The Prison Healer

by Lynette Noni

“By the time the news began circulating, it was too late,” Naari said. “There’s nothing to be done now. The prisoners know they’re being poisoned, they know who’s doing it, and they know it’s still happening, since Rooke doesn’t care that he’s been outed. He hasn’t changed his plans. As long as no one outside Zalindov knows, he’s safe.”

  Safe. When no one else was.

  “The inmates are terrified. And enraged. I’ve never seen them like this, all of them rallying together, rebels and anti-rebels alike. The other guards are beating them into submission, but it’s three thousand against a few hundred. I’m not sure how long before full-scale violence unfolds.”

  Kiva’s trembles had turned to shakes. She could already see it playing out in her mind. There had been a number of riots during her time in Zalindov, each of which had been terrifying to live through, but the worst ones—the ones that left dozens, sometimes hundreds dead—had only occurred twice. Kiva had suffered nightmares for months after both, fearing every small sound would launch the beginning of another deadly riot, and the mass executions that followed.

  The prisoners never won. They might have numbers on their side, but they were weak, underfed, and exhausted, while the guards were in perfect health and had lethal weapons, plus the advantage of the watchtowers and the walls.

  Riots turned Zalindov into a slaughterhouse, and resulted in nothing but devastation.

  “As soon as I learned what was happening, I rode to Vaskin and sent a missive to King Stellan and Queen Ariana,” Naari said, her voice stronger now, trying to let Kiva know that she was handling it, as if she alone could make everything better. “I’ve told them all about Rooke and his poison. They’ll put a stop to this. It’s barbaric, even for Zalindov. They won’t let it stand. And once prisoners are no longer dying, the rest of them will calm down. Everything will go back to normal.”

  “Why would the king and queen care?” Kiva’s voice sounded distant to her own ears, her hopelessness all-consuming. “You’re a prison guard. You might as well be no one in their eyes. They won’t give a damn what you have to say.”

  The words were harsh, and if Kiva hadn’t been so distraught after all she’d just heard, she would have been more tactful. But Naari didn’t take offense. If anything, she seemed confused.

  “A prison guard?” she repeated, frowning. Slowly, she asked, “I thought you spoke with Jaren? Down in the quarry?”

  Kiva’s mind was still on the poison revelation and the impending riot. She was overcome with fear, dreading what it might mean for any of them, for all of them. Naari was right—Rooke’s actions were barbaric. But to think that Evalon’s royal family would care enough to intervene, when they were the reason so many of the prisoners were in Zalindov at all . . . Naari was dreaming. And that was if they even read her missive, which Kiva thought was unlikely.

  “Didn’t he tell you?”

  The guard’s words pulled Kiva’s attention back to her. And to the disbelieving expression on her face.

  “Tell me what?”

  “You saw his magic.” Naari seemed at a loss. “He used it to save you.”

  Kiva was having trouble keeping up, failing to understand why Naari seemed so distressed. “I know that.” She waved to the cell. “It’s why we’re here—because he interfered.”

  Not that Kiva was complaining, since Jaren had pulled her back from certain death. She might hate everything about the Abyss, but at least she was still alive. Jaren, too.

  “Then . . . you know who he is,” Naari said haltingly, as if it were she who didn’t understand.

  Kiva’s brow furrowed. “Who he . . .” She trailed off, something clicking in her brain.

  You can’t tell anyone who I am.

  In the quarry, Jaren had said that to her. He’d thought she’d understood then, that she’d realized on her own. He hadn’t said not to tell anyone what he could do, hadn’t asked her not to mention his magical ability. Instead, he’d warned her not to reveal who he was.

  You can’t tell anyone who I am.

  She’d assumed he was an anomaly. She’d been waiting for an explanation as to how he had magic when it was so rare outside of those born to the royal houses of Corentine or Vallentis—the Corentine bloodline with healing magic, and the Vallentis bloodline with . . . with . . .

  With elemental magic.

  Kiva gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth.

  She’d been such a fool.

