The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(68)

The song of lament was still playing, the chorus echoing in the wake of Kiva’s declaration.

“My love, my love, I’ll wait for you, until we meet at last in the everworld.”

“What do you mean, dead?” Bones demanded.

Kiva’s voice was flat as she replied, “Dead, as in lifeless.”

“I know what dead means, you little—”

“What’s going on in here?”

Kiva could have fainted with relief at the sound of Naari’s voice, and she turned to find her standing at the entrance to the room, her eyes narrowed as she took in the space.

“What’s it look like?” slurred an unknown guard in the back, stroking the arm of the giggling woman wrapped around him. “We’re having a party. You should join us, Arell. Let down your hair.” He hiccuped a laugh and pointed to Naari’s cropped locks. “Oh, wait, you don’t have enough.”

There was nothing even remotely funny about what the slurring guard had said. Or what he was doing.

“Healer, you’re needed in the infirmary,” Naari said, her eyes flashing with anger, though Kiva knew it wasn’t directed at her.

“Now, wait a minute,” Bones said, reaching out and grabbing Kiva’s forearm. His grip was so tight that she winced, aware that it would take only a little more pressure for him to snap her wrist.

A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, and she froze to the spot, barely breathing.

“We’ve just lost one of our girls,” Bones told Naari, jerking his chin to the overdose victim. “We need someone to replace her.”

Kiva’s insides plummeted to her knees.

“The healer is needed in the infirmary,” Naari repeated, her voice firm. She didn’t move from the entrance, but the air in the room changed, a charged feeling emanating from where she stood. A warning, a threat, and a promise.

“The healer can go to the infirmary,” Bones said. He tightened his grip enough that Kiva felt her bones grind together and had to hold back a whimper. “But she can go after.”

“Then you can explain to the Warden why he has to wait.”

It was as if Naari had performed magic, her words prompting Bones to release Kiva fast enough that she stumbled.

“Why didn’t you say Rooke was waiting for her?” he said, disgruntled. To Kiva, he said, “Get out of here.”

She took one relieved step forward, but he reached for her again, grabbing her wrist and squeezing her already-bruised flesh as he leaned in and whispered, “Tell the Warden about this and, his little pet or not, next time we throw a party, you’ll be right back here. But it won’t be as a healer—you’ll be here for round four. And round five. And round six.” He squeezed harder. “Understood?”

Kiva nodded, all of her energy focused on not letting tears of pain and fear flood her eyes.

“That’s a good little healer,” Bones crooned, finally releasing her and giving her a nudge between her shoulders, propelling her forward. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Kiva walked on shaking legs toward Naari, who reached for her but stopped when Kiva visibly recoiled.

Naari’s hand fell in the air, her eyes filled with enough concern that Kiva couldn’t look at her, lest she lose control of everything she was trying desperately to keep from pouring out.

She’s too busy spreadin’ her legs for the guards, ain’t she? Havin’ too much fun to be bothered keepin’ the rest of us alive, am I right?

Zalindov’s Bitch.

The Princess of Death.

The Healer Whore.

Kiva had chosen this life. She’d chosen to be obedient to the Warden, to let the guards order her around and treat her as they saw fit, as long as it meant she would remain alive.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what she’d just faced, that she wasn’t traumatized by seeing the overdosed woman . . . by knowing that it just as easily could have been her.

Naari didn’t try to speak to Kiva as she led her not back to the infirmary, but straight to her cell block, and then inside.

Only when they stopped at her pallet did Kiva croak out, “But . . . the Warden?”

“I lied,” Naari said. “Rooke isn’t waiting for you.”

Kiva nearly broke down then and there, but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded, and whispered, “Thank you.”

“We’re not all like that,” Naari whispered back, her voice pained.

“I know,” Kiva said hoarsely.

And she did, because Naari was evidence that some guards were good. But what had just happened, what Kiva had just witnessed, what she’d nearly just experienced . . .

Kiva couldn’t get it out of her head, not even after Naari left and the cell block began to fill with people bunking down for the night.

Hours passed as she lay on her pallet, curled into a tight ball, trembling. The sounds faded as prisoners fell into exhausted sleep on either side of her, and Kiva knew she should join them, the time for her second Ordeal swiftly approaching. She needed her strength for what she might face the next day, especially given what she’d learned about the rebels’ failed rescue attempt. Unless they had another plan already in the works, then Kiva would be completing the Trial by Fire. She needed to rest, but . . . every time she closed her eyes, she saw the overdosed woman, the Butcher’s roaming hands, the angeldust glittering on them both. She heard Bones’s threat on repeat, along with the words from the men in the refectory: She’s too busy spreadin’ her legs for the guards, ain’t she?