The Prison Healer

by Lynette Noni

  “You would have done it,” Mirryn finally said. “You would have died for her.”

  “Technically, I would have died with her,” Kiva said. “I die, she dies, remember?”

  “And you live, she lives,” the princess returned. “If you survive the next three Ordeals, you’ll be freeing the most wanted woman in the kingdom.”

  “That’s a big enough if that I don’t think you need to be worrying about it right now.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Mirryn returned. “It’s not your crown she’s trying to steal.”

  “Have you seen her?” Kiva jerked her head toward the closed curtain. “She won’t be stealing anything anytime soon.”

  Kiva knew she should be more careful, but she couldn’t bring herself to guard her words, not even as the princess’s eyes narrowed behind her mask.

  Resisting the urge to backpedal and blame the poppymilk for her candor, Kiva lifted her chin and kept her gaze steady on the princess, unblinking. She wished someone else had been with her upon wakening—Tipp, Mot, Jaren. Even Naari or the Warden. Someone to whom she could ask her questions. But since only Mirryn was here, she would have to do.

  “How did I survive the Trial?” Kiva asked, straight out. She was too tired and sore to talk in circles.

  Mirryn placed the tumbler on the table beside Kiva’s bed, her fingers moving to fiddle with the embroidered edges of her red cloak. “You remind me of my girlfriend. She never would have let me hear the end of it if she learned that you died today. Someone with your spirit should be given a fighting chance—that’s what she would have told me.”

  Kiva’s world tilted. “You saved me?”

  Mirryn snorted. “Gods, no. Why would I care what happens to you?” Brushing invisible lint from her shoulder, she went on, “My idiot brother, however . . .” She rolled her eyes. “It seems even crown princes can be swayed by a pretty face. Who needs justice when attraction is clearly much more important?”

  “Wait, Prince Deverick saved me?” Kiva’s mind continued spinning.

  Mirryn’s pale eyebrow arched over the top of her mask. “You fell fifty feet from that tower. It’s not as if you survived on your own.”

  “I— You— He—” Kiva couldn’t form a sentence. Given all she knew of the Vallentis family—how they were the very reason she was in Zalindov to begin with—she couldn’t wrap her brain around this unlikely truth. “But . . . why?”

  The princess made an impatient sound. “I just told you. Aren’t you listening?” She stopped fiddling and crossed her arms. “Never mind, just be grateful that you’re alive.”

  Kiva shifted in her bed, grimacing anew at the pain, and couldn’t keep from muttering, “Barely.”

  “Excuse me?” Mirryn’s second brow rose to meet the first.

  “I said barely,” Kiva repeated. “I feel like I’ve broken every bone in my body.”

  A surprised laugh left the princess. “Is that the thanks my brother gets for saving your life?”

  “He’s not here right now.”

  “No, but I am,” said Mirryn, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. “And you’d do well to show some respect.”

  Kiva sobered, reminding herself of whom she was talking with. The drug was affecting her more than she’d thought if she was deliberately antagonizing one of the most powerful people in the kingdom. Not to mention, the princess was right—Prince Deverick had saved her, even if it was only for superficial reasons.

  “I apologize, Your Highness,” she forced out, the words like hot coals on her tongue. “Please pass along my gratitude to your brother.”

  Mirryn sat back, her blue eyes slitted. A long moment of silence passed before she said, “I’m disappointed. I expected more of a fight.”

  Kiva’s forehead crinkled. “You want me to be difficult?”

  “I want you to show that backbone I saw when you leapt up onto the gallows,” Mirryn said. “I want you to show the courage it took to jump off the guard tower. I want you to show the spirit my girlfriend would have cheered you on for—the spirit my brother kept you alive for.”

  “You said it was my face that made him save me,” Kiva deadpanned.

  “I also said he’s an idiot.”

  “You claimed I had a death wish,” Kiva reminded. “Twice.”

  “And look at you now, alive and well,” Mirryn shot back.

