The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(80)
Kiva didn’t know what to say, wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to respond, feared she’d utter the wrong thing.
But she didn’t need to speak at all, because Jaren broke their contact to reach for the blanket, pulling it back over her, tucking it in at the sides until she was wrapped up like a cocoon. He then took her hand and threaded his fingers with hers before laying them on her blanketed leg, right over her scars, as he said, “You need to rest.” He squeezed her hand and promised, “I’ll keep an eye on Tilda and the quarantined patients until Tipp gets here. You just let the medicine work and sleep off everything that happened today. All right?”
His tender actions and generosity caused Kiva’s still-sore throat to tighten, keeping her from replying verbally. But she nodded, and summoned the boldness to squeeze his fingers in return.
Jaren smiled at her, his entire face filling with open affection, and that was the image she held on to as she closed her eyes and finally allowed her body to relax after the trauma of her day. She feared the Ordeal would replay across her mind, keeping her awake, reminding her of the fiery tempest that she’d barely survived, but no—Jaren’s smile didn’t leave her. Nor did Jaren himself, since she was aware of him moving quietly around the infirmary, checking on Tilda and then entering the quarantine room, just as he’d promised.
Unable to keep in her own smile, Kiva snuggled deeper into her cocoon.
Seconds later, she was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kiva spent the rest of Saturday and the entirety of Sunday in bed, following orders from Mot, Tipp, Jaren, and Naari. By the time Monday rolled around, she was going stir crazy. Her desperation to continue researching the stomach sickness—the illness her father died from—had her up at the crack of dawn, waiting anxiously for her escort’s arrival.
Naari took her sweet time, and when she finally appeared at the entrance to the infirmary, Kiva shot out the door.
“Come on, come on, we have so much to do,” she said as she began walking briskly toward the front gates.
Naari chuckled. “Someone’s been cooped up for too long.”
“It was unnecessary,” Kiva said, sidestepping to avoid a puddle on the gravel. “I was perfectly fine yesterday.”
The guard’s reply was dry. “Yes, you were the picture of health when you got out of bed and fell flat on your face.”
“I was fine after that.”
“Admit it, you just wanted Jaren’s arms around you again.”
Kiva’s head whipped around so fast that she stumbled on the path. Sending a glare to the grinning Naari, she said, “That’s not what happened.”
“I was there,” the guard said, her grin widening. “He was very quick to catch you—and very slow to release you.”
Kiva grated her teeth together. “I think we should go back to walking in silence.”
Naari laughed, genuine amusement flooding her features. “Too late, healer. You’re not afraid of me anymore. That ship has sailed.”
“I was never afraid of you,” Kiva lied.
Naari snorted her disbelief.
“You’re a guard,” Kiva conceded, throwing her hands out to the sides. “You’re meant to incite some level of intimidation. That’s the whole point of your job.”
“Guess I just wasn’t born to work in a place like Zalindov,” Naari mused.
The words prompted an icy feeling to spread throughout Kiva. Naari had already been at the prison much longer than most of the other female guards over the years. And while Kiva had acknowledged that her limb difference would make it harder for her to get a protective role elsewhere, that didn’t mean it was impossible. But the idea of her leaving . . .
“At least you wouldn’t have to worry about catching your death somewhere else,” Kiva made herself say, ignoring the dread filling her. “I’m surprised you didn’t ride the first wagon out of here once we realized the sickness was spreading.”
Naari made a pensive sound, but then said, “I’ve never been one to leave when things get tough.” She lifted her prosthetic hand and wiggled her fingers at Kiva. “What kind of person would that make me?”
Kiva didn’t respond, though she did feel as if a weight had lifted off her chest. At the same time, she was alarmed, since the fact that she feared Naari leaving meant she’d grown closer to the guard than was wise. But she also had no idea how to reverse that, how to put a stopper in the friendship that had somehow formed between them. Worse, she didn’t know if she wanted to. And therein lay the real danger.
It wasn’t surprising that, in her desperation to believe her family was coming for her, she’d latched on to another source of comfort, of familiarity. Her family—and the rebels—had let her down by not arriving before the second Trial. That didn’t mean they weren’t still out there, strategizing another plan to free both Kiva and Tilda, but Kiva couldn’t ignore the resentment brewing within her, the sense of abandonment that had been creeping in for ten years. She still loved her family, of course she did. But she couldn’t deny how disappointed she felt—and had felt, for a decade. Her growing relationship with Naari had helped to cover that, to stifle it deep down.
. . . And her growing relationship with Jaren, too.