by Lynette Noni
“You’re right, it’s not,” Naari agreed. “But all the same, I would never carry out inappropriate relations with someone under my charge.”
A weight lifted from Kiva, even if she mentally scolded herself for feeling that way. She didn’t care whether Naari and Jaren were having relations, inappropriate or otherwise—or so she tried to convince herself.
“That’s very . . . professional of you,” Kiva said, desperate for some-thing to say. “I’m sure I speak for all prisoners when I say we appreciate it.”
Naari tilted her head, her cropped hair and jade earring both shining in the light of the luminium beacons. “You intrigue me.”
“I . . . what?”
“I’ve been on duty here for months,” Naari said, gesturing to the infirmary. “Long enough to watch how you interact with others. Aside from Tipp and, on the rare occasion, Mot and Grendel, you keep almost exclusively to yourself.”
Kiva was staring at her with wide eyes, surprised not only that Naari had been watching her, but also that she knew the names of the other prisoners. Most guards just referred to inmates by their job allocations, their physical descriptions, or, if they were near enough to read them, their identification numbers.
“Why don’t you allow yourself to get close to others?” Naari continued, sounding genuinely curious. “Jaren seems like one of the rare good ones. I think he’d be worth your time.”
“You can hardly judge that based on only thirty-three days of knowing him,” Kiva said. Needing a distraction, she picked up an open flask and began searching for the stopper.
Naari’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ve been counting the days?”
Swearing internally, Kiva only said, “It’s an estimate.”
“‘Thirty’ is an estimate. ‘A month’ is an estimate. ‘A few weeks’ is an estimate.” Naari grinned, her teeth bright against her dark skin. “‘Thirty-three’ is an exact number.”
“You know what?” Kiva said, finding the stopper and shoving it down the lip of the flask harder than was necessary. “I’m actually fine here, if you want to take off.”
Naari laughed. It was a hearty sound, deep and almost raspy. “Why don’t you instead tell me what needs to be done before you can leave, and I’ll help you finish up.”
Kiva’s brain all but short-circuited and she wheezed, “What?”
“I have two hands and two legs,” Naari said. Raising her gloved left hand, she added, “This isn’t just for decoration. Give me a task, and I’ll do it.”
Stunned by the offer, Kiva was unable to respond until Naari prompted, “Come on, healer, I don’t have all night. I want to make it to Vaskin before the innkeeper calls for final drinks.”
Only ten minutes away by horseback, Vaskin was the closest town to Zalindov, so the guards often headed there to blow off steam after their shifts ended. Some even lived there, especially those with families, since the prison barracks were no place for partners and children. While curious whether Naari lived onsite or off, Kiva wasn’t yet comfortable enough to ask such a personal question. Instead, at the daring look the guard sent her, she pushed aside her trepidation and accepted Naari’s offer.
“Fine,” Kiva said, failing to hide her apprehension. But she squared her shoulders and, with more confidence, shared what was left for her to do before Olisha and Nergal arrived. She then watched with continued amazement as Naari gave a nod of understanding and rolled up her sleeves.
And so, the healer and the guard worked side by side into the night, the balance of power between them blurring—and perhaps, as Kiva was beginning to realize, fading entirely.
Chapter Fifteen
Two days later, the morning dawned with the threat of looming rain, but Kiva was determined that nothing was going to stop her from beginning her investigation into the origin of the stomach sickness.
When she’d left Naari the night before last—or rather, when the guard had left her after safely delivering her to her cell block—the amber-eyed woman had again promised to speak with Warden Rooke as soon as possible. And sure enough, upon Kiva’s arrival at the infirmary the next morning, Naari had been waiting, claiming that the Warden had given her leave to escort Kiva through the gates. Unfortunately, an influx of new patients yesterday had taken all of Kiva’s time and attention, but today she’d had the foresight to conscript Olisha and Nergal to swap to the day shift so that she could leave with Naari.
