled her glove back on, Kiva couldn’t resist asking, “Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

She held her breath, wondering if she should have remained silent, but Naari didn’t seem upset by the question.

“I was protecting someone I care about,” the guard said, flexing her regloved hand. “They made sure I was taken care of afterward.”

“And now you’re here,” Kiva said.

She regretted the words instantly, but again, Naari didn’t show any signs of anger.

“And now I’m here.”

It explained a lot, Kiva thought. While still relatively new, Naari had already stayed at Zalindov for longer than most of the other female guards. Despite the high quality of her prosthetic hand, she would be challenged to find another position, let alone be allowed to work her way up through the military ranks. A prison guard was at the bottom of the ladder, and yet, because of her limb difference, still one of the best options Naari had if she wanted to serve the kingdom in a protective capacity.

“Does it hurt?” Kiva asked, switching to healer mode.

“Sometimes,” Naari admitted.

Kiva held her eyes and offered, “If you ever need anything for the pain . . .”

Naari remained silent for a moment before she finally said, “I’ll let you know.”

Something strange was happening, Kiva knew. A shift in the dynamic between them. The line between guard and prisoner had blurred, and not just because Naari had now saved Kiva more than once.

“Thank you,” Kiva said quietly. “For helping me. Again.”

Naari arched a brow at Kiva’s words, knowing full well that she’d done more than “help,” but she didn’t correct her. “Just be grateful I arrived when I did.”

Kiva was. Very much so. But still she said, “There hasn’t been a guard here all day. Why come now?”

Before Naari could answer, Tipp skipped back through the infirmary door, and close behind him were both Mot and Jaren.

The mortician was no surprise, but Kiva couldn’t keep from looking at Jaren in question. He, in turn, came to a sudden halt when he caught sight of her, with Mot and Tipp both gaping as well.

“Kiva, luv, what ’appened?” Mot asked, anger blotching his cheeks as he looked accusingly at Naari.

The guard just crossed her arms, meeting his stare.

Kiva didn’t understand at first, but then she saw where Jaren’s gaze was focused. Tipp’s, too. She touched her fingers to her neck, guessing that it was already blossoming into an alarming rainbow of color.

“Tilda woke up, and we . . . had a bit of a tussle,” Kiva said, trying to play it off as nothing. Her scratchy, hesitant voice wasn’t helping. “Naari arrived in time to . . . intervene.”

At her choice of words, Kiva could almost hear the guard rolling her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have l-l-left you alone,” Tipp said, his freckled face pale as he looked toward the now-shackled prisoner. “I’m s-sorry, Kiva.”

“I told you to go,” she said. She looked at Mot and added, “Thanks for coming so fast.”

His eyes, too, were on the shackled prisoner. “That’s ’er, then? The one they’re all talkin’ about?”

“The Rebel Queen,” Jaren said, the first words he’d uttered since arriving. His tunneling duties were finished for the day, so he was free to roam where he wanted within the walls of the prison. Even so, Kiva assumed he was there for a reason, so her eyes scanned him for injury, finding nothing outwardly wrong.

“So she really is a q-q-queen?” Tipp asked, his face shining with wonder, as if he hadn’t truly believed it until now.

“Not yet,” Jaren said. “But that’s what she and her people want—to overthrow Evalon, to take the crown as their own.”

“Or to take back the crown,” Mot cut in, “dependin’ on which story yeh believe.”

“Whatever you believe,” Naari interrupted, her eyes moving to Kiva, “you now have another week to get her on her feet. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

“I thought we only had t-two days left?” Tipp asked, scratching his nose.

“The royal family has decided to come and witness the first Ordeal,” Naari shared. “They need the extra time for travel.”

For a long moment, there was no sound in the infirmary. But then—

“What?”

Kiva wasn’t sure who the loudest exclamation belonged to; all she knew was that she wasn’t the only one who had uttered the cry.

“King Stellan and Queen Ariana are comin’ to Zalindov?” Mot asked, one hand pressed to his balding head. “Blimey.”

“No, not them,” Naari said. “They’re too far away, still in Vallenia. But the crown prince and the princess have been wintering in the Tanestra Mountains. They’ve been ordered to come on behalf of their parents.”