  Such a blind, stupid fool.

  You can’t tell anyone who I am.

  Jaren wasn’t a prisoner—he was a Vallentis.

  And not just any Vallentis.

  He’s quite taken with you.

  Mirryn hadn’t been talking about the masked man from the gallows parading as a prince, the rogue who had flirted with Kiva in the infirmary. She’d been talking about her brother—her real brother—who had been wearing a dirty tunic and standing in the crowd. The same brother who had kept Kiva from falling to her death and then infused fire magic into his family’s crest, making Mirryn, his sister, deliver it.

  Because he cared for Kiva.

  Because he didn’t want her to die.

  Because he had the power to save her.

  So he did.

  The real Prince Deverick—it was Jaren.

  “No.” Kiva was unable to keep the exclamation from bursting out of her.

  “I thought he told you,” Naari said quietly. “I thought you knew.”

  Kiva shook her head. Shook it again. Kept shaking it, as if doing so would wipe away what she’d just discovered.

  Jaren was a Vallentis.

  His family was the reason her brother was dead, the reason she had been torn from her family and lost a whole decade of her life, the reason her father had died at the hands of a murdering psychopath in this hellhole.

  You’re to be imprisoned for suspected treason against the crown.

  The crown—the Vallentis crown.

  Jaren’s crown.

  He was the heir to the throne.

  The crown prince.

  And he’d lied to her.

  For weeks.

  Tears glittered in Kiva’s eyes. Naari reached for her, but she recoiled. Hurt splashed across the guard’s face, but Kiva was struggling too much with her internal war to feel any remorse.

  “Why is he here?” she rasped out.

  He was the Prince of Evalon—why was he masquerading as a prisoner at Zalindov? Why was he risking his life down in the tunnels day after day? Why didn’t anyone but Naari know?

  “I can’t tell you that,” the guard answered. When Kiva opened her mouth to object, Naari quickly added, “I’m sorry, I swore an oath. But he’ll tell you. He will. He’ll explain everything, Kiva, as soon as he’s able to.”

  “You swore an oath?” Kiva repeated. Her vision was blurry, the tears threatening to fall. She remembered what the guard had said, how she seemed to believe that the king and queen would listen to her. Even before that—weeks ago, she’d been surprised to learn that Princess Mirryn was in a relationship, as if she should have already known. “Who are you?” Kiva demanded.

  Naari’s gaze was steady on hers. “I’m Jaren’s Golden Shield.”

  Golden Shield—the highest position of honor for a guard. For a Royal Guard.

  I was protecting someone I care about, Naari had said when Kiva asked how she’d lost her hand. They made sure I was taken care of afterward.

  No wonder her prosthesis was so advanced. It had been gifted to her by the crown prince himself. Who she worked for. Who she protected.

  But Naari had arrived at Zalindov weeks before Jaren. So how—

  “He’s not meant to be here,” Naari said, seeing the questions flash across her face. “It was meant to be another Royal Guard, Eidran, with the plan being for me to arrive before him so we wouldn’t raise suspicions. But Eidran broke his leg just hours before the prison transfer, and Jaren—” Naari bit off with a curse. “I can’t tell you anything else, Kiva. You’ll have to
wait. But none of this was meant to happen.” Her expression turned haunted. “When you cleaned the blood from Jaren that first day, and I recognized him . . .” She shook her head. “He’s the only person I know reckless enough to get into a wagon with two thugs bent on killing each other and then try to play peacemaker. Of course he ended up beaten half to death, the fool.” She made an aggrieved sound and continued mumbling under her breath about idiotic royals.

  Kiva didn’t want to hear any more. Once, she had. She’d been curious about Jaren’s arrival, why the two men with him had turned up dead and he’d been covered in their blood. But now, she didn’t care. She didn’t want to see him again, let alone speak to him. To hell with his explanations. Any of them. “He didn’t know about the poison,” Naari said, quieter. “I promise—he was just as horrified as you when I told him about the vials and the Warden a few days ago. I was telling the truth before. Rooke is acting on his own, without permission from the Vallentis family. They’ll stop him as soon as word reaches them. I swear it.”

