Page 12 of The Prison Healer

Jaren, however, didn’t seem overcome by emotion. Wary, perhaps. Uncertain, definitely. But ... he was also looking at her with curiosity, waiting patiently to see what she would say or do next.

Kiva made her decision.

“Whatever you were told about Zalindov before arriving here, forget it,” she said, turning to the left and doing her best to ignore the crunching of Naari’s feet trailing after them.

“I heard that it’s a death prison,” Jaren said. “That very few people ever make it out alive. That it’s full of murderers and rebels.”

Kiva only just refrained from shooting a look back at Naari to say that this wasexactlywhy she shouldn’t be doing orientation for new prisoners.

“Fine, yes, you should try to remember all of that,” she amended.

“Are you a murderer?” Jaren asked. “Or a rebel?”

Kiva’s mouth hitched up at the side, her amusement mocking more than anything else. “If you want to survive longer than the night, don’t ask anyone why they’re here. It’s rude.”

Jaren studied her thoughtfully, before his focus turned back to the gravel path. He drew his wounded hand in close to his stomach—the first sign he’d given that he was in any pain, though she doubted the carving was the worst of it.

“Don’t you want to know what I did?” he asked quietly.

“Something you need to know about Zalindov,” Kiva said, “is that who you were out there”—she pointed beyond the limestone walls—“means nothing in here. So, no. I don’t want to know what you did, because it doesn’t matter.”

She was lying to them both, but Jaren didn’t know her well enough to call her on it, and he let it drop.

Releasing a slow breath, Kiva came to a stop when they reached the next building along from the morgue. It, too, was made of darkened stone, the ground near the entrance dusted with ash. Two large chimneys poked out from the roof, one of which was lightly smoking.

“Zalindov’s two crematoriums,” Kiva said without feeling. “Most of the dead are brought here for burning to prevent the spread of disease.” She pointed to the non-smoking chimney. “The second is only used when the furnace in the first breaks down, or in cases of mass outbreaks and executions, when one isn’t enough on its own.”

Jaren’s brows rose. “Do those happen often?”

“Outbreaks? Sometimes.”

“No.” His gaze was on the smoke rising lazily into the air. “Executions.”

Kiva didn’t dare glance at Naari as she answered, “Every day.”

Jaren’s face was shuttered when he turned back to her. “And how often en masse?”

“Not as common, but not unheard of, either,” she shared, almost relieved that he was asking these questions. He needed to know what his future could be if he put one toe out of line.

He examined her face, and she let him, hoping he could read how serious she was, how much peril they were all in, every moment of every day.

Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly when the action jolted his head. “I see.”

And she believed him. There was a furrow between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before, a shadow over his features, a new weight upon his shoulders.

Maybe he would survive, after all.

... At least until his body could no longer stand whatever work was in store for him.

“Come on, there’s more to see,” Kiva said, heading toward the center of the grounds.

They moved from gravel to a mixture of dead grass and dirt as she thought about how best to give Jaren some bearings.

“Zalindov is shaped like a hexagon,” she said as they continued walking. “Six outer walls thick enough to be patrolled from the top, with fully manned watchtowers at each of the six corners.” She waved toward the ones they could see from their position, then indicated beyond them. “Given your state when you arrived, I’m guessing you were unconscious for the last part of your journey?” At his confirmation, she went on, “Then you missed the real welcome into Zalindov. Before the iron entrance gates, before the farms and the quarries and the lumberyard and everything else outside of the immediate walls, there’s another perimeter fence, with eight more watchtowers. There’s also a constant patrol of guards. And dogs.” She made sure he was paying attention when she warned, “Don’t bother trying to escape. No prisoner has ever made it past the perimeter fence alive.”

Jaren didn’t reply. It seemed he was finally beginning to comprehend the reality of Zalindov. The color that had steadily returned to his face was fading again, though that could also be because of his increasing pain. Kiva had no idea how long the concoction she’d given him would last. He likely wouldn’t be standing for much longer.

“Inside the walls, there are four extra freestanding watchtowers,” Kiva said as they approached one of them, a daunting stone building shaped like a tall rectangle rising into the sky, the top section opening out onto a wraparound platform. From her position, she could see two guards walking along it, and she knew more were inside. “Together with the six wall towers, they offer a bird’s-eye view over the entire inner compound. Someone is always watching—never forget that.”

---