Page 60 of The Prison Healer

Kiva already knew that much. Cresta was notorious for stirring up trouble and then letting others finish her dirty work, scrambling away before seeing any consequences herself. It was a miracle that Jaren and whomever he’d ended up in a fistfight with hadn’t been dragged away by the guards and sent to the Abyss for punishment. Or the gallows.

“You’re such a fool,” Kiva hissed, stomping the rest of the way over to him. It took all of her healer training to keep her fingers gentle as she applied aloeweed gel to his bruised eye, being extra careful around the parts that were already beginning to swell.

“Is that the thanks I get for defending your honor?” Jaren shot back, sounding indignant. “You should have heard what she was calling you.”

“Zalindov’s Bitch? The Heartless Carver? The Princess of Death? The Healer Whore? The Prison Pus—”

“Yes,” Jaren interrupted tightly, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Among others.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard them all,” Kiva said, applying more gel. “But you don’t seemegetting in fights over them.Especiallywith the prison rebels. Gods, what were you thinking?”

“The prison—” Jaren broke off with a curse. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as death,” Kiva said flatly. “Which you need to prepare for, if they decide to paint a target on your back.”

In a low tone, Jaren said, “I didn’t realize who they were.”

“Cresta is their leader in here,” Kiva said, prompting  Jaren to swear again. Her gaze traveled over to Tilda, and she added, “You’re lucky they have bigger concerns than you right now, or your next stop would be the morgue.”

A strained moment passed before Jaren quietly asked, “Doesn’t it bother you, what they say? Not just Cresta, but everyone? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“They’re just words,” Kiva said, ignoring the pang in her heart. Ofcourseit hurt. No one wanted to be known as a bitch or a whore or any of the other names that had been slung at her over the last decade.

“They’re not just words,” Jaren argued. “They’re mean, untrue slanderings said by disrespectful bullies, and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re losing sleep trying to help all these people,includingCresta. The least they can do is not publicly insult you.”

Finishing with the gel, Kiva stepped back and said, “Shouldn’t that be for me to decide?”

Jaren frowned. “What?”

Kiva pointed a finger to her chest. “They’re saying those things aboutme.Shouldn’t I get to decide whether or not to punish them? Or do you think I’d have chosen to have you slam your fist into their faces just to prove an object lesson?”

The gold in Jaren’s eyes blazed angrily against the blue. “You weren’t there.”

“And you weren’t there for the last ten years of this happening,” Kiva snapped back at him. “You think I don’t know how to handle this by now? You think I haven’t tried retaliating and learned firsthand just how much worse that makes it?”

Jaren had the decency to look ashamed, so Kiva made an effort to gentle her tone as she went on, “I’m touched that you were upset by what you heard, but I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. I’ve been here long enough to know that the best thing I can do is ignore it and act like it doesn’t affect me. They can say whatever they want—and nine times out of ten, they end up apologizing anyway, usually when they’re sick or hurt and realize I’m the only one who can help them. Not,” she added with emphasis, “that I would withhold treatment if they didn’t show remorse. Just that when they experience for themselves that I actuallydocare about them, they no longer take out their anger on me. Because that’s all it is, Jaren. They’re angry and upset and frustrated and helpless, like all of us in here. They just vent their emotions in the wrong ways.”

Jaren said nothing for a long moment, but then jumped down from the bench as he asked, “I’m guessing Cresta isn’t one of the nine in ten?”

Kiva didn’t need to confirm, though she did warn, “She’s dangerous. If you value anything I say, stay away from her.”

“I value everything you say, Kiva.”

The words were quiet, serious, and they caused Kiva’s eyes to lock on his, finding him looking back at her steadily, solemnly.

Silence descended upon them as they stared at each other, both processing what the other had said. It was Jaren who broke it first, his voice filled with apology.

“I’m sorry I acted like such a brute. It won’t happen again.” He didn’t break their locked gazes as he went on, “And just so you know, I don’t see you as some kind of damsel who needs rescuing. I’ve never met anyone stronger than you—not just because you’ve survived a decade in this gods-awful place, but because you’ve sacrificed your own needs over and over again to serve those around you, even—and especially—those who don’t want your help. So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles.” He moved a step closer, his tone husky as he finished, “But ... if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.”

Kiva’s pulse was thrumming loudly in her ears. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, bolts of electricity tingled her flesh. She didn’t know how to respond, could barely think over her physical reaction to his declaration.

Careful. Careful. Careful.

The words weren’t her father’s or her mother’s or anyone else’s. They weren’t from a memory; they were from Kiva to herself. Her one and only rule at Zalindov was to not make any friends, because she would almost always lose them. With Jaren ... she wasn’t sure if it was friendship he was asking for or more than that, but either way, it was a line she could not—andwould not—cross. No matter how her heart was beating, no matter how he was looking at her right now, waiting for her response, she couldn’t make any exceptions.

“I—”

I’m sorry, I can’twas what she’d been about to say, the words already forming on her lips. But before she could utter them, Tipp bounced back into the infirmary, followed closely by Naari, and Kiva lurched away from Jaren, dragging trembling fingers through her hair as she walked on wobbly legs toward the workbench.

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