The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(89)

Tipp sighed and said, “I w-won’t leave the infirmary, I promise. Not even if there’s a f-fire.”

Kiva frowned. “Please do leave if there’s a fire.”

“Fine, b-but aside from that, I won’t move. I’ll keep B-Boots away from the rats, and I’ll m-make sure Tilda eats something. I’ll even t-try and get Nergal to d-do some work.”

The man in question made a harrumph sound and proceeded to clean his fingernails, while Olisha sniggered at his side.

“How about you take a nap,” Kiva suggested instead. “Sleep is good for you.”

“I’ve b-been sleeping for days,” Tipp complained. “I’m all b-better, Kiva.” He held his hands out to the sides. “Fit as a f-f-fiddle.”

It was true that Tipp had made an amazing recovery, to the point that it was almost impossible to believe that she’d feared he was on his deathbed only a few days earlier. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t struggling with the all-consuming terror she’d experienced at the thought of losing him.

“If you feel even the slightest bit unwell—”

“I’ll have someone c-come and get you,” Tipp said, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know.”

Kiva ignored the eye roll and stepped closer, pulling him into a tight hug. He froze in her arms, before his hands came around her and he hugged her back.

“This is n-nice,” he said, his words muffled by her tunic. “We should d-do this more often.”

Kiva laughed and pushed him away, pointing a finger toward the bed he’d used since falling ill. “Rest. I mean it.”

He rolled his eyes a second time, but he trudged obediently to the bed and sat down. How long he’d stay there, Kiva didn’t know, but she trusted that he wouldn’t break his word and leave the infirmary while she was gone.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Kiva told Olisha and Nergal, the former nodding in reply and the latter giving an uncaring lift of his shoulders.

Kiva hurried over to where Naari was waiting at the door, following the guard out into the crisp morning and toward the center of the prison grounds.

“You’re testing the water today?” Naari asked.

“That’s really all that’s left,” Kiva said. “That, and the tunnels.”

“We’re heading there as well?”

Kiva nodded. “Everything left is underground, so we might as well check a few of the passageways straight after the aquifer and the pumping station. Then we’ll be done.”

“Done?” Naari repeated. “As in, done-done?”

“Unless you can think of somewhere else that should be tested,” Kiva said, “then yes, done-done.”

Neither of them said what they were both thinking—that everything was riding on today’s samples. If the rats didn’t show any symptoms by tomorrow, then her attempt at finding the origin of the illness would have failed.

“Don’t think about it,” Naari said, reading Kiva’s mind. “Water can host all kinds of bacteria. I’m sure you’ll find something today.”

Kiva appreciated her confidence, and was about to say as much, when an angry voice yelled her name. They were halfway across the open space between the infirmary and the domed building at the center of the prison, where the ground was muddy, the grass patchy and mostly dead. There was little else nearby, the closest building being a watchtower, which was why Kiva was surprised to turn and see Cresta marching in their direction, the woman’s hands clenched into fists by her sides.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Kiva’s brows rose. “Excuse me?”

Cresta came to a stop in front of Kiva, pointing a finger straight at her face. Naari edged closer, but didn’t interfere.

“My friends are sick and dying,” Cresta said, moving her finger back toward the infirmary. “And you’re out here doing—what? What’re you doing, healer? ’Cause you damn well aren’t making them any better.”

At first, Kiva was relieved, having feared Cresta had approached to remind her that Tilda needed to stay alive, and Tipp’s life would be forfeited if Kiva failed tomorrow’s task. Never mind that Kiva’s life would also be forfeited. They were all linked now; Cresta had no need to continue threatening her. But then Kiva processed what the irate woman had said, and a heavy feeling hit her stomach. This wasn’t about protecting the Rebel Queen at all. This was about something beyond one person, beyond any of them, rebels included.

“Cresta . . .”

“Don’t you ‘Cresta’ me,” the young woman spat, her expression so livid that her serpent tattoo looked like it would rise out of her face and strike at Kiva. “You want to know what just happened? Tykon dropped like a slab of luminium halfway to the quarry, couldn’t get up again. Shaking, puking everywhere. Harlow let me drag him back, but only so he could follow and stare at my ass the whole way, the perverted fu—”

“Where’s Tykon now?” Kiva interrupted, cringing at the thought of the repugnant quarry master.

Cresta pointed toward the infirmary again. “He’s where you should be. But you’re not. Because you’re here.” She slammed her finger toward the earth, silently demanding an answer.