The Prison Healer

by Lynette Noni

  Fun. The Butcher considered what he’d just done fun.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Kiva whispered hoarsely, even as the loud whack, whack, whack of his whip meeting  Jaren’s flesh continued echoing in her ears, the memory refusing to fade.

  “Then there’s the psychological kind,” the Butcher went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Or perhaps reveling in it. “Rooke only told me not to get physical with you.” A flash of teeth. “He didn’t mention anything else.”

  He paused to let that sink in, but Kiva was too numb to feel alarmed. All she could do was stare at the blood on the Butcher’s arms, legs, chest, face.

  So much blood.

  Her fault—it was all Kiva’s fault.

  “Are you . . .” She could barely ask her question, but she needed to know, so she croaked out, “Are you going to kill him?”

  A sharp laugh from the Butcher. “Oh, no.”

  Kiva wilted with relief.

  “But when he wakes up, he’ll wish I had.”

  Tears filled Kiva’s eyes, her imagination going into overdrive as they reached a stone staircase. The Butcher dragged her down it, then down another. The air was cold here, the smells even worse, like all the suffering from above had seeped beneath the earth and now lingered like ghosts.

  “Do you know why they call this place the Abyss?” the Butcher asked when he finally pulled her to a stop in front of another door, this one made of thick, impenetrable stone.

  Kiva felt hollow inside, fear for Jaren threatening to overwhelm her. But also, looking at this door, a sudden, growing fear for herself.

  She didn’t get a chance to answer the Butcher before he opened it, shoving her into the pitch-black space beyond, and declared, “You’re about to find out.”

  And then, darkness.

  Chapter Thirty

  The stone door opened.

  A crack of light.

  Kiva turned her face to it, her eyes so blinded that she saw nothing, and yet she couldn’t keep in her quiet gasp of longing.

  Light.

  Any light.

  She reached for it with her hands, as if to trap it within her fingertips.

  And then it was gone.

  Six times this had happened.

  Six times in what felt like weeks.

  Months.

  Years.

  Kiva didn’t know how long she’d been locked inside the pitch-black cell, the true Abyss of Zalindov. The Butcher had been right—the psychological torture was worse than any physical pain. She had no sense of time, no sense of space . . . no sense of self. Aside from those six brief moments when food had been delivered, set on the ground just inside the door for her to scramble over to and feel blindly for, Kiva had no other breaks in the darkness. If not for those six deliveries, she might have thought she was dead, the sensory deprivation enough to make her believe it.

  The only thing helping her keep the slightest grip on her sanity was the drip, drip, drip in the corner, where a small drain sent dirty water into a pail. Kiva had been loath to drink from it early on, but when her first delivery of food arrived and no water came with it, she knew no one would be bringing her any. Unless she wished to die of dehydration, her only choice was the filthy water.

  She didn’t know its state from looking at it; she couldn’t see it, only heard the slow trickle as it fell and collected in the small container not just for drinking, but also for cleaning herself. It smelled like wet dog, and when she finally summoned the nerve to swallow it, cupping it from her hand to her mouth, it tasted the same.

  But it didn’t make her sick, didn’t kill her.

  And foul smell or not, the drip, drip, drip was her constant companion, all she had breaking up the otherwise nothingness.

  That, and her thoughts.

  Those were perhaps the worst torture.

  For hours, days, weeks, years—however long she had been locked away—she kept replaying everything that had led her to this moment, all the things she still had to do, all the questions that remained unanswered.

  Was Jaren safe? Were they still hurting him? Was he even still alive?

  And what about his magic? Was he the only anomaly, or were there others? Why was he in Zalindov when he could have used his power to evade arrest? What crime did he commit to begin with?

  Then there was Naari—how did she know Jaren’s secret? Why had she kept it from the other guards, from the Warden? Was that why she’d watched Jaren so closely, because she’d feared he would try and escape?

  But even after Kiva spiraled around her questions about Jaren, as the time passed, there were more things she didn’t know, more she was desperate to hear any update about.

  Was Tipp all right without her? Was Tilda?

  Had Naari discovered who was poisoning the prisoners? Had she figured out that Olisha and Nergal were pawns? Had she told Rooke? Had they found a cure, or were people still dying?

  Was Kiva still to face the final Ordeal, the Trial by Earth? Would they just forget about it and keep her locked up in isolation forever? If so, what would that mean for Tilda? Would she be allowed to live as a prisoner, should she survive her illness? Would she be killed? Had she already been killed? It wasn’t just the sickness or the guards who were a threat to her—the other prisoners were, too. Kiva had heard them whispering, the anti-rebels plotting her demise: . . . snuff out that so-called queen in her sleep . . .

  Kiva hadn’t lingered on the threats, knowing Tilda had been safe while in her care. But being locked away . . . Anything could have happened in the time she’d been gone.

  And what about Kiva’s family? Had Cresta sent word to the rebels that Kiva was in the Abyss? That Tilda’s life was at risk if Kiva didn’t make it out again? Did her family know about her suffering in the dark? Did they care?

  Don’t let her die.

  We are coming.

  They had failed to keep their promise, and Kiva was no longer sure if she could keep hers—to Tilda, and to herself.

