The Prison Healer

by Lynette Noni

  “Kiva,” Naari hissed, her nails digging in much harder this time, enough for Kiva to lurch forward after Rooke and his entourage.

  Kiva sent a grateful look at Naari, who she was aware must be able to feel her entire body quaking against hers. The guard looked back with such a confident, reassuring expression that Kiva was able to draw a full breath into her lungs. Naari wouldn’t be offering comfort if she didn’t believe Kiva could survive.

  Placing one foot in front of the other and thinking of nothing but the crest dangling from her neck and the wax coating her skin, Kiva shuffled after the Warden, noting that Grendel looked as traumatized by all of this as Kiva felt.

  They moved past a large closed door that had an immense amount of heat rippling from it, the acrid tang of smoke mixed with burning flesh and hair sticking to Kiva’s nostrils and making her struggle to keep from dry retching. She held her breath as they continued down a long hallway, refusing to consider what had been beyond that door—or who.

  “Here we are,” Rooke said when they reached the far end of the building and came to a stop before another closed door. This one wasn’t giving off any heat, though Kiva knew that was only temporary.

  The Warden waved his hand at Bones, who stepped forward and heaved the door open with a grunt of effort. It was made of thick stone and wide enough for a cartload of bodies to be sent directly into the room beyond, just as the hallway they were standing in was large enough to allow for such transport.

  A high-pitched buzzing sound started in Kiva’s ears as the Warden stepped into the room and indicated for her to follow. If not for Naari tugging her in, and the three guards that remained in the hallway behind her, Kiva might have considered making a run for it.

  I can survive this, Kiva told herself, her inner voice wobbling in the face of what stood before her. And yet she was determined to fight, to live, until the very end. I will survive this.

  Tremors racked her frame, but Kiva made herself look around the sizable room she now halted in the center of. Like the door, both the walls and floor were made of thick stone, the exposed surfaces charred by decades of use. Three of the walls were interrupted by sealed metal grates—which Kiva didn’t inspect for long, all too aware of their purpose. The arched stone ceiling tapered high above her head and lifted into the chute that she knew poked out the top of the crematorium as the second chimney. It would soon be smoking, just like the first.

  “Ten minutes, Kiva Meridan,” Warden Rooke said, moving back toward the door and jerking his head for Naari to follow. “Let’s see if you can defy fate a second time.”

  Kiva wondered if he thought his words were bolstering, but all they did was leave an ashy taste in her mouth, like her body already knew what was coming.

  “See you in ten minutes,” Naari said firmly as she unlatched her hand, her amber eyes locked on Kiva’s and alight with forceful emotion, as if she were trying to share all her strength, all her confidence that Kiva would still be alive at the end of those ten minutes.

  The moment Naari’s touch was gone, Kiva wanted it back. There was nothing steadying her anymore, nothing keeping her from falling.

  “Slow breaths,” Naari whispered too soft for Rooke to hear, with him already waiting by the door. “And stay low.”

  Kiva could barely comprehend the guard’s parting instructions, sheer terror rising up and constricting her rib cage.

  The amulet, she reminded herself. Trust the amulet.

  That was all well and good, but it also meant trusting the princess, when Kiva still despised everything she represented.

  The sound of the door sealing shut echoed around the room, and Kiva spun toward it, a surge of panic unleashing within her.

  “No! Come back!” she cried in desperation, running to the stone barrier and thumping her hands against it. “Please!”

  It didn’t open.

  Smoke tickled Kiva’s nose, and she whirled again, her back pressed to the door as she stared at the three metal grates, the sounds of clicking and grinding meeting her ears.

  “No, no, no,” Kiva whispered, leaning as far into the stone door as she could, as if the further she could get from the grates, the safer she was. It was a lie—there was nowhere in this room that was safe, the charring on the door beside her face telling her as much.

  Slow breaths, Naari had told her. And stay low.

