The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(61)
Tilda stopped breathing.
It was pure luck that Tipp happened to be walking past her bed when she started convulsing, pure luck that Kiva was checking on the quarantined patients and close enough to come running when the boy screamed for her, pure luck that she was able to resuscitate Tilda using chest compressions.
Kiva was covered head to toe in sweat by the time the woman was stable again, part from fear, and part from how hard she’d fought to keep Tilda hanging on to life. Tipp was shaking like a leaf and looked as pale as the poppymilk Kiva administered to the sick woman, hoping the drug would relax her system and keep her from slipping into another convulsion.
“What w-was that?” Tipp asked when it was finally over, his voice shrill with residual panic.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal for someone who’s been this sick for so long,” Kiva assured him, gently pushing him onto a stool before he could fall over. “I should have been watching her more carefully.”
In truth, Kiva had no idea why Tilda had just gone into cardiac arrest, because she still had no idea what the Rebel Queen was suffering from. It could have happened for the reasons she’d just told Tipp, or it could be that Tilda was slowly slipping away from them, day by day.
Don’t let her die.
There was nothing, nothing Kiva could do about Tilda’s health, other than keep her comfortable—and protect her from the imminent death of the Ordeals, the next one of which was only a day away. But Kiva couldn’t think about that right now, unable to handle the way her chest tightened and her breath shortened at the very thought of what she was soon to face. As the hours ticked by, she was sure of only one thing: there was no sign yet of her family and the rebels, no evidence that they’d received her note and were conscious that time was of the essence. More and more, it was looking like she would have to trust in the princess’s amulet to keep herself alive.
For the rest of the day, Kiva was afraid to step out of sight of Tilda, remaining close in case she had another episode. When the quarantined patients needed checking, she sent Tipp in to see to them, and when Naari finally showed up, Kiva claimed that her day was better spent testing the quarry rats with Mot rather than gallivanting around the prison for more samples. The last was true, since she did need to test the rats, but it was also an excuse to remain in the infirmary, watching over the ill woman.
When Mot arrived midmorning, Kiva explained the situation, and the ex-apothecary sat in silence for a good five minutes, chewing on his dirty thumbnail and wearing a crinkled brow. Finally, he rattled off a list of ingredients that could help speed up the incubation process, and Kiva pointed him in the direction of the medicinal garden. When he returned with laden arms, he proceeded to take over her workbench, waving her over so he could explain how to create and administer what he referred to as his Augury Elixir.
“This’ll tell yeh what yeh need to know in hours,” Mot said once he was finished, offering a smug, brown-toothed grin as they peered down at the greenish concoction.
“That’s amazing,” Kiva said to the elderly man, inhaling the sweet, floral aroma. “Thanks, Mot.”
“Yeh just let me know if yeh need anythin’ else, luv,” he replied, handing over the ladle and stretching his hunched back, the resulting cracking sounds making Kiva cringe. “These old bones can’t keep up with the dead yeh keep sendin’ my way. Best yeh figure out what this illness is before it takes us all, eh?”
“That’s the plan,” Kiva told him, just as Tipp stepped back through the quarantine door, sealing it behind him. The look on his face meant Kiva knew what he was going to say before he spoke.
“We lost a-a-another one.”
Kiva sighed. “Who?”
“A woman from the w-workrooms. I think she repairs the g-guards’ uniforms.” Tipp’s throat bobbed and he amended, “Repaired.”
Mot ran a hand over his balding head. “I’ll send someone ’round to get ’er.” He exhaled loudly. “Almost feel like I should leave someone ’ere to keep draggin’ ’em over when they drop, since it’s ’appening so often now. Did yeh know Grendel’s been asked to stoke the second furnace? Rooke made the request ’imself, so ’e must think this is enough of an epidemic to plan for extra burnin’.”
The Warden had made the right move, Kiva thought, since the last thing they needed was for the bodies to pile up in the morgue, especially if the illness was infectious. Even if it wasn’t, the dead couldn’t lie around rotting as they waited for their turn to be cremated. Best to get them out of the way and lessen the risk of other diseases beginning to spread because of mass decaying flesh.
“Tipp, can you walk Mot back to the morgue, and then head to the rats’ nest Grendel mentioned? We’ll need more for my next samples, so catch as many as you can carry,” Kiva said, thinking the young boy could use some fresh air and time away from the near-constant cloud of death over the infirmary.
His blue eyes brightened at the idea of hunting for more vermin—something that Kiva couldn’t begin to understand the thrill of, but perhaps that was because she wasn’t an eleven-year-old boy.
To Mot, Kiva gestured to the elixir and said, “Do I just mix this into their food?”
“Yeh can do that, sure, or in their water,” he said. “Or yeh can just shove it down their throats with a dropper.”