After quickly looking in on the quarantined patients, and checking Tilda—who continued to show a frustrating lack of improvement—for pressure sores, Kiva met Naari at the entrance to the infirmary. The guard looked the same as always in her black leather, with the slight difference being that she carried a small rucksack, and instead of having two swords strapped to her back, she had only one belted to her waist, with a crossbow now slung over her shoulder.
Kiva couldn’t help an internal shiver at the sight of the new weapon, even though it was standard for all guards who left through the gate. While there was still the secondary perimeter fence far beyond the outer work areas, the long-range crossbows were an added deterrent for any prisoners who sought to try their luck at escape. Kiva wasn’t stupid—she knew she had no chance at fleeing. Not without help.
Stay alive.
Don’t let her die.
We are coming.
“Still heading to the quarry first?” Naari asked once Kiva was before her.
“That’s the plan,” Kiva said, and the guard nodded and began leading the way from the infirmary.
Tipp had wanted to come, but Kiva had worried about pushing her luck with the Warden. There was no valid reason for him to accompany her, so she’d given him another job in her absence. It was important, since Kiva would need what he collected to be ready upon her return, but she didn’t envy him the task. He, however, had responded with boyish delight, acting as if she’d given him a birthday and Yulemas gift all at once. Sometimes Kiva forgot he was only eleven.
Naari didn’t say anything as they walked toward the main gates, and Kiva followed her example. It began spitting just as they passed the kennels and approached the central barracks, and Kiva shivered as the icy droplets hit her skin. She’d grown used to enduring the bitter temperatures wearing only her thin tunic and pants, but she always dreaded the winter months. She was lucky, compared to those who had to labor outdoors, but still, cold was cold.
“Here,” Naari said, reaching into her rucksack when the rain grew heavier, withdrawing a canvas poncho, and thrusting it toward Kiva.
With numb hands—from shock, not the cold—Kiva took it, staring at it mutely.
“Put it on before you’re soaked,” Naari said, as if speaking to an idiot.
Kiva followed the command on instinct. The canvas was heavy on her shoulders, but she was protected from the rain and felt an instant rush of heat from her trapped body warmth. When she raised the hood over her dark hair, she nearly moaned at the difference in temperature.
“The last thing we need is you getting sick,” Naari explained before Kiva could offer her gratitude. “Olisha and Nergal are useless. If anyone’s going to figure out how to stop this illness before we all die, it’s you.”
It was a valid excuse for the offering, but Kiva didn’t think it was the only reason Naari had brought the poncho. Her own leathery armor protected her from the elements—she hadn’t needed to bring anything for Kiva, despite her words. And yet she had.
In another time, another place, Kiva wondered if they might have been friends. Even here it was beginning to feel that way, though she didn’t dare dwell on that for long, knowing how dangerous such a thought was. Guards came and went, and soon enough, Naari would be gone, like all those before her.
Once they stepped around the corner of the entrance block, the iron gates rose high above them, forged into the limestone walls that encircled the compound. Rail cart tracks intersected the entrance, leading from the luminium depository and harvest factory inside the grounds, and traveling out the gates to
ward the lumberyard, the farms, and the quarry. At the end of each day, laborers would load the carts and return with their spoils, but right now, the tracks offered nothing more than a guiding path for Kiva and Naari to follow.
With a wave to the guards up in the towers, Naari didn’t pause before venturing outside, and Kiva, while on edge, kept in step just behind her.
In Kiva’s ten years at Zalindov, she’d passed through the gates only a handful of times to treat prisoners who hadn’t been able to make it to the infirmary without medical attention. In each of those instances, she’d felt what she did now—a thrill at being beyond the central compound, so close to freedom, yet still so far away.
She wondered where her family was, how long until the rebels arrived to free her. Then she cast the thought from her mind, knowing there was nothing she could do to speed up the process. Today she had one goal, and she would give it her full attention.