  The slow breaths were impossible right now, since Kiva was gasping for air. But she made herself follow the second order, sliding down the door until she was crouched on the ground, her hand reaching for the amulet and pulling it from beneath her tunic, her grip so tight that the edges of the crest dug into her palm. It was ironic, really, that the golden crown was piercing her skin, damaging her before the fire even started.

  But then she saw the deep orange glow at the edges of the three sealed grates, a hint of heat touching her exposed flesh as the smell of smoke grew stronger.

  Maybe the furnace would break. Maybe Grendel would find a way to make it look like it was working, without it incinerating Kiva in the process. Maybe—

  The grates opened, the metal unsealing and sliding upward at the click of a gear.

  And then came the inferno.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kiva screamed.

  She didn’t mean to, the sound just wrenched from her throat, her hands dropping the amulet to cover her face as the tempest of flames surged into the room, filling every space from the ground right up to the arched ceiling.

  Seconds—that was all it took for her to be surrounded. The firestorm was all she could see, all she could hear, the roaring and crackling overwhelming her ears as blistering heat slammed into her like a wave.

  She expected to feel the instant agony of fire searing her flesh, her screams turning from terror to pain, her life flashing before her eyes as she swiftly burned to death.

  None of that happened.

  Slowly, Kiva lowered her hands, gaping at what she found.

  The flames were touching every part of her, and yet . . . they also weren’t. The amulet she wore was glowing, a bright light pulsating outward from it and covering her like a barrier from head to toe.

  She stretched out her shaking fingers, watching in awe as the inferno swirled around the room, fully encompassing her, and yet caused no harm.

  A manic laugh left Kiva, which quickly turned into a sob before she could capture the sound and thrust it deep down within her to keep more from coming. If she ever saw Mirryn again, she would throw aside all her enmity and shower the princess with gratitude. If not for her elemental magic, Kiva would be writhing on the stone floor right now, rather than crouching and watching the fire as it raged around her.

  Seconds turned to minutes as Kiva stayed low to the ground. She didn’t dare move, lest she risk disturbing the magic in the amulet. Had she been braver, she might have risen and walked around the room, like some fire goddess dancing in the flames. But all she did was remain pressed against the door, willing back her tears as she waited, waited, waited for the ten minutes to come to an end.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  Three minutes.

  Kiva counted down in her head, seeking any distraction from the growing heat, from the smoke that was beginning to smother her, no matter how low she crouched to seek fresher air.

  Four minutes.

  Five minutes.

  Sweat dripped off her, soaking her clothes, mixing with her tears that finally began to fall as shock took hold. It didn’t matter that she was still alive, the amulet keeping her safe from the flames. Her terror was too strong, too powerful to remain buried within her. No one could see her tears in here—the heat was almost enough to evaporate them before they could trickle off her chin.

  Six minutes.

  Something was wrong. Kiva knew it as she started coughing, as the heat that had been slowly rising turned from uncomfortable to nearly unbearable. Looking down, she could see the amulet still pulsing with light, but it was flickering,
as if running out of power.

  No, Kiva willed it, holding it tightly, careful not to speak aloud and risk breathing in extra smoke. Just a little longer.

  Seven minutes.

  Kiva’s sleeve caught on fire.

  She yelped and jumped up, flames billowing into her face, and inhaled a lungful of smoke that sent her into a coughing fit. She threw herself on the ground, rolling around on the stone to stifle the fire that was now latching on to the rest of her clothes, but it was no use.

  No, no, no! Kiva screamed mentally, her throat burning as she struggled to breathe, sucking in nothing but hot air and fumes.

  Eight minutes.

  Kiva’s tunic was incinerating, her pants burning to ash, the amulet now straining to protect just her skin. The scent of karonut tickled her nostrils amid the all-consuming smoke, Mot’s waxy mixture finally having to fight alongside the princess’s magic.