  “Only because of your brother,” Kiva said, accusation and confusion in her tone. “Does it even count as a victory over the Ordeal? Will I have to—”

  Princess Mirryn waved a hand, cutting Kiva off. “You completed the Trial in the eyes of the law. You survived—that’s what counts.” When Kiva opened her mouth to argue, Mirryn sent her a sharp look and said, “Don’t start. I’ve already had to sit through a lecture about interference, even though I wasn’t the one who acted rashly. But of course I had to be dragged into this, didn’t I?”

  As Mirryn continued to mutter angrily under her breath, Kiva looked around the empty infirmary again. “Where is Prince Deverick? Why isn’t he here?”

  The princess laughed, an open, deeply amused sound. “That is an excellent question. My brother is a reckless, impulsive fool, yet he still manages to be one of the best people I know. He’s probably out befriending criminals as we speak, forging lifelong connections.” Slyly, Mirryn continued, “He’s quite taken with you, you know—if it wasn’t already obvious by you still being alive right now.”

  Warmth touched Kiva’s cheeks as she recalled the prince declaring, I like her, in front of the assembled masses. Hoping to keep the princess from noticing, Kiva asked, “The person who lectured you . . . Do you mean Captain Veris?”

  The guard in question flicked his eyes over at the sound of his name, but otherwise didn’t move from his position, his face expressionless.

  Mirryn laughed again. “Veris is a big softie. I’m surprised he didn’t leap off the tower and catch you himself.”

  Kiva said nothing, fearing what might leave her mouth if she opened it, fearing what she might reveal of her first encounter with the man, and all he had taken from her—all in the name of the Vallentis family. Mirryn’s family.

  The family Kiva hated, and would hate, for as long as she lived.

  “No, it was Warden Rooke who had some . . . choice words for me and my brother,” Mirryn explained.

  Kiva would have given a lot to know what those words were. To anyone not of royal blood, interfering with a Trial would have meant severe punishment: imprisonment, perhaps even death. But a prince? And the heir to the throne, at that? Kiva doubted she would be carving Deverick’s flesh anytime soon, not even if he’d had a run-in with Rooke.

  “The Warden emphasized his displeasure at my brother’s actions and made it clear that we are . . . discouraged from attending the next three Trials,” Mirryn said. “Between you and me, that’s no great tragedy.” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, as if the very air offended her.

  The fact that Rooke had chastised the prince and princess didn’t surprise Kiva, nor did their capitulation to his request, since the last thing the Evalon royals would want was to get on the wrong side of the man who kept their greatest enemies locked away.

  “Why are you here, Princess?” Kiva finally asked, needing answers, especially after learning that the royals had been given marching orders by Rooke. There was no reason why Mirryn should be in the infirmary, or why a princess would deign to waste time speaking with a prisoner. “Your brother saved me for—for whatever ridiculous reason he told you. And I’m thankful, really I am. But that doesn’t explain why you were waiting by my bedside for me to wake up. What aren’t you telling me?”

  The princess raised her hand, and Kiva flinched backwards, an automatic defensive response. Mirryn’s eyes flickered behind her mask, but she said nothing, instead slowly closing her hand into a fist. As she did so, the air around them rippled and Kiva’s ears popped as pressure pushed against her, her head feeling like it was being stuffed with cotton wool.


  “I’ve placed us in an air pocket,” Mirryn said, “for privacy.” She nodded toward Veris, who was looking out at the grounds, now oblivious to their ongoing conversation.

  Marveling at what the princess had done, Kiva tried to yawn away the pressure, but the discomforting sensation didn’t yield.

  “We won’t have much time before he wonders why we’re so quiet and realizes what I’ve done,” the princess continued, a hint of urgency in her smooth, cultured voice. “Tell me, how confident are you that you can survive the next three Ordeals?”

  Kiva was surprised enough that she stopped attempting to yawn, making herself ignore the strange feeling of the air pocket. “I think the better question is how unconfident I am.”

  “I’m being serious, healer.”

  “As am I, Princess,” Kiva shot back. “No one has ever survived all four before.”

  She wasn’t about to admit to her hopes that she wouldn’t have to undertake the remaining Trials, that her family would come for her before then.

  Mirryn shook her head. “Not true. Long ago, people survived.”

