The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(26)
Don’t let her die.
“That’s my job,” Kiva replied defensively, even as ice clutched at her heart.
“She hurt you.” Jaren’s eyes moved to her throat, his voice low with concern. “And by the looks of it, I’m guessing she was trying to do more than that. What would’ve happened if Naari hadn’t arrived when she did?”
Kiva recalled the darkness that had been spreading across her vision, the suffocating burn as she’d struggled to breathe, the panic of being unable to free herself.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning back to continue searching for the aloeweed, now even more desperate for him to leave.
“How can you say that?” he asked, exasperated.
Kiva finally spotted the small jar and reached for it triumphantly. Only then did she face him again and say, “Because it doesn’t.” She waved her free hand, indicating beyond the walls of the infirmary. “This place is full of murderers and rapists and kidnappers, but I can’t think of them that way. If they come to me with a problem, then I have to treat them. It’s not my job to judge them, only to heal them.” Kiva’s gaze shifted to Tilda as she finished, “Whether she’s the Rebel Queen or not, whether she wants to overthrow the kingdom or not, whether she tries to kill me again or not, it doesn’t matter. I have to help her anyway. Do you understand?”
Jaren studied Kiva’s face for a long moment before he blew out a breath and nodded. “I understand. But I don’t like it.”
“I never said I liked it,” Kiva returned. “How do you think it feels to help a man who chopped up his own children and claimed he was selling pork offcuts to his local tavern when it was really human flesh?”
Jaren pulled a face. “Please tell me you’re making that up.”
Kiva jerked her thumb toward the quarantine room. “He’s in there right now, vomiting his guts up. And despite what he did, I have to do what it takes to help him survive.” She held Jaren’s gaze as she added, “For all I know, you did something similar, and I helped you without question.” She shoved the jar toward him. “I’m still helping you.”
“I can guarantee that I didn’t butcher my own family,” Jaren said, with clear disgust. “Or anyone, for that matter.”
“That still leaves a lot of options,” Kiva said, stepping away from him. “Now excuse me, but I have to go and make sure the child butcherer is still alive. And you know why?”
“Because that’s your job.”
“Now you’re getting it,” Kiva replied, before bidding him good night, sending a quick, respectful nod to the solemn-looking Naari, and then slipping through the quarantine door as Tipp and Mot stepped out, the limp weight of Liku carried between them.
Another night in Zalindov, another dead prisoner.
Chapter Nine
Olisha and Nergal were late, as always, but they finally arrived in the infirmary close to midnight, ready to relieve Kiva. Yawning, she instructed them to keep checking on the quarantined patients, and explained why Tilda was in shackles, asking them to come and get her if the woman regained consciousness.
Stumbling back to her cell block, Kiva shivered against the crisp winter air and reveled in the peacefulness of the prison at night. Aside from the watchtower guards using their roaming luminium beacons, her path was almost entirely dark, lit only by the overhead moonlight. Once, the walk had petrified her. Now she was used to it, finding comfort in the isolated stillness after the long day she’d endured. But even so, she picked up her pace, desperate for a quick shower so she could fall into bed and sleep away her worries.
Arriving at cell block seven, Kiva slipped inside and hurried straight toward the bathing chambers at the far end. Her cellmates were snoring as she passed them, pallet after pallet of exhausted prisoners, many of them trembling under their thin blankets.
The shower block was empty, as it almost always was by the time Kiva arrived. She didn’t tarry, stripping quickly and gritting her teeth in preparation for the icy water. A gasp left her at the frigid sting of it touching her flesh, but no sooner had she stepped into the spray than she was yanked out again, her head snapping back from a vicious tug to her hair, a hand slapping over her mouth and dragging her out from under the water, her naked body slipping and sliding on the limestone floor.
Kiva screamed, but the sound was muffled by the hand at her mouth, the one in her hair moving to snake around her stomach, squeezing tight enough that the air was forced from her lungs.
“Shut it, healer whore,” a cold voice hissed into her ear. “Scream again, and you’ll regret it.”
Kiva stopped struggling, recognizing the voice. The moment she did, the arms released her, and Kiva stumbled away from her captor—Cresta, the leader of the prison rebels.
“Uh-uh, not so fast,” Cresta said, her tone threatening enough to halt Kiva in her tracks. “You and I need to have a chat.”
Trembling all over—and not just from the cold water pebbling her skin—Kiva straightened to her full height. Heedless of her nakedness, she placed her hands on her hips and demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Cresta tossed her red hair over her shoulder, the matted twists no longer hiding the full outline of the serpent tattoo coiling down the left side of her face. “I told you, we need to talk.”