The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(41)

“The People’s Princess,” Deverick said to Kiva, his tone wry. “Patient, long-suffering, full of joy, abounding with love and kindness and—”

“Oh, shut up,” Mirryn said, reaching for her brother’s arm and dragging him away from Kiva’s bedside. “You do so love to hear your own voice.”

“It’s a very nice voice,” the prince said. “Don’t you think, Kiva?”

Kiva jolted at the sound of her name falling from his lips. It was startling how casually he’d used it, as if they’d known each other for years. She said nothing, which only made his smile grow wider.

“I’ve enjoyed this,” he said, even as his sister continued pushing him from the room. “I hope our paths cross again one day, Champion.”

And then Mirryn shoved him past Captain Veris and out the door, pausing only to straighten her cloak and call back to Kiva, “I still think you have a death wish. Feel free to prove me wrong.”





Chapter Thirteen


After the royals left the infirmary, Kiva tried to get out of bed, but her aching body wasn’t up to the task. Instead, she tossed and turned until even that caused her too much pain, so she lay there, thinking about all that had happened that day, before the poppymilk finally swept her back to sleep.

When she awoke again, the infirmary was much darker, the low-lit luminium beacons chasing away the worst of the night’s shadows—and revealing that she wasn’t alone.

“What are you doing here?” Kiva croaked, her voice raspy from sleep.

Jaren was sitting on a stool beside her bed, looking down at his hands, but his head shot up at her question, relief flooding his features. “Why do you always ask me that?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m constantly surprised to see you’re still alive.”

A half smile tipped his lips before it faded and his face turned stony. “The same could be said about you after that stunt you pulled today.”

Kiva didn’t want to have this conversation while lying horizontal. She didn’t want to have this conversation at all, but definitely not in such a vulnerable position.

Pushing herself up, she held in her grimace as pain shot through her arms, torso, and head all at once, and she carefully assumed the same position as she had with the princess, leaning back against the wall.

“That looked painful.”

Kiva sent a glare toward Jaren. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She didn’t know why she was so defensive around him, why she hated revealing any sign of weakness.

Jaren sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It was sticking out at odd angles, as if he’d repeated the action numerous times. Peering closer, Kiva noted that he was covered in even more dirt and grime than when she’d seen him out by the gallows, indicating that he’d labored hard in the tunnels both before and afterward. There were shadows under his eyes, and a weariness about the way he held himself. Zalindov was getting to him, she could tell, even if it hadn’t yet broken him.

“Can I . . . Is there anything I can get you?” Jaren asked quietly.

Recalling his strong aversion to pain-relieving drugs, Kiva shook her head, deciding to wait until he left before she took another dose of poppymilk. That, and she didn’t want to risk muddying her wits while in his presence.

“I’m fine,” Kiva said. “Now answer me—why are you here?”

Jaren uttered a disbelieving sound. “Why do you think?” He jabbed a finger toward her and said, with clear accusation, “You nearly died today, Kiva.”

“So what?”

The two words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.

“‘So what?’” he repeated, incredulous. “‘So what?’ Are you kidding me?”

She said nothing, startled by his fierce reaction.

“Did you want to die?” he demanded. “Was that your plan?”

Kiva jerked backwards. “Of course not.” She was vaguely aware of the door to the quarantine room opening and closing, but she didn’t take her eyes from Jaren.

“Then why, Kiva? Why would you sacrifice yourself like that? Why risk your life for some woman you don’t even know?” He pointed sharply toward the closed privacy curtain around Tilda’s bed. “Why give up everything for her?”

“Why do you care, Jaren?” Kiva shot back at him. “You don’t know me well enough to be this upset.”

“No, but I d-do!”

Kiva ignored Jaren’s hurt face and turned to find Tipp standing at the quarantine door. At the sight of tears in his eyes, she instantly deflated.

“Tipp . . .”

“Why d-did you do it, Kiva?” he asked in a trembling voice, his freckles stark against his pale face. “You told me no one c-can survive the Trials, that they’re a d-death sentence.”

“Tipp, come here,” Kiva said, reaching out her hand. It was shaking slightly, both from this confrontation and also from pain. Prince Deverick might have slowed Kiva’s descent enough to keep her from dying, but he hadn’t been gentle about it.

Slowly, Tipp approached, tears still pooling in his eyes as he looked at her. “Why, Kiva?” His throat bobbed. “You t-told my mother you’d protect me. You can’t do that if you’re d-dead.”