  Kiva made a scoffing sound, the poppymilk overriding her self-preservation instincts. “Sure, back when people had magic. Sorry to disappoint you, but unless I’m your long-lost sister, I don’t have a lick of elemental power in my veins.”

  “So you need to use your other skills,” Mirryn said, growing frustrated. “What can you do?”

  Kiva threw out her arms, instantly regretting the move for the surge of pain it prompted. “Look around you. This is what I can do—I heal people. That’s it.”

  “Then you’re going to die.”

  Five words, and Kiva’s breath froze in her lungs.

  Mirryn settled back in her seat, her face impassive, despite the death sentence she’d just delivered.

  “It’s true, you know it is,” the princess said coldly. “And while you might not deserve such an end, everyone certainly believes she does.” Mirryn jabbed an elegant finger toward Tilda’s closed curtain.

  Kiva swallowed.

  “You’re going to die,” Mirryn repeated, “and so will she.” The princess sent her a ruthless look. “And quite frankly, it’d be much less of a headache for all of us if you did.”

  Kiva sucked in a breath, but Mirryn wasn’t done speaking.

  “But,” the princess said, before sighing, long and loud, “it seems I’m too magnanimous for my own good.”

  Brow crinkling, Kiva asked, “What?”

  Mirryn sighed again, then said, “Warden Rooke said you’ve been here ten years. You’re a survivor, Kiva Meridan, and if you can last that long, you can make it through another six weeks. Especially if you have help.”

  Kiva was struggling to keep up with what was happening, the painkillers making her mind slower than normal. It sounded as if—

  “Here,” Mirryn said, thrusting a hand into her cloak, and, after a quick glance toward the still-oblivious Veris, withdrawing a shiny amulet.

  Kiva took it when prompted and turned it between her fingers. Upon realizing what it was, she debated whether the poppymilk was a good enough excuse to get away with throwing it back at the princess’s face.

  At the end of the glittery chain was a perfect depiction of the Vallentis crest. The sword, arrow, crown, and four quadrants were solid gold, but the elemental representations were made from colored gemstones: sapphire for water, emerald for earth, topaz for air, and ruby for fire.

  It was beautiful.

  But it represented everything—everything—Kiva hated.

  “Very pretty,” she bit out as she shoved it back toward the princess.

  Mirryn didn’t take it. Instead, she said, “Most of my family has just one elemental affinity, but I’m gifted with two. Air, as you already know . . .” She paused, as if to make sure Kiva was paying attention, “And fire.”

  With another quick glance at Captain Veris, Mirryn turned back to Kiva and opened her palm. A flame appeared above her hand. No, not above her hand—on her hand. It surrounded her flesh, the fire dancing over her skin as she moved her wrist this way and that, the embers beginning to wander along her forearm before she snapped her fingers and made it all disappear.

  Her skin was unblemished, her cloak sleeve, while slightly charcoaled, was otherwise undamaged.

  “Impressive,” Kiva choked out when she saw the princess was waiting for a reaction.

  Mirryn smirked and nodded toward the amulet still in Kiva’s hand. “The ruby in the crest can absorb fire magic, should someone—such as myself—push power into it.” Her smirk widened, her implication clear. “I don’t know what the Trial by Fire is, but as long as you’re wearing that”—she indicated the amulet again—“then the magic within should keep you protected.”

  Kiva gaped at the princess, then at the amulet, struck speechless.

  “Don’t let anyone see it, or they’ll think you stole it,” Mirryn warned. She paused, then added, “My charity only extends so far. You’ll have to figure something else out for the last two Trials.”

  Kiva nodded mutely, still unable to form a response. She did, however, close her fingers around the amulet and tuck it into the folds of her blanket, hidden from sight. The moment it was covered, Mirryn raised her hand, repeating the action that had created the air pocket. Kiva’s ears popped again, this time with relief as the pressure lifted, and she knew they were no longer in their privacy bubble.

  “It was . . . an experience . . . to meet you, healer,” the princess said, standing to her feet and smoothing invisible wrinkles from her cloak. “I’ll look forward to hearing news of how you fare in the rest of your Trials, whatever your fate may be.”

