Page 128 of The Prison Healer

It was too late for Tilda.

It wasn’t too late for Tipp, nor for Jaren, Naari, and Kiva herself.

But it would be, if they didn’t get out of Zalindov before the chaos escalated.

“Hurry,” Naari urged, glancing at the door again.

Kiva didn’t need to be told twice, and pulled Tipp up into her arms. Jaren was right about his weight, and she grunted and stumbled a little, but then steadied herself and looked at the guard.

“Follow me,” Naari said, moving swiftly toward the door, her two swords bloodied and held defensively before her, the prince’s Golden Shield ready to give her life if it meant protecting him. Protectingallof them.

“Don’t worry, she’ll get us out of here,” Jaren told Kiva when he saw her hesitate.

“I know,” she replied, before striding after the guard.

Her hesitation hadn’t been fear of following—she had been summoning the strength to look back at Tilda, one last time.

But she made herself do it.

Made herself whisper a final, “May peace find you in the everworld.”

And then she hurried out the door, never more grateful that the infirmary was close to the prison gates, and equally grateful that the bulk of the fighting remained in the center of the grounds—still too close for Jaren to risk anyone seeing him use his elemental magic to protect them, but far enough away that he didn’t need to.

Before Kiva knew it, they were standing at the massive iron entrance, the gates closed now because of the riot.

“This way,” Naari said, moving toward the base of the watchtower, where a much smaller door was cut into the limestone wall. Kiva hadn’t noticed it before, having never been this close to the gates when they were shut.

Pulling a large brass key from within her bloodied armor, Naari inserted it into the door.

“Stop!”

Dread filled Kiva at the commanding voice, and she turned to find the Warden striding toward them, a contingent of guards at his heels.

He’d come down from his hiding place for her—for Kiva. He wasn’t going to let her go free. Oranyof them. Not as long as they knew his secret.

“Step away from the gate, Arell,” Rooke growled. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Naari said, moving a step in front of Kiva and Jaren, renewing her grip on her blades. “Not anymore.”

Rooke’s eyebrows shot upward, and he looked pointedly at the guards with him. “What exactly do you think is going to happen here? That I’ll just let you go?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

“Too bad yeh don’t ’ave a choice, yeh horse’s ass.”

Mot hobbled swiftly into view, his hand clasped around a vial raised like a weapon before him.

“Uh-uh-uh,” the apothecary tutted when the guards moved in his direction. “Did yeh see what ’appened to the watchtower? Unless yeh want a repeat of that right ’ere”—he shook the vial tauntingly—“then yeh’ll let Kiva and ’er friends go.”

Kiva’s heart clutched at his words. Not at his threat, but because he hadn’t said anything about going with them.

“Mot—”

“Get outta ’ere, Kiva luv,” Mot said, his gaze softening as he looked her way, then settled on Tipp in her arms. “Give ’im a good life, yeah? Yeh both deserve to find ’appiness.”

“Come with us,” she begged, even if she could already see the decision in his eyes.

“I’ll only slow yeh down. And besides, I still got work to do ’ere, don’t I?” He winked and sent her a brown-toothed grin.

“Mot—” Kiva tried again, but the Warden cut her off.

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