Page 15 of The Prison Healer

“That’s another question you should never ask anyone here,” Kiva interrupted firmly. She was aware of Naari standing only a few paces away, silent and still.

Jaren looked like he was about to argue, but then he raised his good hand and ran it agitatedly through his hair, instead asking, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Kiva faced him dead-on. “There’s lots you should know, but the one thing you need to remember is this: here at Zalindov, the only person you can trust is yourself.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode back toward the infirmary, his orientation officially complete.

Chapter Six

“I hear one of the new arrivals survived,” Warden Rooke said, sipping amber liquid from a crystal tumbler. Standing tall and proud, he peered through his window atop the southern wall. While most of the guards had personal quarters within the barracks, the Warden lived high above them all. Watching—always watching. “Not his companions?”

Kiva shook her head, perched stiffly in his sitting room, barely an hour after leaving  Jaren with Naari outside their cell block. “Both dead.”

“Hmm,” Rooke murmured, swirling his liquor. With dark skin, cropped hair, and a short beard, he looked like many of the other burly guards. But it was his scar that set him apart, cutting above and below his right eye, like an interrupted diamond. That, and the authority that dripped off him, enhanced by his black leather uniform all the way down to his perfectly polished boots. “The survivor was covered in blood. Is he badly damaged?”

Careful, alwaysso damn carefulabout the information she shared, Kiva answered, “Nothing permanent.”

Warden Rooke smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. That’s good.”

Another able-bodied male. That was all that mattered to the Warden. Never mind that Zalindov was already bursting at the seams, even with the excessive mortality rate.

In the ten years Kiva had lived at the prison, she’d come to accept that the Warden wasn’t an evil man, but he was coldly pragmatic. And powerful—so very powerful, with a heavy burden of responsibility on his shoulders. His jurisdiction over Zalindov meant he answered not to one kingdom, but to all of them, since all of their condemned citizens were jailed under his watch. But while he did have to obey direct orders from the rulers of all eight territories, he was mostly left to his own devices, trusted to oversee the day-to-day management of the inmates and guards without supervision. How he did that was his business.

Kiva held little love for Warden Rooke. Her allegiance to him was a means for survival, nothing more. But even so, she knew that she and her fellow inmates could have done a lot worse. Rooke, at least, had a sense of morality, limited as it was. She didn’t want to imagine what might happen if the Butcher or Bones or any of the other more abusive guards were given the position of Warden. Nothing would be left but blood and ashes.

“Have you anything else to tell me tonight, Kiva?”

The Warden was watching her closely. He was smart, she knew. Too smart for her liking. He lived and worked among the worst kinds of people, and had long since learned how to read them. How to readher.

“The prisoners are unhappy,” she answered. “But you already know that.”

Rooke sighed, taking another sip of his drink. “There’s always trouble at this time of year. They’re hungry. Cold. Tired. There’s little I can do about any of that.”

Kiva disagreed, but she remained silent. More food rations, warmer clothes and blankets, shorter work hours—these were all things the Warden could change. But prisoners weren’tsupposedto be comfortable. None of them were in Zalindov for a holiday. They were there to work, and then to die.

“What about the rebels?” Rooke asked.

Kiva shifted in her seat, the Warden tracking her every move.

“Is Cresta still leading them?” he prompted.

Licking her lips, Kiva nodded slowly and said, “As far as I’m aware.”

Rooke’s eyes narrowed as he repeated, “As far as you’re aware?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “The rebels don’t like me. Especially Cresta.” Kiva couldn’t blame them. As Rooke’s informant—reluctant or not—she’d well earned their scorn. “They don’t keep me apprised of their leaders. Or their plans.”

That was about as close as Kiva ever dared to show any kind of backbone, but after years of these meetings with the Warden, she felt safer with him than any of the other guards. She had reason to, even if she knew her allegiance didn’t guarantee her safety.

The Warden rubbed his temple. “Kiva, you know I respect you. Care for you, even. You’ve proved your skills as a healer time and time again, and you’ve earned my regard through your years of service. Because of that, I must warn you.”

Kiva braced herself.

“The day is coming when I’m going to need more from you,” Rooke continued. “The rebels within the prison are becoming a problem. I can only assume it’s because their movement outside is advancing, with rebel numbers growing every day as that queen of theirs leads them to slaughter. The fools.” Rooke shook his head, as if pitying them.

Kiva’s heart rate doubled. Any mention of the outside world had her aching for more. In the last decade she’d only managed to hear snippets of what was happening beyond Zalindov’s walls. When she’d first arrived at the prison, the rebel movement had been little more than a group of impassioned nomads searching for their long-lost queen, whispering about how she had a legitimate claim to the throne of Evalon—treasonous words with grave consequences for those caught by the Royal Guard. It was only after Kiva’s imprisonment that she heard their queen had come out of hiding and was now leading their cause, seeking one thing: vengeance. Not justice, not a chance to debate why the crown belonged to her. No, the Rebel Queen wanted revenge for all that had been taken from her. For all that she’d lost. For the kingdom and its power that should have been hers at birth.

From what Kiva had gleaned over the last few years, the Rebel Queen was slowly—very slowly—beginning to take ground.

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