  Mirryn didn’t offer any words of encouragement or well wishes for Kiva’s survival. In fact, as she began to walk away, she seemed quite content to purge Zalindov and its inhabitants from her mind, the prison healer included. And yet Kiva couldn’t keep from calling out to her, finally able to speak.

  “Wait!”

  The princess halted, half turning back to her.

  “Why are you helping me?” Kiva asked, the amulet all but burning beneath her blanket. “You said earlier that you don’t care what happens to me. I don’t—I don’t understand.” She swallowed, then made herself add, “If I live, so does Tilda. Why would you risk that?”

  Later, when the poppymilk left her system, Kiva might wonder at her own daring. But now she needed answers.

  Whether Mirryn knew it or not, the Vallentis family was the reason Kiva was in this mess at all. Suspected treason against the crown—that was why Faran Meridan had been arrested. No proof, no nefarious plotting or actions; he’d merely been seen in a public marketplace near the wrong person, at the wrong time. His supposed crime had landed him at Zalindov, and Kiva with him. They were both victims of circumstance . . . with Kerrin nothing more than collateral damage.

  Kiva had spent ten years coming to terms with that night, learning to accept that stewing on what had happened to her family would not keep her alive. The injustice of it all still tasted bitter in her mouth, but she was able to push past it to focus on what was more important: surviving. Because of that, she was rational enough to know that if she wasn’t rescued before the next Trial, then the princess had just given her an invaluable treasure—safe passage through to the third Ordeal.

  But . . . Kiva didn’t know why.

  Turning to face her more fully, Mirryn eyed Kiva, weighing her response. Finally, the princess answered, “Part of it is because my brother has a soft heart—too soft, if you ask me. Especially for a crown prince.” Mirryn rolled her eyes behind her mask. “But lustful idiot or not, I owed him a favor.”

  Lustful idiot, indeed. Kiva had no idea what Prince Deverick was thinking. While grateful, she’d never asked for his help, and given that he was a Vallentis, she had no intention of repaying him. Ever.

  “As for the other part . . .” the princess went on. “You have the spirit of a survivor, and I can’t help respecting that. In any oth
er circumstance, I think you and I might have grown close. Become friends, even.”

  Kiva sucked in a startled breath. It was that or start laughing. Protective amulet or not, there was no way she would ever—

  “But this isn’t any other circumstance,” Mirryn continued, cutting off Kiva’s inner denial. “And the truth is, even with my help, I’m assuming you’ll still fail. That’s why I’m giving you a chance, albeit a hopeless one.” She shrugged, an unapologetic rise and fall of her shoulders. “The likelihood of you and Tilda surviving the next six weeks on your own, of Tilda even living long enough, given her sickness . . . Well, you don’t need me to tell you the odds.”

  It was true—Kiva already knew. She was just banking on something the princess didn’t know. On someone. Or multiple someones.

  Her family.

  And the rebels.

  Stay alive.

  Don’t let her die.

  We are coming.

  “I’ve always rooted for the underdog,” Mirryn said, almost musingly. “And you, Kiva Meridan, are the biggest underdog I’ve ever seen.”

  “I have to agree with you on that,” interrupted a new voice.

  Kiva could do nothing but stare as the crown prince himself strode into the infirmary, his shoulders back, head held high, winter cloak rippling dramatically behind him as he approached on calm, unhurried feet.

  “Finally,” Mirryn said to him.

  “Apologies, dearest Mirry. I’ve been busy,” the prince said. “There are so many interesting people here. Such fascinating stories.”

  The way Deverick looked at Mirryn made Kiva think they were communicating without words, and she felt a pang, having had entire silent conversations with her own siblings, once upon a time.

  “Well, hel-lo there, gorgeous,” the prince said, coming to a halt at Kiva’s bedside. He grinned down at her, a flash of perfect teeth. His mask hid everything but his mouth and his cobalt eyes, which were dancing with what looked like amusement. “You’re looking well.” He winked. “Very well.”

  Kiva wondered if he thought himself charming. For her part, she was unimpressed. And entirely uninterested. Impulsive and reckless, Mirryn had called him. Apparently, he was also a bit of a cad. Not that Kiva hadn’t guessed as much, given that he’d saved her life on the basis of her appearance. Still, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse was coated in slime.