The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(93)

So many questions, none of which she could ask while Tipp and Naari were present.

Approaching with courage she didn’t feel, Kiva stepped past the guard, who was looking down at the woman with a closed, distrustful expression, and stopped at Tipp’s shoulder.

“I hear someone’s feeling a little better,” Kiva said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

“She hasn’t r-r-really said anything,” Tipp shared. “Just a-asked where she was. And for some w-water.”

Kiva felt a pang of alarm, since the last time Tilda had been even remotely lucid, she’d known she was in Zalindov—until she hadn’t, forgetting just moments later. It was good that she wanted water, though. Everworld knew Kiva was having trouble keeping her hydrated.

“Kiiiivva,” the woman said. “Kiiiiiva.”

“That’s r-right,” Tipp said encouragingly, patting her hand. “This is Kiva—the p-prison healer. I told you a-about her, remember? Kiva M-Meridan. The best healer in all of W-Wenderall. She’s been looking a-after you.”

“Kiiiiiiiiiiva,” Tilda said, staring sightlessly in the direction of Tipp’s voice.

Kiva’s nails dug into her palms at the sound of her name coming from Tilda’s lips. Despite Olisha’s summons, the Rebel Queen didn’t seem wholly lucid at all. Or perhaps she was again having trouble with her speech, as she had the last time Kiva had tried speaking with her, weeks earlier.

“Have you given her any gumwort?” Kiva asked Tipp.

His eyes lit up and he released Tilda’s hand, jumping from his stool and hurrying over to the workbench to collect the sludgy brown paste. He then handed it to Kiva and she smeared some on Tilda’s tongue, waiting to see if it would afford her any clarity and relax her mouth.

“Kiva,” the Rebel Queen said after a few moments, no longer slurring the word, but still saying nothing else.

“She’s h-here,” Tipp said. “And N-Naari as well. I told you a-a-about her, too. She’s a g-guard, but she’s nice. You’ll l-like her.”

Tilda turned her face this way and that, as if trying to see them. Kiva again wondered how long she’d been without vision, whether it was a side effect of whatever ailed her, or if she’d lost her sight some time ago.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Kiva made herself ask, determined to remember that she was the healer and she had a job to do. “Headache, nausea, pain anywhere? You’ve been here for nearly six weeks, and I still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong. Anything you tell me could help.”

“The . . . Trials,” Tilda said. “Why haven’t . . . they come . . . for me?”

Kiva, Tipp, and Naari were all silent, none of them knowing what to say.

“Why . . . am I . . . still alive?”

Tipp shifted on his stool. Naari crossed, uncrossed, and crossed her arms again.

“I . . . should be . . . dead.”

Those four words tore something in Kiva. Not the statement of fact, but the emotion behind them. She remembered what Tilda had said during their previous conversation: Why keep me alive only so I can die?

Tears prickled behind Kiva’s nose as the thought hit her hard and true: it sounded like Tilda wanted to die. Like many who came to Zalindov, it sounded like she had nothing to live for, nothing to make her want to survive. But Kiva knew that wasn’t the case. As the Rebel Queen, she had a purpose, she had people looking up to her, she had a kingdom to reclaim. She should have been the last person in the world to want to die, not before fighting with everything she had to take back her family’s crown.

“Kiva . . . why?” Tilda asked, her words begging, as sweat began to glisten on her brow, the effort of this conversation costing her.

“Why, what?” Naari asked, speaking for the first time.

Kiva jumped, almost having forgotten the guard was monitoring them, watching closely.

“Why?” Tilda repeated, emotion threading her voice.

“I think she w-wants to know why she’s still here—still a-alive,” Tipp whispered, even though they already knew that was what she’d asked.

Kiva, however, wondered if Tilda sought a different answer, one that she couldn’t give her.

“I’m sorry,” Kiva said around the lump in her throat. “I’m not sure why you’re sick, but I’m doing everything I can to help you get better.” Including taking on Tilda’s sentence as her own, but Kiva didn’t plan to reveal that, and a quick warning look at both Tipp and Naari silenced them as well.

“That’s w-why you’re still alive,” said Tipp in an upbeat voice. “Because of K-Kiva. She’ll have you f-feeling like your old self in no time.”

A low moan left Tilda, the sound piercing straight to Kiva’s heart.

“Kiva,” the woman said, her voice trailing into a whisper. “Kiiiiva.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Naari asked quietly.

“She’s sick,” Kiva said, barely keeping from snapping.

A loaded pause from Naari, before she cautiously, almost gently, said, “I know she’s sick, Kiva. I meant, why does she keep saying your name like that?”

Kiva only shook her head, unable to say anything around her constricted throat.

“Tell me . . . the story,” Tilda said, closing her eyes and laying her head back.