  She was so close to the end—so close to surviving the Ordeal. But the power in the amulet was fading, and Kiva didn’t know how long it would last. Already she could feel her throat swelling, blistering on the inside. The elemental magic might have been protecting her flesh, but the room was now filled with toxic smoke, with very little oxygen remaining. Kiva didn’t know how much more her body could handle without a fresh supply of air. Would suffocation take her life, even if the fire itself failed? Would her organs begin to shut down, one after the other? Or would shock send her into cardiac arrest? Her heart had been leaping out of her chest since before she’d been sealed in this room; it surely couldn’t last much longer.

  Nine minutes.

  Kiva moaned as sweat slicked over her body and then evaporated in seconds. She could feel Mot’s waxy remedy dissolving from her skin, the protection it afforded melting right off her. Gasping and wheezing, she had no fight left in her to do anything but curl up in the fetal position against the stone door, wrapping her arms around her knees and closing her eyes. This was it. She couldn’t last any longer, she couldn’t survive until the end, she couldn’t—

  The roaring stopped.

  The heat began to fade.

  The door opened, and Kiva fell back, still curled around herself.

  She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t move, every part of her aching.

  But air—fresh, pure air called to her, and she sucked in a breath, before coughing, coughing, coughing.

  She felt as if she were dying, her lungs burning, her throat screaming.

  “You’re all right, you’re alive, just breathe,” came Naari’s voice, as if from far away.

  “Na—”

  “Don’t try to speak,” the guard said, and Kiva felt cloth being draped over her, the familiar scent of leather and oranges that she’d come to recognize as belonging to Naari now surrounding her, covering her nakedness.

  “What’s this?” came another voice—Warden Rooke.

  Kiva felt a weight lifted from around her neck. She tried to protest, tried to open her eyes and reclaim the amulet, but she was still coughing too violently.

  “Unbelievable,” growled Rooke. “I told those sodding royals not to interfere.” He spat a curse. “Typical. I should have expected it from the Vallentis brats.”

  “You asked them not to attend today’s Trial,” Naari said to the Warden. “Nothing else.”

  “Nothing else, my ass. If it had been anyone else . . .” Rooke released a disgruntled sound, then sighed and said, “What’s done is done. Get her up. She needs to walk out of here on her own two feet.”

  “She’s in no condition to—”

  “Get. Her. Up,” Rooke repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

  Gentle hands reached for Kiva, the cloth—Naari’s short cloak—being carefully rearranged over her shoulders and dropping until it covered her torso, stopping at her upper thighs. It didn’t hide enough of her flesh for comfort, nor did the smears of black charcoal that coated her skin. Normally, Kiva would have been appalled at parading in front of the assembled masses outside the crematorium wearing so little. But right now she didn’t care if she had to twirl naked through them, as long as it meant getting back to the safety of the infirmary and dosing herself with something to ease her breathing.

  “Up we go,” Naari said, drawing Kiva’s arm around her shoulders and bearing most of her weight. “I’ve got you.”

  Kiva wanted to thank the guard, but the idea of forming words right now was beyond her. A quick, exhausted glance around the hallway revealed Rooke’s scowling face, Grendel’s comical shock, and Bones, who was staring at Kiva’s bare legs. The expression he wore made her want to head straight to the shower block, but then she swallowed, and the blisters all the way down her trachea screamed their objection. Medicine first, then she would clean and cover herself.

  “Let’s get this done,” Rooke muttered, leading the way along the hallway, then into the antechamber at the entrance to the crematorium. Once there, he waited for Kiva and Naari to catch up—their progress being much slower, since, while Kiva’s flesh wasn’t burnt, she was still suffering the effects of heat stroke and smoke inhalation. Along with her damaged throat, her eyes were burning, her head was pounding, her muscles were cramping, and her heart rate was still too fast. The more steps she took, the less confident she was that she’d be able to make it back to the infirmary on her own, even with Naari helping her. All she wanted to do was stop and rest, just for a few minutes.

  “Open your eyes,” Naari hissed, giving Kiva a small shake that caused bolts to prickle along her nerve endings, bringing her back into consciousness just as it had started to fade. “Stay with me long enough for Rooke to make his announcement, then you can pass out.”

