The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(73)
Or at least, everyone but Kiva was safe.
“Follow me,” the Warden ordered, turning on his heel and striding through the stone door into the darkened building beyond.
Naari grabbed Kiva’s arm and ushered her forward. To the onlookers, her actions would appear pushy. What they didn’t see was how gentle her touch was and the encouraging squeeze of her fingers, a silent assurance that everything would be all right.
The kindness almost brought tears to Kiva’s eyes, and she wondered if this would be the last human contact she ever felt, if things didn’t go as planned. Mot’s waxy mixture would be almost useless in what she was about to face, meaning that Princess Mirryn’s amulet was all Kiva had. If it didn’t work . . .
Stop, Kiva told herself. She couldn’t allow herself to doubt, not when so much was at stake.
She would survive.
She would survive.
Passing the last of the prisoners, Kiva kept her eyes downcast, unwilling to risk spotting Tipp or Jaren in the crowd. She needed to remember their confidence, not see their pale, anxious faces. She also sought to avoid the pitying looks from inmates she’d treated over the years, as if they believed this was the last they’d see of her . . . as if they knew she was walking to her death.
“Focus, Kiva,” Naari murmured. “Forget everyone and everything.”
Kiva inhaled deeply and then exhaled again, just as they approached the large doorway. She stole a final glance upward before stepping inside, noting that only one of the chimneys was smoking, while the other—belonging to the second furnace—was still and silent. Waiting, it seemed, for Kiva.
With her heart pounding in her ears, Kiva relied on Naari’s touch to steady her as they entered the stone building, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the darker space within. Luminium beacons were affixed to the walls, lighting the room enough for Kiva to soon take in the empty antechamber. She’d been in here before, only a handful of times throughout the years, but never with such dread pooling in her stomach.
“For the Trial by Fire, as noted in the Book of the Law, you’re to face an elemental task involving flames,” Warden Rooke said, his hands clasped behind his back.
Bones leaned against the wall near him, looking bored, while the three other guards were more alert, as if waiting for Kiva to snap and attack them all. Grendel and Naari stood like sentinels, the former still holding herself as if she’d rather be anywhere else and the latter continuing to offer silent support.
“The crematorium keeper has been gracious enough to help prepare your task,” Rooke went on, tipping his head toward Grendel. “Perhaps it’s best if she explains what you’re to do.”
Grendel’s neck jerked upward as she turned frightened eyes first to Rooke and then, at his pointed nod, to Kiva. The woman licked her scarred lips, and said in a rasping voice, her throat having been damaged beyond repair when she’d received her wounds, “I’ve cleared out the second furnace for you. It’s— It’s ready to be lit once you’re . . . in there.”
Kiva swayed, and only Naari’s tightening grip kept her from falling.
When Grendel said no more, Rooke made an impatient sound and continued for her. “As you know, Zalindov’s fires are built for mass cremation, turning bodies to ash within two to three hours. But it takes less than five minutes before the flames penetrate through flesh and into organs and bones. We’ve taken all this into account, and have decided to be generous with your Trial. We’ll turn off the furnace after ten minutes, and if you’re still alive, we’ll consider you to have passed this Ordeal.”
That was what he considered generous?
Naari’s grip turned bruising, and Kiva realized it was because she was beginning to audibly hyperventilate, and the guard was wordlessly telling her to get ahold of herself. That was difficult when stars were dotting her vision and panic was clutching at her chest, her body going into survival mode without the Trial having even begun.
A jab of Naari’s fingernails had Kiva wincing, the quick hint of pain giving her something to focus on, something to pull her back from her freefalling mind.
“Do you understand your task?” Warden Rooke asked, his dark eyes fixed on hers. As before, there was no emotion on his face, as if he had no preference whether she lived or died. Either way, she was an inconvenience.
Another prick of Naari’s fingernails, and Kiva managed to croak out, “Yes.”
“Good,” said Rooke. “Then follow me.”
Kiva wasn’t sure if she’d be able to move another step. She couldn’t feel her legs, her body numb. Maybe that was for the best if Mirryn’s amulet didn’t work, if Mot’s mixture offered no protection. She didn’t want to feel the lick of flames tearing at her flesh, her skin beginning to peel away, bubbling and melting from her bones, her—
“Kiva,” Naari hissed, her nails digging in much harder this time, enough for Kiva to lurch forward after Rooke and his entourage.
Kiva sent a grateful look at Naari, who she was aware must be able to feel her entire body quaking against hers. The guard looked back with such a confident, reassuring expression that Kiva was able to draw a full breath into her lungs. Naari wouldn’t be offering comfort if she didn’t believe Kiva could survive.
Placing one foot in front of the other and thinking of nothing but the crest dangling from her neck and the wax coating her skin, Kiva shuffled after the Warden, noting that Grendel looked as traumatized by all of this as Kiva felt.