The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(87)

Tear after tear fell from Kiva, all her fear and sorrow flooding out of her, until finally her sobbing eased, giving way to exhaustion.

In a rasping whisper of a voice, her words full of anguish, Kiva repeated, “I can’t lose him, Jaren.”

“I know,” he whispered back, still holding her close, his arms curled tightly around her.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him, meeting his concerned blue-gold gaze.

“You don’t know,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t lose him.”

Jaren reached for her face, gently wiping away her tears. “Sweetheart, I know.”

“He’s like a brother to me,” she said, unable to keep from acknowledging the truth, the depth of care she had for the young boy. “I can’t—” She broke off in another sob, but then caught hold of herself, breathing deeply. “I can’t lose another brother. I just can’t.”

And that’s when it came pouring out of her, the story of how Kerrin had been killed trying to keep their father from being arrested, how Kiva had been swept away to Zalindov with Faran, only to lose him less than a year later. The whole time she spoke, Jaren held her against his chest, embracing her in his solid, comforting warmth.

When, finally, the last of her tears fell and the tension left her body, she didn’t have it in her to feel embarrassed, not on top of every other emotion she was dealing with. She did, however, manage to step out of Jaren’s arms and whisper, “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Never apologize for loving someone. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

Kiva inhaled deeply in an effort to keep the tears from starting all over again. Enough crying. As long as there was breath in Tipp’s body, she would not give up on him. He was young, he was healthy. If anyone could survive this, it was him. He had to survive this.

“We should get back in there,” she said, pointing to the infirmary. “I just . . . I just needed a minute.” She made herself meet Jaren’s eyes. “Thank you. For being here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kiva,” he said softly. “You’re not in this alone. Any of it.”

She swallowed and nodded, unable to offer a verbal response, but still trying to convey how grateful she was to have him by her side.

“Come on, let’s go make sure Naari hasn’t accidentally set the rats free,” Jaren said, taking Kiva’s hand and leading her back along the path. “The last thing we need is for Tipp to wake up and start chasing them all around the infirmary.”

A small laugh left Kiva, slightly hollow but still genuine. She clung to his offer of levity, pushing away her fear, her grief, and shared, “He had a chest infection about two years ago, and I swear he was the worst patient I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t keep him in his bed—he always had something he needed to do, somewhere he had to be. I nearly had to strap him down just to get him to go to sleep.” She smiled softly at the memory. “If we’d had the rats then, he would have been a nightmare, wanting to play with them all the time. I’d have had no chance at keeping him under control.”

Jaren chuckled. “Just you wait, then. If that’s the kind of fighting spirit he has, I’m sure he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

It was an empty promise, but it was exactly what Kiva needed to hear as they reached the doorway to the infirmary and she prepared herself for what might come over the next few hours.

“You ready?” Jaren asked, squeezing her fingers.

“No,” Kiva said truthfully. “But I want to be with him.”

And so they reentered the infirmary together, and Kiva spent the rest of the day watching over Tipp, willing him to fight, willing him to live.

Hours passed as the shadows shifted across the room, until suddenly it was night again. Kiva wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned that Tipp hadn’t awoken since that morning. She remained in a vigil beside him, leaving only for brief periods to check on Tilda and her other patients. Seven more were admitted into her care, and nine more passed away, the numbers continuing to grow every day. When Mot came to collect the dead, he didn’t ask any questions of Kiva, with Naari and Jaren having already filled him in. He did stand behind her for a while, though, offering silent companionship as they looked down at the small boy, counting his breaths.

“He’s strong, luv,” Mot said, his hand steady on her shoulder. “If anyone can pull through, it’s our Tipp.”

Kiva only nodded, then listened as Mot’s footsteps faded along with the morgue workers he’d brought to carry the bodies away. She didn’t allow herself to wonder how long it would be before they came for Tipp . . . or how she would cope when that moment arrived.



* * *





It was just before midnight when Tipp stirred again.

Kiva was in the middle of brewing herself some yellownut tea, desperate for an energy boost since she was barely able to keep her eyes open. Naari and Jaren were slumped on stools, leaning against the worktable, both of them looking as tired as she felt. But still, they were with her, holding true to Jaren’s promise that she wouldn’t be alone.

“Is it m-morning?”

Kiva looked over to find Tipp pushing himself up in bed. She lowered her infuser and rushed to his bedside, Naari and Jaren right on her heels.