Page 58 of The Prison Healer

Hours went by as she prepared for and began dosing the rats, mixing small amounts of what she’d collected into her own food rations and dropping the offerings into the pen. While Kiva didn’t like testing live animals, she knew these rats were living on borrowed time. If Boots didn’t catch and eat them, then starved prisoners would. Either way, their fate was sealed.

“What now?” Naari asked when Kiva had made sure all of the rats had eaten a traceable amount.

“Now we wait.”

The guard looked as if she wanted to ask more, but at that moment, Jaren walked into the infirmary, stealing their attention.

Doing a double-take, Kiva demanded, “What happened to you?”

Jaren raised his hand to his face, as if doing so would hide the impressive bruise darkening his eye. Or the graze on his forehead. Or his split lip.

“Nothing,” Jaren answered. “How’d you go today?”

Naari stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward Jaren’s wounds. “Your healer asked you a question.”

“And I said it’s nothing.” Jaren strode by Tipp, playfully messing up the young boy’s hair as he passed, and then stopped when he was before Kiva. He looked down at the rats briefly before asking, “No problems getting your quarry samples?”

Kiva studied his injuries, deciding that if he was capable of risking his life by brushing off the guard, he must not be too badly hurt. But given their environment, he would still need treating. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “You let me clean you up, and I’ll answer your questions.”

Jaren cocked his head to the side. “Any questions?”

“Just those two.”

His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “That’s hardly an incentive. I have lots of questions. And you’re rarely in an answering mood.”

“I’m not in an answering mood now.”

When Jaren just continued looking steadily at her, Kiva weighed up how hard it would be to wrestle him into submission, and finally said, “Fine. But only if I get to ask questions, too.”

His smile was wider this time. “I’ve never withheld answers from you before. You’re terrible at negotiating.”

In response, Kiva simply pointed to the nearest metal bench. “Sit.”

Jaren chuckled but did as ordered. Naari, however, looked about a second away from shaking an explanation out of him. The dark look on her face ... Kiva couldn’t help wondering if maybe Naarididhave feelings for Jaren, but her own code of ethics wouldn’t allow her to act on them. Or perhaps that same code of ethics meant she was still new enough at Zalindov to struggle with the brutality heaped on the prisoners, and seeing the evidence on Jaren’s face was enough to distress her. If so, she would need to grow a tougher skin, fast, or she wouldn’t survive much longer at the prison.

Whatever the reason, Kiva knew an intervention was needed, so she quickly asked Tipp, “Can you go and tell Mot we won’t need him tonight, but I could still use his help tomorrow?” When the young boy nodded eagerly, Kiva turned to Naari and added, “Would you mind going with him? It’s getting late, and I don’t want him wandering on his own.”

It was a poor excuse, as Tipp often walked around the prison alone, regardless of the hour. But given the attitudes of the guards lately and the growing dissent among the inmates in the wake of Tilda’s arrival—especiallythe rebels, who already had Tipp in their scopes—what Kiva had said was true, and Naari of all people knew that. The guard nodded her agreement, if stiffly. But that was likely also because she caught Kiva’s subtle wink, a signal that she would try and get Jaren to talk. Even so, Naari’s features remained tight as she left the infirmary with Tipp in tow.

“And here I was thinking you were avoiding me.”

Kiva turned to meet Jaren’s mirthful eyes. “Pardon?”

“You. Me,” he said, waving a hand between them, lest there be any confusion. “We’re rarely alone. I figured that was your doing.”

Inwardly kicking herself for sending away her two buffers, Kiva said, “We’re not alone now,” and looked to where Tilda slept on the far side of the room.

Jaren followed her gaze. “Any improvement with her?”

Kiva knew he wasn’t asking because he cared about Tilda. He’d made his feelings toward the Rebel Queen and her cause abundantly clear. But hedidcare about Kiva, and he knew that, for whatever illogical-to-him reason,shecared about Tilda. That it even meant anything to him—thatsheeven meant anything to him—had her fighting to ignore the warmth spreading throughout her veins.

“Is that your first question?” Kiva asked, knowing it wasn’t but also wanting to avoid admitting how concerned she was about Tilda’s lack of improvement. She’d hoped time would help, but the ill woman had been under Kiva’s care for three and a half weeks now, with little to show for it.

Jaren studied her for a long moment, seeing everything she wished he couldn’t. As if knowing exactly what she needed him to say, he sent her a grin and replied, “Only if that’s yours.”

Kiva turned away so that he wouldn’t see her lips curling up at the edges, and busied herself by collecting her medical supplies. When she returned to stand in front of where he sat perched on the bench, she reached for his chin and said, “Want to tell me how this happened?”

“Uh-uh-uh,” he tutted. “I get to start.”

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