“Guard Arell, a word?”
Kiva and Naari halted at the sound of Warden Rooke’s voice calling out to them, unmistakable even with the rain still drumming down. They turned to find him striding through the gates in their wake, heedless of the water bouncing off his leather uniform.
Wondering about his presence, Kiva watched the Warden jerk his head toward the stables just outside the prison entrance, indicating for them to seek shelter within. The smell of hay and horse assailed her nose as she stepped inside, the rain almost deafening as it beat down on the roof above them.
“You, stay,” Rooke told Kiva, before looking pointedly at Naari and walking to the far end of the stables, still within sight—and crossbow reach—but far enough away that Kiva couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Her curiosity was piqued, but she had no skill in reading lips, so she sighed and leaned against the nearest stall door, petting the face of a damp-looking horse when it poked its head out to investigate. Given the wet mud tangled in its mane, she assumed it had arrived recently, the rider perhaps a messenger delivering one of the numerous royal missives that were inconveniencing the Warden of late. That would certainly explain the dark look on his face as he spoke with Naari, who appeared nearly bored in return, her arms crossed over her chest.
Casting her gaze out, Kiva took in the other horses already stabled, and the empty, waiting stalls between them. Perpendicular to where she stood was a lone carriage that she recognized as belonging to the Warden, having seen him use it to come and go from Zalindov, if infrequently. Rooke rarely left the prison—just as a king rarely left his kingdom.
“Psst.”
Kiva looked away from the carriage and frowned at the horse that was now butting her shoulder.
“Psst, Kiva. Down here.”
Her eyes widened as she peeked over the stall door and found the stablemaster, Raz, crouching near the horse’s front leg. The middle-aged man held a brush in his hand and was covered in fine hair, indicating that he’d been grooming the creature upon their arrival and had chosen to stay out of sight.
Kiva didn’t know Raz well. In fact, she was careful to avoid him, since any interaction between them could end in either of their deaths. For Kiva, it was a risk she was willing to take, given the reward. But Raz wasn’t a prisoner, nor was he a guard, and while he had been employed by Zalindov since long before she’d ever arrived, he had a lot more to lose than she did.
Raz was Kiva’s link to the outside world. Ten years ago, his pregnant wife had visited him during the day and gone into early labor. If not for Kiva’s father, they would have lost both the baby and the mother. In thanks, Raz had offered to sneak a message out and send it on, knowing how tight the channels of communication to and from Zalindov were.
Faran Meridan had been clever. He’d known better than to risk prying eyes, so he’d used a substitution code Kiva and her siblings had invented for fun, one that everyone in their family could interpret with little effort. And so had begun their discourse, with Raz offering to continue his services for Kiva.
Despite Raz’s kindness, it was challenging for Faran and, later, Kiva to get letters out of the prison. Only a handful of times had it been worth the risk of seeking out Raz, especially with him being in the stables—outside the limestone walls. Just twice had Kiva managed to send her own messages through him, the first time with three words: Father is dead; the second with five: I’m the new prison healer.
The letters from her family were more frequent, though not enough for Kiva’s liking. Even so, Raz was always cautious about how he sneaked them through the walls, slipping them into the clothes of new arrivals when he helped the guards pull them from the prison wagons, knowing they would then be sent to the infirmary and made to disrobe. It was dangerous, but so far, no one had discovered their ploy. Probably because they didn’t take risks—unlike now. Kiva had no idea why Raz was drawing her attention, especially with Rooke and Naari mere footsteps away.
“I have something for you,” Raz said, barely audible over the continuing rain.
Kiva was careful not to make any sudden moves as Raz drew a mud-streaked note from his coat and raised it toward her.
Glancing quickly at the Warden and Naari, only when Kiva was certain they were still talking heatedly did she duck under the horse’s head until it partially shielded her, before reaching over the stall for Raz’s offering.
