The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(56)
Kiva’s chest burned with resentment, but she made herself remember that she was here for one reason only: to collect her samples. If she figured out where the sickness was coming from, she’d be able to keep all these workers from dying even more prematurely—for what it was worth.
As they walked along the lower levels of the pit, Kiva signaled to Naari when she found places that had seen or were currently seeing higher levels of contact with the laborers. Pausing each time, she scraped samples into the flasks she’d brought with her, before continuing on down the path. Mostly she searched for stagnant puddles of water and small bogs of mud that had a mixture of quarry minerals all mashed in together, especially when they were well trodden by prisoners’ footprints or nestled into rocky crevasses near where the laborers worked.
It was just as she was about to tell Naari that she had enough samples and was ready to go that a scornful voice called out to her.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Zalindov’s Bitch.”
Kiva turned woodenly to find Cresta standing behind her. The redhead’s face was smeared with quarry dust, her serpent tattoo almost appearing alive beneath the luminous grime.
The last time Kiva had seen her, Cresta had been threatening Tipp’s life. So far, Kiva had upheld her side of the bargain to keep Tilda alive, but the look Cresta was now leveling at her served as a clear reminder that she still had work to do. Zalindov’s rebels wouldn’t be happy until their queen was free—and perhaps, them with her.
A shiver ran down Kiva’s spine. She hadn’t considered what would happen when the rebels came to rescue Tilda. Would they be taking others with them, too? Others . . . like Cresta?
Kiva shook off the thought, determining that it wasn’t her problem. She had enough to deal with without the moral fallout from such a decision.
“Do we have a problem here?” Naari asked, stepping closer.
“Look at you with your babysitter,” Cresta sneered at Kiva, ignoring the guard other than for a slight tightening of her fingers around the pickaxe she held. “How’s it feel, working in your castle while the rest of us slave away here?”
On the one hand, Kiva couldn’t believe Cresta had the audacity to not only snub Naari, but to continue antagonizing Kiva with the guard right there. On the other hand, this was Cresta, and she’d always done whatever she wanted and somehow survived the aftermath.
“I’d hardly call the infirmary a castle,” Kiva returned in an apathetic tone, “but I guess it’s all about perspective.” With clear deliberation, she turned her back and began to walk away, saying to Naari over her shoulder, “I’m done here. Let’s go.”
“That’s right, healer whore, run away like you always do,” Cresta called after her. “Better rustle up some courage before your second Trial. You’re gonna need it!”
Kiva ignored Cresta’s cackle, certain that if she looked over her shoulder, she would see the warning in the young woman’s eyes. Despite her feigned scorn, Cresta was well aware that Tilda’s survival was tied to Kiva’s success.
“Want to tell me what that was about?” Naari asked once they were far enough away.
“Want to tell me why you didn’t punish her?” Kiva replied.
Naari was slow to respond, but eventually said, “Did you want me to?”
Kiva sighed, and hoisted her bag of samples higher onto her shoulder. “No. Never mind.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Kiva remained silent for a long while, thinking over her response. It wasn’t until they were out of the quarry and following the rail tracks back to the prison gates that she finally answered.
“I represent everything Cresta hates about Zalindov,” Kiva said. “To her mind, I do exactly what I’m told, when I’m told. And it’s true—I do.” Because unlike Cresta, Kiva cared whether she lived or died, and she found that being obedient was more likely to keep her on this side of the everworld. She played the game, having chosen long ago to sacrifice her soul in order to save her life. The other prisoners resented her for that. Especially the rebels. And yet she was still breathing, while many of them were now dead.
“The carvings,” Naari guessed.
“Among other things,” Kiva said. “Plus, I kept her alive when she first arrived here.”
A confused pause, before Naari said, “Usually people are grateful for that.”
“Not if they want to die.”
A loaded silence met Kiva’s words, during which time she recalled how Cresta had tried to kill herself in her early weeks at Zalindov, using glass shards to slice open her wrists. If not for Kiva’s quick actions, the angry young woman would have died. It was Kiva who had unintentionally lit a fire in Cresta after that, telling her that she was strong and powerful and could survive anything, and that she owed it to herself to find a reason to live.
Cresta had done exactly that, rallying the prison rebels and deciding that her purpose in life was to cause as much conflict as possible, for guards and inmates alike.
“You’re really good at making friends, aren’t you,” Naari said in a dry tone, prompting a reluctant chuckle out of Kiva.
“It’s one of my truest talents in life,” she replied just as dryly.
But as they continued back toward the gates and Kiva caught the small smile lurking on the guard’s face, she wondered if maybe she wasn’t so bad at it, after all—and that thought made her stomach tense enough that she refused to consider it further. Instead, she focused her attention on returning to the infirmary and testing her samples, while distracting herself from the upcoming Ordeal and the very real threat of death looming over her head.