  The poison was the furthest thing from Kiva’s mind right now. It was all she could do to breathe past the screaming betrayal, her heart simultaneously breaking and burning, hurt and fury fighting for dominance.

  The slightest of noises echoed through the small crack in the door, and Naari hissed out another curse.

  “That’s my warning. The guards are changing shifts, I have to go.” She stood to her feet, the luminium beacon flickering shadows across the stone.

  Kiva scrambled up after her. Despite everything she’d just learned, she didn’t want Naari to go, leaving her to face the darkness again.

  She wanted to hate the guard, to rail at her for lying the whole time they’d known each other. But Naari was only acting upon orders given to her, keeping  Jaren’s—Prince Deverick’s—secrets. To Kiva, the guard had been nothing but respectful, kind, protective. She’d become her friend, remaining by her side and holding her together—sometimes literally, in the case of the Trials. As much as she wished she could, Kiva couldn’t muster the bitterness needed to resent her, not when all those feelings were directed toward the crown prince. She had no room left to be mad at anyone else.

  “I know it’s a lot,” Naari said urgently, dimming the luminium beacon to its lowest setting, as if fearing someone might see it through the sliver in the doorway. “I know your head must be spinning right now, so please listen to me when I say, everything will be all right. We’ll get Rooke to stop using the poison. And Jaren will explain everything else. Just . . . try to keep an open mind until you’ve spoken with him. You have a right to be angry, but don’t let that stop you from forgiving him. He did what he did for the right reasons.”

  That was all well and good for Naari to say, but she didn’t know what Kiva knew, didn’t know about her family, her history. Kiva couldn’t keep an open mind, knowing what she did. And forgiveness? Impossible.

  “One last thing,” Naari said, and something about her voice had Kiva curling in on herself, as if expecting a blow. Another one. “You still have to face your final Ordeal. But . . .”

  “But what?” Kiva croaked.

  “But they’re keeping you in here until then.”

  No.

  The final Trial was still eight days away. Kiva had barely survived the last six locked in the Abyss. But eight more . . .

  “I’ll come back if I can,” Naari said. “I got lucky this time, called in a favor, but I’m not sure if . . .” She trailed off, unwilling to make a promise she couldn’t keep. Instead, she reached out to squeeze Kiva’s shoulder, and this time, Kiva didn’t recoil, needing the comfort of human touch.

  “I’ll see you soon,” the guard said firmly, before she slipped out the door, the thick stone sealing behind her.

  Only when all traces of light were gone did Kiva sink down to her knees, adrift in a sea of darkness, alone but for her screaming mind and aching heart.

  SATURDAY

  SUNDAY

  MONDAY

  TUESDAY

  WEDNESDAY

  THURSDAY

  FRIDAY

  SATUR—

  Light, blinding light, flooded Kiva’s eyes, breaking into the darkness that had consumed her for what felt like eternity, as a harsh voice barked, “Get up, it’s time to go.”

  And she knew the time for her final Ordeal had come.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kiva could barely see as the Butcher dragged her up the stairs and along the stone hallway, her eyes having become so accustomed to the dark that she was squinting even in the low light of the dimmed luminium beacons.

  For eight days, she’d spoken to no one, alone in her isolation. When Naari had left, she’d feared she wouldn’t survive, but knowing there was an end date, that someone would eventually come to take her to the Trial, it had helped, if slightly. She was careful to keep drinking the foul water, to keep eating the food that was delivered sporadically, knowing that she would need her strength to get through what came next.

  The Trial by Earth was her final test. Today would decide whether she lived or died, whether she was to be set free or executed. Tilda, too, since her life—or death—was tied to Kiva’s.

  For eight days, that was what she had been left thinking about: what she might face in the Trial and how it might end, fully aware that she was spending what could be her last hours alone in a dark, smelly cell.

