Page 53 of The Prison Healer

Her curiosity was piqued, but she had no skill in reading lips, so she sighed and leaned against the nearest stall door, petting the face of a damp-looking horse when it poked its head out to investigate. Given the wet mud tangled in its mane, she assumed it had arrived recently, the rider perhaps a messenger delivering one of the numerous royal missives that were inconveniencing the Warden of late. That would certainly explain the dark look on his face as he spoke with Naari, who appeared nearly bored in return, her arms crossed over her chest.

Casting her gaze out, Kiva took in the other horses already stabled, and the empty, waiting stalls between them. Perpendicular to where she stood was a lone carriage that she recognized as belonging to the Warden, having seen him use it to come and go from Zalindov, if infrequently. Rooke rarely left the prison—just as a king rarely left his kingdom.

“Psst.”

Kiva looked away from the carriage and frowned at the horse that was now butting her shoulder.

“Psst,Kiva. Down here.”

Her eyes widened as she peeked over the stall door and found the stablemaster, Raz, crouching near the horse’s front leg. The middle-aged man held a brush in his hand and was covered in fine hair, indicating that he’d been grooming the creature upon their arrival and had chosen to stay out of sight.

Kiva didn’t know Raz well. In fact, she was careful to avoid him, since any interaction between them could end in either of their deaths. For Kiva, it was a risk she was willing to take, given the reward. But Raz wasn’t a prisoner, nor was he a guard, and while he had been employed by Zalindov since long before she’d ever arrived, he had a lot more to lose than she did.

Raz was Kiva’s link to the outside world. Ten years ago, his pregnant wife had visited him during the day and gone into early labor. If not for Kiva’s father, they would have lost both the baby and the mother. In thanks, Raz had offered to sneak a message out and send it on, knowing how tight the channels of communication to and from Zalindov were.

Faran Meridan had been clever. He’d known better than to risk prying eyes, so he’d used a substitution code Kiva and her siblings had invented for fun, one that everyone in their family could interpret with little effort. And so had begun their discourse, with Raz offering to continue his services for Kiva.

Despite Raz’s kindness, it was challenging for Faran and, later, Kiva to get letters out of the prison. Only a handful of times had it been worth the risk of seeking out Raz, especially with him being in the stables—outside the limestone walls. Just twice had Kiva managed to send her own messages through him, the first time with three words:Father is dead;the second with five:I’m the new prison healer.

The letters from her family were more frequent, though not enough for Kiva’s liking. Even so, Raz was always cautious about how he sneaked them through the walls, slipping them into the clothes of new arrivals when he helped the guards pull them from the prison wagons, knowing they would then be sent to the infirmary and made to disrobe. It was dangerous, but so far, no one had discovered their ploy. Probably because they didn’t take risks—unlike now. Kiva had no idea why Raz was drawing her attention, especially with Rooke and Naari mere footsteps away.

“I have something for you,” Raz said, barely audible over the continuing rain.

Kiva was careful not to make any sudden moves as Raz drew a mud-streaked note from his coat and raised it toward her.

Glancing quickly at the Warden and Naari, only when Kiva was certain they were still talking heatedly did she duck under the horse’s head until it partially shielded her, before reaching over the stall for Raz’s offering.

Heart pounding, she read the code penned in her sister’s familiar scrawl, excited for what it might say, hopeful for any news of a rescue. But then the words processed.

Don’t let her die.

We are coming.

The message was exactly the same as the last one.

Exactlythe same.

Tears of anger prickled Kiva’s eyes. She balled the note in her fist, overcome with a mixture of fury and despair. But then recklessness took hold and she flattened the parchment again, dragging her hand through the muddy tangles in the horse’s mane and pressing her pointer finger to the space beneath her sister’s writing.

“What’re you doing?” Raz hissed urgently.

Kiva said nothing, only looked quickly at Rooke and Naari again, before silently begging the horse not to move, keeping a barrier between them.

Frantically, Kiva scrawled out her own muddied code, symbol after symbol, the longest she’d ever written.

She’s sick.

I’m her Champion in Trial by Ordeal.

Need rescue—when???

Quickly, quickly, she folded the muddy, shorthand note and thrust it back down to Raz.

“Kiva, I can’t—”

“Please,” Kiva whispered, her lips barely moving since Rooke and Naari had finally stopped speaking and were striding back toward her. Even the rain had eased up, as if it had offered all the help it could and now it was done.“Please.”

A resigned sigh was Raz’s only answer, but the sound filled Kiva with relief. He would take the note back to Vaskin with him; he’d send it on to her family. And then—thenshe would finally get some answers.

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