The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(49)

“Rayla-from-administration proves that theory wrong,” Jaren finished for her. “Or, really, the guards that she’s been in contact with, who aren’t sick.”

“So, if it’s n-not a virus, what is it?” Tipp asked, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Kiva said, leaning back against the workbench and feeling about three thousand years old. “It could be anything—a spore in the air, bacteria in our water, mold in our grain, diseased meat or dairy . . . the list is endless.”

“So we’re all at risk,” Jaren said, his tone part question, part statement.

Kiva made a helpless gesture. “I honestly don’t know. Why are they sick”—she pointed toward the closed quarantine door—“and we’re not? Why did some of them start catching whatever it is a few weeks ago, while others only became symptomatic today?” She paused, considering. “If it’s a bug in our food or water, it’d make sense that the guards aren’t catching it, since they have separate supplies and meal preparation from the rest of us. But if it’s something in the air or the animals or grain . . .” She frowned and continued, almost to herself, “If I can’t figure out what’s wrong, then I need to find the origin of the illness. Maybe that will help me come up with a treatment.”

“Your n-n-next Ordeal is in four days,” Tipp said. “I think you should f-focus on that.”

Tipp had kept quiet about the Trials in the days since Kiva had first volunteered to take Tilda’s place. At times, she heard him whispering to the sick woman, who remained too delirious to talk back. Kiva knew he was worried, but she also knew he was trying to remain positive about it all, which was something she desperately needed. Sometimes she resented herself for it, since she should have been the one comforting him, but it was his sunny personality that pulled her out of the shadows when her fear became too great.

“Four days is enough to get started,” Kiva said. And enough for the rebels to arrive, even if there had been no sign of them yet. Sending him a reassuring wink, she added, “And I can continue investigating after the next Trial is over.” If she was still there.

His gap-toothed grin brightened her night, bringing a warm, sweet feeling to her chest.

“How will you do it?” Jaren asked, leaning his hip against the bench near her. “Investigate, I mean. Do you have a plan?”

Since he’d been there scant seconds ago when the idea had come to her, Kiva had to bite back a sarcastic retort. Instead, she thought about it and said, “The first prisoners to show symptoms were quarriers, so I’ll start there. I can circle around the outside of the prison, checking the farms, the lumberyard, all those outer places, before looking into what’s happening inside the walls.”

Realizing that she was forgetting something important, Kiva turned to Naari and, with slight hesitation, said, “Do you—uh, would you mind asking Warden Rooke for permission? I can’t leave through the gate without an escort.” Normally Kiva would have approached the Warden herself, but she hadn’t seen him since the night of her first Ordeal. She’d awoken the next morning clearheaded enough to be horrified by how assertive she’d acted while on the poppymilk, and thought it best to avoid another conversation with him so soon.

Unlike Kiva, the guard wasn’t hesitant at all, and gave a confirming dip of her head.

“Naari should go with you,” Jaren said.

Kiva turned back to him, barely repressing the urge to anxious-laugh. “I won’t get to choose who my escort is. That’s not how it works.”

Jaren looked at the guard. “You should go with her.”

Kiva’s heart stuttered. Amicable though she might be, there was no way Naari would allow Jaren to get away with talking to her as if they were on equal footing.

“I’ll speak with Rooke,” the guard said.

The breath whooshed out of Kiva. She was certain she looked like a stunned owl, blinking with shock at what had just transpired.

At the very least, Naari should have warned Jaren to remember his place. He was a prisoner, and he had just made a request of a guard that sounded close to being a command. Kiva had seen prisoners executed for less.

Eyeing them both, Kiva wondered if perhaps Jaren already knew all about the “favored” inmates. He was young, fit, attractive . . . and Naari was the same. Aside from a handful of occasions, Kiva rarely saw Jaren without Naari, as if she had taken it upon herself to oversee his movements within the prison, even during his free time. That level of attention . . . of dedication . . .

“What’s with the look?” Jaren asked, squinting at Kiva.

She tried to clear her expression, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded. “Nothing.” She swiveled back to Naari and said, “I don’t mind who escorts me, really.”

If given the choice between Naari and one of the other guards, like Bones or the Butcher, then of course Kiva would choose the amber-eyed woman. But unlike Jaren, she wasn’t about to risk making a personal request.

“I’ll speak with Rooke,” Naari repeated, her voice firm enough that Kiva knew to drop it. She had no idea why the guard was being so cooperative, since there was absolutely nothing in it for her.

. . . Except, perhaps, Jaren.

The thought left a sick taste in Kiva’s mouth, but she refused to consider why. Instead, she summoned the last dregs of her courage and said to the guard, “The sooner, the better.”