The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(25)

They all looked toward Tilda, realization hitting them at once.

“The r-royal family all have elemental powers, like Sarana,” Tipp pointed out. “So if Tilda really is T-Torvin’s descendant, shouldn’t she have his healing p-power? She wouldn’t b-be this sick, would she?”

Kiva found them all waiting for her to answer, so she made a helpless gesture and said, “I don’t know—maybe she can only heal others, not herself? Maybe magic skips generations? Maybe she’s not related to Torvin at all, and this is a case of mistaken identity?”

“That’s a lot o’ maybes,” Mot muttered. “But I like yer origin story, so I’m gonna go on thinkin’ she’s Torvin’s great-whatever-daughter and all that other stuff ’appened back then like yeh said.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mot,” Jaren said, an indulgent but still wry smile on his face.

Kiva arched a brow at him.

Jaren caught her look and shrugged. “I’ve heard a thousand different versions of the Torvin and Sarana legend. Who’s to say which is true?”

“The king and queen must think there’s some substance to it, or they wouldn’t be so threatened by what she represents,” Kiva noted, tilting her chin toward Tilda.

“The king and queen come from the Vallentis line,” Mot mused. “They’re direct relations of Sarana—or, the queen is, at least. They’d ’ave to look into any rumors, wouldn’t they? ’Specially ones about a Rebel Queen who could take their throne out from under ’em.”

Kiva pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please stop talking about this? I need to get back to work.”

“I have a q-question,” Tipp said, bouncing in his seat. “It’s quick, I p-promise.”

“Put your hand down, Tipp,” Kiva said wearily.

He did so, but continued bouncing as he asked, “How does their m-magic work? T-Torvin’s and Sarana’s? And the V-Vallentis family—they all have elemental p-powers. Well, not the k-k-king, but the queen and their heirs. How d-do they”—he made a flicking gesture with his fingers, as if imagining sparks shooting from them—“summon the m-magic?”

Kiva squinted at the boy. “How am I supposed to know?”

“It’s not just the royals,” Jaren jumped in, a small, contemplative crinkle between his brow. All eyes turned to him, and his expression cleared swiftly. “I mean . . . I’ve heard there are anomalies, too. Born outside the royal bloodline, just like in ancient days. They’re rare, but still—”

Kiva snorted. “We’ve all heard about those ‘anomalies.’ They’re nothing more than wishful stories for children, something they can dream about but never attain.”

“No, luv, Jaren’s right,” Mot said, scratching his bald patch. “I saw one, once.”

Kiva straightened. “What?”

“I was travelin’ around Mirraven, years ago, and that’s when I saw ’er,” the mortician said. “A little girl, maybe five or six, wavin’ ’er hands and makin’ water leap from a fountain.”

“Really?” Tipp said, wonder in his eyes.

Mot nodded. “It sure was somethin’. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it, before or since.”

Tipp turned to Kiva. “Do you think I c-could have magic? Maybe I just d-don’t know it yet?”

Kiva felt wholly unqualified to have this conversation. In the gentlest voice she could manage, she said, “I’m sorry, Tipp, but even if anomalies are real, Jaren’s right when he says they’re rare. We’re talking one in every hundred years. If that.”

“But Mot s-saw—”

“That one,” Kiva said, still gently. Though she wondered when Mot saw his magic-wielding child and if perhaps he’d been on the spirits that day.

She jumped down from the bench, ready to put this discussion to bed. “It’s getting late, and I have patients to check on, so story time’s over.” She looked at Tipp and, ignoring the pang she felt at seeing his disappointed face, said, “Can you help Mot with Liku?”

The boy hesitated, as if wanting to ask more questions, but whatever he read in Kiva’s expression had him nodding and sliding off the metal bench. Mot, too, looked like he wanted to continue talking, but wisely followed as Tipp led the way to the quarantine room.

Kiva walked over to her supplies and dug through them for another small jar of aloeweed to give Jaren, ready for him to leave. She didn’t realize he’d followed until he spoke up from right behind her.

“Why are you helping her?”

Kiva spun around. “Sorry?”

Jaren looked toward Tilda. “If she really is the Rebel Queen, then she’s responsible for everything they’re doing. For all the unrest within Evalon.” He turned back to Kiva. “People are dying because of her and her followers. Lots of people.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Kiva said dismissively.

“I’m not,” Jaren said firmly. “Things are changing out there, Kiva. What started as peaceful protests has become a bloodbath, the rebels moving from village to village, recruiting people and killing the guards who try to stop them. Not to mention the innocents who are hurt along the way.” He held her eyes as he finished, “And here you are, trying to save their leader’s life.”