Page 25 of The Prison Healer

“No one knows for sure.” Kiva shrugged. “While the queen went on to rule until her death much later in life, Torvin never returned to reclaim the crown that was rightfully his. But there were whispers of those who sought him out, of those who didn’t believe Sarana’s lies and rebelled against her. Some were executed, others imprisoned, but many were said to have escaped, fleeing just like Torvin. Whether those rebels ever found their exiled king or not ...” Kiva shrugged again.

“So that’s how the rebels c-c-came into being,” Tipp said, a hint of awe in his voice.

“If the rumors are true,” Mot said, “then Tilda Corentine is Torvin’s great-great-great-somethin’ daughter, right? With a few more greats thrown in?”

“Supposedly,” Kiva said, her eyes flicking to the woman.

“But if yer story is correct, then she’s not really a rebel, is she? None of ’em are,” Mot said. He ran his fingers over his stubbled jaw. “The way I heard it, Sarana and Torvin never had any heirs together, but went on to ’ave their own children after they’d been separated. Both bloodlines continued. That means any Corentine heirs ’ave a rightful claim to Evalon’s throne. They’re not rebels at all. Assumin’ they ’ave magic, o’ course, since that’s the real proof, innit?”

They all looked toward Tilda, realization hitting them at once.

“The r-royal family all have elemental powers, like Sarana,” Tipp pointed out. “So if Tilda really is T-Torvin’s descendant, shouldn’t she have his healing p-power? She wouldn’t b-be this sick, would she?”

Kiva found them all waiting for her to answer, so she made a helpless gesture and said, “I don’t know—maybe she can only heal others, not herself? Maybe magic skips generations? Maybe she’s not related to Torvin at all, and this is a case of mistaken identity?”

“That’s a lot o’ maybes,” Mot muttered. “But I like yer origin story, so I’m gonna go on thinkin’ she’s Torvin’s great-whatever-daughter and all that other stuff ’appened back then like yeh said.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mot,” Jaren said, an indulgent but still wry smile on his face.

Kiva arched a brow at him.

Jaren caught her look and shrugged. “I’ve heard a thousand different versions of the Torvin and Sarana legend. Who’s to say which is true?”

“The king and queen must think there’s some substance to it, or they wouldn’t be so threatened by what she represents,” Kiva noted, tilting her chin toward Tilda.

“The king and queen come from the Vallentis line,” Mot mused. “They’re direct relations of Sarana—or, the queen is, at least. They’d ’ave to look into any rumors, wouldn’t they? ’Specially ones about a Rebel Queen who could take their throne out from under ’em.”

Kiva pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please stop talking about this? I need to get back to work.”

“I have a q-question,” Tipp said, bouncing in his seat. “It’s quick, I p-promise.”

“Put your hand down, Tipp,” Kiva said wearily.

He did so, but continued bouncing as he asked, “How does their m-magic work? T-Torvin’s and Sarana’s? And the V-Vallentis family—they all have elemental p-powers. Well, not the k-k-king, but the queen and their heirs. How d-do they”—he made a flicking gesture with his fingers, as if imagining sparks shooting from them—“summon the m-magic?”

Kiva squinted at the boy. “How am I supposed to know?”

“It’s notjustthe royals,” Jaren jumped in, a small, contemplative crinkle between his brow. All eyes turned to him, and his expression cleared swiftly. “I mean ... I’ve heard there are anomalies, too. Born outside the royal bloodline, just like in ancient days. They’re rare, but still—”

Kiva snorted. “We’ve all heard about those ‘anomalies.’ They’re nothing more than wishful stories for children, something they can dream about but never attain.”

“No, luv, Jaren’s right,” Mot said, scratching his bald patch. “I saw one, once.”

Kiva straightened. “What?”

“I was travelin’ around Mirraven, years ago, and that’s when I saw ’er,” the mortician said. “A little girl, maybe five or six, wavin’ ’er hands and makin’ water leap from a fountain.”

“Really?” Tipp said, wonder in his eyes.

Mot nodded. “It sure was somethin’. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it, before or since.”

Tipp turned to Kiva. “Do you think I c-could have magic? Maybe I just d-don’t know it yet?”

Kiva felt wholly unqualified to have this conversation. In the gentlest voice she could manage, she said, “I’m sorry, Tipp, but even if anomaliesarereal, Jaren’s right when he says they’re rare. We’re talking one in every hundred years. If that.”

“But Mot s-saw—”

“That one,” Kiva said, still gently. Though she wonderedwhenMot saw his magic-wielding child and if perhaps he’d been on the spirits that day.

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