The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(78)

“Hush, child,” Mot interrupted him. “Let Kiva rest awhile. Why don’t yeh come help me for the afte’noon, and yeh can check in on ’er later tonight?”

“But—”

“It’s all right, Tipp,” Jaren said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Kiva’s eyes were closing of their own accord, but she still heard Tipp say, “P-Promise?”

“I promise.”

Kiva wasn’t sure what happened next, since she began to float in and out of consciousness. She was aware of Tipp and Mot leaving once they reached the morgue, after which she heard Naari and Jaren whispering to each other as they continued on to the infirmary. She only caught snatches of their conversation, but from what she could follow in her semi-lucid state, Naari was talking about the amulet she’d taken from Kiva, likely filling? Jaren in on how it had been imbued with the princess’s—no, the prince’s—fire magic, and that it had saved her life.

The next thing Kiva knew, she was in the infirmary, lying on the bed she’d awoken in after the last Ordeal. But instead of Mirryn being by her side, this time it was Jaren.

“How long was I out?” she croaked, her voice still sounding terrible.

“Only a few minutes. We just got here,” Jaren said, pointing to Naari, who was standing by the workbench and frowning down at the organized chaos. “We’re not sure what you need. Poppymilk?”

Kiva nodded, then shook her head, before weakly pushing aside the blanket that had been draped over her bare legs.

“No, no, stay in bed,” Jaren said, halting her hand. “You tell us, and we’ll get it for you.”

Kiva willed her brain to focus and rasped out a few names, being careful to mention specific dosages. Too much of the wrong combination, and she’d end up feeling worse than she already did.

After downing copious amounts of tallowfruit nectar for her lungs and throat, crown nettle for her headache and dizziness, yellownut for an energy boost, and a small dose of poppymilk for the rest of her lingering aches and pains, Kiva proceeded to swallow nearly an entire pail of fresh, cool water, before finally lying back in her bed, ready to sleep for the next thirteen years.

“Anything else?” Jaren asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to some aloeweed gel,” Kiva murmured, relieved that her voice didn’t sound—or feel—as painful. It was still hoarse, but nowhere near what it had been before the swift-acting tallowfruit nectar.

She heard Jaren leave her bedside, then the tinkering of objects being moved on the workbench, before his footsteps returned to her again. Her eyes were still closed until she felt him take her arm in his hands, followed by the cool, soothing sensation of the aloeweed being rubbed gently into her flesh.

Kiva’s eyes shot open and she sat up. “I can do it.”

“Lie down, Kiva,” Jaren ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

“But—”

“Just close your eyes and rest,” he said firmly.

Kiva bit her lip, but the feeling of the gel on her skin was too good for her to object. She hadn’t suffered any burns, but she still felt the aftereffects of so much heat, as if the fire had burrowed deep into her bones and was trying to find a way out. The aloeweed soothed that feeling, and combined with Jaren’s long, tender strokes, Kiva soon found herself relaxing, almost entirely against her will.

He focused his ministrations on her hands and arms, careful not to let his fingers wander anywhere else, and she in turn was careful not to mention any other places that could use attention. Once he left, she could see to the rest of her body, especially since, as the other medicines began to kick in, she remembered that she was only wearing Naari’s short cloak and a light blanket. While all her important parts were covered, she was still much more vulnerable than she’d ever been around Jaren before. Other than, perhaps, last night. But even then, they’d both been fully clothed.

“Better?” he asked, finishing with her other arm and sitting back down beside her.

“Much,” she told him, again grateful not to be rasping. “Thank you.” She glanced around for Naari, wanting to thank her too for all her help, but the guard must have snuck away while Kiva was downing all her remedies.

“I have a question for you,” Jaren said, somewhat hesitantly.

Kiva looked back at him, noting his fiddling hands. He was nervous, though she couldn’t imagine why. She assumed he wanted to ask about the Ordeal, even if Naari had already filled him in on the amulet—which the guard hadn’t returned and Kiva doubted she would ever see again. The crest had done what she’d needed; she had no further use for it.

A lot had happened in the crematorium, most of which Naari didn’t know, since Kiva had been alone in the furnace. She shuddered and blocked out the memory, not yet ready to talk about it, even with Jaren. She was just about to tell him as much, but he continued speaking before she could.

“I don’t want you to think I was perving on you earlier,” Jaren began, but then he stopped.

Kiva’s eyebrows shot upward, since she hadn’t been expecting that opener. Her body tightened slightly with surprise, but then she relaxed again, remembering who she was with and how cautious he seemed. Plus, from the sound of it, he wasn’t going to ask about the Trial, and she was eager for any kind of distraction.

Seeking to assure him since she felt confident that, whatever he was about to say, he hadn’t been perving on her, Kiva joked, “If you don’t finish, I’m going to assume that’s exactly what you were doing.”