The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(72)
Kiva might have felt some delight at his evident hangover if his words hadn’t been ringing in her ears. Even though she’d only moments ago resolved to save herself, to survive, that didn’t mean her fear wasn’t nearly crippling now that the time was upon her.
Irrationally, Kiva suddenly recalled a million things she needed to do. She should check on the quarantined patients again, she should give Tilda some more broth to keep her hydrated, she should see if the rats were showing any symptoms, she should—
“Calm down,” Naari whispered, stepping closer. “You can do this.”
Kiva desperately wanted to clutch the amulet to center herself, but she knew doing so would risk drawing attention to it. She settled for feeling the heavy weight of it hidden beneath her tunic against her breastbone, a solid reminder that she would not be facing the Trial alone. Naari was right. She could do this.
“Follow me, healer,” Bones ordered Kiva. He then turned on his heel and strode off across the grounds.
Kiva’s pulse hammered in her ears as she walked on leaden feet after him. She found some small comfort in Naari’s presence, the woman remaining at her side, offering quiet solidarity.
That comfort dissolved, however, when Bones turned north, rather than east; when she began to see prisoners milling much closer than they had two weeks ago, packed tightly together in a space that wasn’t intended for large gatherings, unlike the eastern quad where the gallows stood.
When Bones made another turn, Kiva realized why.
They weren’t heading toward the gallows.
They were heading to the crematorium.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kiva was certain she was going to throw up in front of everyone. Either that, or she was going to pass out. She wondered if she’d still have to face the Trial by Fire if she were unconscious. Would it matter, if the end result was to be the same? Surely there was no way Kiva could survive what was ahead, amulet or no.
She remembered what Mot had said just yesterday: Did yeh know Grendel’s been asked to stoke the second furnace? Rooke made the request ’imself . . .
Kiva hadn’t even questioned it, wholly believing that it must be in preparation for the rising numbers of dead. But now, as she approached the crematorium and tried to stave off the full-body shakes assailing her frame, she didn’t know whether it was good or bad that she hadn’t dwelled on Mot’s words, never once considering what they could have meant for her.
This was worse than a wooden pyre.
So much worse.
And just as Kiva had known, there was no sign of her family, no sign of the rebels.
She truly was on her own.
The prisoners parted like waves as Bones led Naari and Kiva toward the entrance of the stone building, where Warden Rooke stood with three other guards and Grendel. The crematorium worker was looking at the ground, holding both of her elbows and clearly wishing she was anywhere but the center of attention right now. Kiva wondered what was going through her head and if she, too, dreaded what was about to happen.
As a woman in her early thirties, Grendel had been sent to Zalindov for arson, so the guards had amused themselves by placing her in charge of the crematorium—but not before making sure to “welcome” her. Over half of Grendel’s body was covered in burn scars from what they’d done, and she’d only survived because Kiva had worked tirelessly day and night to keep her from death. She, like many prisoners, owed Kiva her life. And now it looked like she was about to be ordered to repay that debt by helping to kill her.
Warden Rooke stood tall and proud beside Grendel, his black leather uniform polished to perfection, as always. He showed no emotion as he beheld Kiva, his stance enough that she knew he’d meant what he’d said after her first Ordeal—she would find no help from him. Whatever supposed protection he’d afforded her in the last decade was now gone.
“Kiva Meridan,” Rooke said in a deep, carrying voice as she approached. “Today you will face your second Ordeal, the Trial by Fire. Do you have any last words?”
Prince Deverick had made the same offer to Kiva two weeks earlier, and just like then, she held her tongue—partly because she didn’t want to provoke the Warden, and partly because she didn’t want to vomit all over her own feet. Instead, she looked out at the crowd, feeling their energy. Some of the nearest prisoners sneered, their resentment toward her and the Trials palpable. Others were invigorated, as if the prospect of this Ordeal thrilled them, whatever the outcome might be. Finally, there were those who stared with wonder clear on their faces. If she could survive, they could survive. If she could go free, then maybe one day they could, too. She was their hope, their faith in a different, brighter future.
But Kiva was a long way from success. And she was reminded of this when she caught Cresta’s hazel stare, the rebel leader standing with her arms crossed, her expression all but screaming that Kiva had better survive. Or else.
“Very well,” Rooke said when she remained silent. To the amassed crowd, he said, “Given the nature of this task, you will not be bearing witness today. However, you’ll stay here until a verdict has been reached, and only then will you be released back to your work.”
Kiva felt a ripple of discontent from the prisoners, enough for her worry to expand beyond herself for a split second. This many inmates in one place was a recipe for disaster, the perfect breeding ground for a riot to break out. The guards would get the upper hand, they always did, but the casualties . . . Kiva swallowed and forced away her fears. There was more anticipation than anger, more excitement than outrage, indicating that, for now, they were safe.