The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(63)
Blinking back tears, Kiva refocused on Tilda, not allowing her mind to wander any further.
“I don’t know many stories. But—” She paused, bit her lip, then went on, “My father used to tell me one when we first arrived here, repeating it over and over again. The story of how he met my mother.” Kiva wasn’t sure if she could do this, not while the memories of her family were so fresh, so painful. But she also needed this—she needed the distraction. So she made herself continue, “He’d whisper it to me at night when I couldn’t sleep, and it would chase away the sounds of the other prisoners and the barking of the dogs and the noises of the guards. Do you want to hear it?”
Tilda remained silent, and since Kiva was beginning to tremble at what was coming the next day, she decided that she might as well tell the story, if only for her own sake. Once upon a time, it had helped bring her peace; perhaps it would now, too.
Closing her eyes, Kiva continued to hold Tilda’s hand as she recited, “My father was raised down south in Fellarion, while my mother was born in Lamont, way up in the north, close to the border of Mirraven. They were so far from each other that there was no reason why they ever should have met. Papa used to say it was fate that brought them together, or destiny, or—when he was feeling poetic—the alignment of the stars.” Kiva smiled, even as she used her free hand to wipe a tear from her eye. “But it was chance more than anything, since they both happened to be in Vallenia for the celebration of King Stellan and Queen Ariana’s nuptials. Papa was an apprentice healer at the time, and he couldn’t resist sneaking away to visit the most renowned apothecary in the capital. Unbeknownst to him, the store was a hot spot for thieves and pickpockets. Before Papa knew what was happening, his purse had been cut, and suddenly he was chasing the perpetrator down the streets of Vallenia, only to corner her in an alleyway and demand the return of his gold.”
Kiva continued smiling as the story played out in her mind. “That was when the thief turned around and lowered her hood, and Papa saw her properly for the first time.” Her smile widened. “He said it was love at first sight—at least on his part. I never got to ask Mama what she thought.” A lump rose in Kiva’s throat, and she held Tilda’s hand tighter, as if doing so could ease the pain inside her.
In a husky voice, Kiva went on, “Papa was so love-struck that he stood there gaping like a fool, and Mama was smart enough to take advantage. She’d been living in Vallenia for a couple of years at that point, having run away from her family in Lamont after—” Kiva halted when she realized she was getting off track, and started again. “She’d been in the capital for long enough to know those streets well, so it was easy for her to get past my dullard father, then disappear into the crowd. Papa was devastated—not for his coin purse, but for the greater treasure he was certain he’d just let slip through his fingers.”
Kiva was smiling once again as she continued, “He searched for her, and asked everyone he could think of, but none of his reputable acquaintances knew how to find a thief. So in an act of desperation, Papa headed to the docks in the dead of night, aware that it was a hive for criminal activity, especially after dark.” She shook her head. “As an affluent young man who was clearly visiting from out of town and wandering around in a bad neighborhood, he was asking for trouble. Sure enough, he was attacked and left for dead. But luckily for him, my mother had been watching from a distance after stealing his gold, waiting for him to replenish his coin, since he’d already proved to be such an easy mark. Instead of stealing more from him, she ended up saving his life.”
Sobering, Kiva said, “I wish I could say they lived happily ever after. They did, for a time. Very happily.” Her voice turned croaky again. “But things happen in life that you don’t expect, that you can’t plan for and you’re helpless to stop. Their story didn’t end as it should have. But I know for a fact that they’d live it all over again, even the ending, as long as it meant they could keep their beginning.”
But, Papa, the endings are the best part.
Sometimes, sweetheart. But other times, the beginnings are.
Kiva released Tilda’s hand so she could use both of hers to wipe her cheeks. She didn’t know why she was hearing her father’s voice so much lately, why the memories were coming to her so often. It was both painful and soothing, like part of him was still with her, a reminder that she wasn’t alone.
“So,” Kiva said in an overbright tone, standing to her feet. “That’s how my mother and father met.” Looking down at the ill woman, she went on, “I hope that wherever your mind is right now, you can hear me. I hope that you dream about that story and the love they shared, and I hope it reminds you that there are so many reasons for you to fight whatever ails you, but the biggest one is that there are people out here who love you and need you to wake up. People who you love in return. So if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for them.” Kiva leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, “Fight, Tilda. You’re stronger than this. And they’re coming for you.”
Then she straightened and walked back over to her workbench to clean up the mess she and Mot had made, ready to dose the rats with the elixir and begin mentally preparing for the next day. Her father’s story had done what she’d needed—brought peace to her soul. And her words to Tilda were just as much to herself.