  Kiva was having trouble understanding, her eyelids fluttering again despite Naari’s order, her breath coming in panting rasps. But she forced herself to stay awake, to remain upright, as Naari helped her shuffle out of the crematorium after Rooke, into the bright winter sunshine.

  Icy wind touched her face, her legs, every exposed part of her. Kiva moaned, basking in the cool relief. She was tempted to throw the cloak off, but sanity prevailed, and she used her free hand to keep it clasped at her front, attempting to maintain some semblance of modesty.

  “Tilda Corentine’s Champion has successfully completed the Trial by Fire,” Warden Rooke announced in a loud voice to the awaiting prisoners.

  Shock murmured across the audience, before cries and applause rang out, tentative at first, and then loud enough to make Kiva’s ears hurt on top of everything else. She didn’t have it in her to investigate who was genuinely pleased by her surviving as opposed to those who wished she’d failed.

  Rooke raised his hands, and when the crowd quieted again, he said, “In two weeks, Kiva Meridan will face her third task, the Trial by Water. You will bear witness, as is law. Until then, you’re dismissed back to your regular duties.”

  The crowd began to disperse, while Kiva swayed in Naari’s arms.

  “Are we done here?” the guard asked Rooke.

  “Go,” the Warden replied with a flick of his hand. But when Naari started to lead Kiva away, Rooke said, “No, wait.”

  He held up the amulet between them. Kiva’s eyes were moving in and out of focus, and she blinked against the dry grittiness left over from the fire, trying her hardest to keep from yielding to the darkness creeping into her vision.

  “This can’t happen again,” Rooke warned Kiva in a low voice. “I told you I can’t help you, and I assumed it was implied that no one else can help you, either. I don’t care that Prince Deverick is the heir to Evalon’s throne. If anyone interferes with your third task, royal or otherwise, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  Kiva shook her head, but not because she didn’t understand. “It wasn’t the prince,” she rasped, every word sounding like charcoal scraping against wood.

  Rooke’s expression tightened. “Don’t lie to me.” He thrust the amulet at Kiva, and she fumbled for it with her hand that was still clasping the cloak. Naar
i took it from her, sliding it into her own pocket for safekeeping.

  “I’m not,” Kiva said, all but wheezing now. “It wasn’t the prince. It was the princess.”

  “Everyone knows Princess Mirryn doesn’t have enough fire magic for the stunt you pulled today,” Rooke said. “It’s public record. She can manage a few small flames, at best, but her real talent is with air. The power in your little amulet—you can thank Prince Deverick for that. He’s the strongest fire elemental in the Vallentis family.”

  Kiva tried to think back to when Mirryn had given her the amulet. She’d implied that she’d filled the ruby with her own magic, but now Kiva realized she’d never actually said it outright. Was it really the crown prince who had intervened—again? Mirryn had alluded to Deverick’s superficial thoughts toward Kiva, and he himself had flirted with her in the infirmary, but was that truly enough for him to have saved her? Twice? And if so, why did Mirryn make Kiva believe the amulet was from her?

  The last, Kiva figured, was because the Vallentis siblings weren’t supposed to be helping her. Tilda Corentine was their enemy, and ignoring her mystery illness, Kiva was all that stood between the Rebel Queen and death. The crown prince would likely find himself in a great deal of trouble with his court should anyone realize what he had done.

  But . . . why had he done it? Was it truly because he was attracted to her?

  My brother is a reckless, impulsive fool, yet he still manages to be one of the best people I know.

  Recalling what Mirryn had said about Deverick, Kiva wondered if maybe, just maybe, the crown prince understood justice better than the rest of his family. Maybe he thought Tilda was worth giving a fighting chance. Maybe he thought she was worth saving—and Kiva, too.

  Uncertain, Kiva realized that now wasn’t the time to puzzle it over. Not when she was barely holding on to consciousness.

  “It won’t happen again,” Kiva told Rooke, meaning it. She had no further tricks up her sleeve, no more amulets or anything else that could help in her next elemental task. And the royal siblings were long gone. She would get no assistance—or answers—from them.