Page 6 of The Blood Traitor

Kiva stilled, the words echoing across her memory. She’d heard them before. She’dsaidthem before.

You need to keep these clean, or they’ll get infected.

Strong hands attached to a strong body, tousled gold-brown hair, perfect lips quirked into a knowing grin, blue-gold eyes dancing.

The hole in Kiva’s heart tore open, the pain enough to halt her tremors, if only for a moment. But she wasn’t in the infirmary right now. Andhewasn’t with her.

Not this time.

Never again.

“Swallow these,” Cresta ordered, reclaiming Kiva’s attention. She held out a fistful of thin green bulbs, along with a mix of yellow and orange flowers, and a lump of black, charred wood.

Kiva didn’t ask how Cresta had snuck into the infirmary’s garden, nor did she dwell on how the charcoal must have been acquired from the crematorium. But as she shoved the offering into her mouth, grimacing at the texture of the chalky wood, she did say, “I didn’t mention charcoal.”

“You’re not the first person I’ve seen through withdrawal,” Cresta murmured, still cleaning Kiva’s hands. “It’ll soak up the toxins in your blood.”

Kiva wanted to ask who else Cresta had helped, but her torso spasmed with a stomach cramp, and she gasped, curling in on herself.

“You need to eat.” Cresta said. There was no warmth in her tone, no concern for Kiva’s well-being, just a statement of fact.

“I’ll just” — another spasm hit Kiva, and she gritted her teeth — “bring it back up.”

Cresta began arguing, but Kiva didn’t hear her, the cramping in her stomach turning violent enough to demand all of her attention. It would take time for the hashwillow bulbs, tilliflowers, buttercress petals, and charcoal to take effect, but even then, their relief would be limited. If Cresta truly intended to wean Kiva off the angeldust, then she was in for a rough night.

The next thing Kiva knew, there was a piece of broth-soaked bread being pressed between her lips. Sweat dotted her forehead, her skin turning hot then cold then hot all over again.

“No,” she moaned, shifting her face away.

“You’ll need energy to get through tomorrow,” Cresta said, shoving more bread into her mouth. “You can’t survive on angeldust alone.”

“Angeldust,” Kiva gasped, half choking on the food, her voice hoarse and desperate. “Please... I need... just a little.”

Through blurry eyes, Kiva saw Cresta’s face harden. “What you need is to eat, then to sleep. I’ll give you more in the morning.”

Denial had Kiva shaking her head, her teeth rattling from the tremors controlling her body. “I need itnow.”

“Eat.” Cresta pushed more bread between Kiva’s lips.

Kiva gagged, but Cresta clamped a hand over her mouth, making her swallow.

“The charcoal should help you keep everything down,” Cresta said. “You’re facing a mental battle as much as a physical one. You just have to be willing to fight.”

Kiva groaned as she was force-fed more bread. Cresta was unmoved, deaf to Kiva’s pleas, unwilling to provide even the smallest dose of angeldust to see her through the night.

For hours, they waged war against each other, with Kiva wailing as her body shrieked for the slightest hint of relief.

“Would you shut ’er up? We’re tryin’ to sleep here!” grumbled the other prisoners close enough to hear her suffering.

“Go cry to your mother,” Cresta snapped back at them, ignoring their complaints — and Kiva’s, too.

But then, sometime in the middle of the night, Kiva descended so far into her madness that she screamed, loud enough to wake half the dormitory, “GIVE IT TO ME! I NEED IT!YOU HAVE TO GIVE IT TO—”

Cresta swore and slapped a hand over Kiva’s mouth, hauling her damp, shivering body off the pallet and past glaring, sleep-rumpled inmates painted in moonlight. She didn’t stop until they stumbled into the darkened bathing chamber, where she dragged Kiva beneath a showerhead and turned on the icy spray.

Gasping and spluttering, Kiva tried to escape the water, but Cresta held her in place, becoming equally drenched in the process.

“LET ME GO!” Kiva bellowed.

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