  But that wasn’t all she’d been dwelling on. Thoughts of the poison, Rooke, and Jaren had possessed her mind. Jaren, especially. She’d come to realize that there was nothing left that she could do about the Warden and his nefarious actions; she had to trust that Naari would handle it, as she’d sworn she would. Kiva also had to believe the Warden would adhere to the law and release her, should she survive the final Trial, even with the knowledge she now possessed. He had killed her father and murdered hundreds of innocents, both now and nine years earlier. She was determined he would pay for his crimes, even if it was out of her hands—for now.

  But Jaren . . .

  Kiva still couldn’t get over who he was, how he’d lied to her. But also . . . how he’d saved her.

  No matter how long she’d spent in that cell, no matter how much time she’d had to think over everything, she hadn’t been able to come to a decision about how she felt, whether she could get past her anger and hurt. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop hearing the crack of the whip as it met his flesh, his moans of pain, the sight of his blood pooling on his back, covering the Butcher, dripping to the stone floor.

  He had done that for her. The crown prince—a Vallentis—had risked his life by jumping into the quarry to rescue her, and in return, he’d been whipped to within an inch of his life. She couldn’t ignore that, even if she wanted to.

  When Kiva had first learned about his duplicity, she hadn’t wanted to see him, nor hear his explanations. But that initial fury had faded, and now she did want to confront him, desperate to hear what he had to say. The problem was, with her Trial today—and her imminent death or release—she didn’t know if she would ever face him again.

  “Kiva Meridan.”

  The Butcher brought Kiva to a halt, and she looked up to see that they were near what she guessed was the entrance to the punishment block, the small space crowded with a handful of guards, one of whom was the Warden. It was he who had spoken, staring mildly at Kiva as if he weren’t responsible for the premature deaths of so many prisoners.

  Including her father.

  Hatred burned within Kiva, but she knew better than to act upon it. It was more important that she save her strength and try to survive this Trial. She would make sure Rooke saw justice, one day. But for that to happen, she had to remain alive.

  Glancing past him around the room, Kiva wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved that everyone seemed relatively at ease. One of the things she’d worried about in the last eight days was whether the prisoners had escalated their violence, fearing that a full-blown riot had occurred. If it had, it was ov
er now. And the poisoner—the Warden—was clearly still alive. Naari, too, for Kiva could see her in the corner, her body lined with tension, unlike the other guards. The sight of her nearly brought tears to Kiva’s eyes, a friendly face after being alone for so long.

  “Today you will undertake your final Ordeal, the Trial by Earth,” Rooke said, wrinkling his nose as he took in her filth. She’d washed as well as she could in her cell’s dirty water, but she hadn’t worn fresh clothes since before the quarry. Part of her took pleasure in making him uncomfortable, the other part longed for a bath and a clean tunic.

  Holding his gaze, Kiva waited for him to ask if she had any last words, but for the first time, he did not. She wondered if he feared her mentioning the poison, or if he was simply sick of playing by the rules and ready to be done with the Trial by Ordeal altogether.

  “Owing to the nature of this task, there will be no audience today,” Rooke continued.

  Kiva raised her eyebrows, curious if that was because the task itself didn’t allow it, or if things truly were so bad with the prisoners that the Warden didn’t want to risk amassing them together in one place. She assumed it was the latter, since all of her previous Ordeals had been deliberately planned spectacles. But she’d also spent the last two weeks racking her brain to think of what the Trial by Earth might entail, and had come up with too many possibilities to narrow it down. She’d eventually given up, having been wrong every other time, anyway. Her main regret was that she’d had no chance to see if Mot had formulated a remedy that might help her. For this Ordeal, she truly was alone.

  “Should you succeed today, as stated by the fourth rule in the Book of the Law, you shall be forgiven for all crimes and granted your freedom,” Rooke went on, and Kiva’s stomach somersaulted. “Since you are acting as Champion for the accused, Tilda Corentine will also share in your pardon.” Rooke paused, then added, “However, should you perish in the task, then the accused shall be put to death.”