Heart pounding, she read the code penned in her sister’s familiar scrawl, excited for what it might say, hopeful for any news of a rescue. But then the words processed.
Don’t let her die.
We are coming.
The message was exactly the same as the last one.
Exactly the same.
Tears of anger prickled Kiva’s eyes. She balled the note in her fist, overcome with a mixture of fury and despair. But then recklessness took hold and she flattened the parchment again, dragging her hand through the muddy tangles in the horse’s mane and pressing her pointer finger to the space beneath her sister’s writing.
“What’re you doing?” Raz hissed urgently.
Kiva said nothing, only looked quickly at Rooke and Naari again, before silently begging the horse not to move, keeping a barrier between them.
Frantically, Kiva scrawled out her own muddied code, symbol after symbol, the longest she’d ever written.
She’s sick.
I’m her Champion in Trial by Ordeal.
Need rescue—when???
Quickly, quickly, she folded the muddy, shorthand note and thrust it back down to Raz.
“Kiva, I can’t—”
“Please,” Kiva whispered, her lips barely moving since Rooke and Naari had finally stopped speaking and were striding back toward her. Even the rain had eased up, as if it had offered all the help it could and now it was done. “Please.”
A resigned sigh was Raz’s only answer, but the sound filled Kiva with relief. He would take the note back to Vaskin with him; he’d send it on to her family. And then—then she would finally get some answers.
Anxious sweat was dotting Kiva’s forehead as the Warden approached, but he didn’t even look at her as he passed by and left the stables altogether, so she turned her gaze to Naari. The guard was watching her closely, as if she could see her nervous tension, so Kiva forced herself to relax. The effort proved in vain when Naari spoke.
“Who’s your friend?”
Panic assailed Kiva, her mind screaming at her to think quickly, to explain that she had no idea what Naari was talking about, that she’d never met Raz before today. But then the guard reached out and petted the horse’s face, and the breath left Kiva as realization hit her.
“Uh, yes. She’s lovely,” Kiva croaked, having no idea if the horse was male or female. She felt the mud coating her hand—mud she’d used to write her note—and held it up, adding, “Dirty, though. She needs a good clean.”
“You’re a mess,” Naari observed. She then shook her head and said, “Let’s head out before the rain picks up again.” Under her breath, she added, “Or before Rooke changes his mind a
bout letting us go.”
Kiva blinked with surprise, realizing the Warden must have been arguing with Naari about their task. Perhaps she should have spoken with Rooke herself, sharing how concerned she was about the spreading sickness. But if she had, she wouldn’t have had a chance to write to her family. If Naari was willing to fight Kiva’s battles, then Kiva was more than happy to let her.
Kiva didn’t dare look back at Raz as she left the stables. But she mentally willed him to send her message as fast as possible, hoping her family would reply just as swiftly. Hoping they would sense her urgency. Hoping they would come.
Chapter Sixteen
The rain stopped completely as Kiva and Naari continued their walk to the quarry, passing the vegetable plantation and the wheat farm, but it returned to a light drizzle when they were trekking past the pigs and poultry. It took great self-discipline not to pause at all the places they walked past, but Kiva made herself remember her strategy. She needed to start at the beginning and work her way methodically from there.
On and on they walked, leaving the farms behind, with no words spoken between them. It was only when they were in line with the eastern wall, roughly where Kiva was meant to have leapt to during her Trial by Air, that Naari broke the silence.
“I heard you met the princess after the first Ordeal. What did she say?”
Kiva debated how to answer, but decided that nothing Mirryn had told her—other than about the amulet—would get either of them in trouble. “I think she was mostly curious about me and why I volunteered.”
“That’s all?”
“Apparently I remind her of her girlfriend,” Kiva shared. “Something about how I have the same kind of fighting spirit. I think maybe it was meant to be a compliment?” She shrugged. “Honestly, I was in a lot of pain when we spoke, even with the poppymilk. I couldn’t get a good read on her.”