  Her family’s coded notes had given her the strength to stay alive, the knowledge that they were still out there, the hope that she would one day join them. But now Kiva feared that would never happen, that she wouldn’t live to see outside of Zalindov’s walls.

  Outside of this cell.

  Outside of this darkness.

  Another crack in the doorway had Kiva leaning toward it once again. It felt like only minutes since her food had been delivered, and she wondered if perhaps she was starting to go mad, since time was becoming so distorted. Had she eaten the meal? She couldn’t remember the taste of it, couldn’t even remember reaching for it. But Kiva didn’t let that trouble her, instead turning full-bodied to the light, basking in the momentary comfort it offered, knowing it would be gone again in seconds.

  Only, it wasn’t.

  “Thank the everworld, you’re alive.”

  Kiva was sure she must be dreaming, that the bobbing luminium beacon entering the cell and lighting up the space must be a hallucination, along with the person who held it.

  “Naari?” Kiva rasped. Or she tried to. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d spoken, and the word struggled to leave her lips.

  The stone door closed to within an inch of sealing, leaving only the slightest of cracks, but the light remained. Kiva blinked furiously, her eyes fighting to adjust after having seen nothing but darkness for so long.

  “We only have a few minutes,” the guard said, sliding down to sit in the cramped space. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Kiva reached out to touch her, still not believing she was really there, but when her fingers met solid flesh, a relieved whimper escaped her lips.

  “You’re real,” Kiva whispered. “You’re real.”

  “Are you hurt?” Naari asked. “Have they done anything to you?”

  Kiva’s mind was foggy, her disbelief still so strong. But Naari was before her, someone who could answer her questions, so she pulled herself together.

  “Is Jaren—have
you seen him? Is he all right?” Kiva asked, instead of answering.

  “He’s . . . healing,” Naari said.

  “Healing?” Kiva’s heart rate accelerated. “What did they do to him?”

  The luminium beacon revealed Naari’s puzzlement. “He said you were there. That they made you watch.”

  “I saw the Butcher whipping him, but that was weeks ago. Longer. When we first arrived,” Kiva said, swallowing back the memories. “Have they— Have they hurt him again? Is someone treating his wounds?”

  She hated the idea that he was being punished over and over, all because he’d saved her life.

  “Weeks?” Naari repeated, sounding even more confused. But then she looked around the small, dark cell, seeing that the only light source was what she’d brought with her, and her face cleared with understanding. And then flooded with pity. Her tone was careful, wary, even concerned as she said, “Kiva, you’ve only been in here for six days.”

  All the air rushed out of Kiva. “Six—”

  Six days.

  She’d only been locked away for six days?

  It had felt like a lifetime.

  Two lifetimes.

  How could so little time have passed?

  “He’s doing better every day,” Naari said quickly, and if she saw the hopeless tears that glistened in Kiva’s eyes, she didn’t bring attention to them. “I’ve only been able to sneak in to see him twice—they’re watching him almost as closely as you. But I cleaned and dressed his wounds, just as I’ve seen you do before. There’s no sign of infection, but Tipp gave me some alderflower petals to make him chew on, just in case. Said they would work with the ballico sap to help keep his blood clean.”

  “Good,” Kiva replied in an unfamiliar, choked voice. “That’s good.”

  Six days.

  She couldn’t believe it.

  But still, she made herself get a grip, recalling what Naari had said about only having a few minutes, and tried to prioritize what she needed to know.

  “Is Tipp all right?” she asked, despite the guard having just mentioned him.

  “He’s fine,” Naari assured her. “He’s worried about you, but I’ve been looking out for him.”

  “What about Tilda?”

  Naari’s answer was slower in coming, as if she couldn’t believe Kiva was wasting time asking about the Rebel Queen, but she eventually said, “No change.” She paused, then shared further, “Tipp’s guarding her like a watchdog, barely leaving the infirmary so he can stay by her side. He says it’s what you’d have done if you were there, so he’s watching over her in your stead.”

  Oh, Tipp, Kiva felt a renewed surge of affection for the young boy, missing him dearly, wishing for just a hint of his effervescence to seep into her dark cell. He wouldn’t need a luminium beacon—he’d light up the space all on his own.

  “And the poison?” Kiva asked, unable to wait any longer. “Six days . . . I thought more time had passed, but have you figured it out? I wondered if it might be Cresta at first, but I don’t think she—”

  “It’s not Cresta,” Naari said. There was something wrong with her voice. It was too low, too flat, too full of emotion. Anger, disbelief . . . despair.

  “So you did figure it out?” Kiva asked, because despite Naari’s strange tone, that in itself was a relief.

  “After the quarry,” the guard said, still sounding off, “Olisha sought me out, aware that you and I had grown close. She was angry with you, saying you’d been remiss in your duties as a healer. When she explained about the vials she and Nergal were giving out, it didn’t take much for me to realize what was really in them.” Naari shook her head. “I can’t believe it was happening right under our noses.”

  “We had no way to know,” Kiva said, even if she was just as angry with herself.

  “I spoke with Warden Rooke,” Naari went on. She shifted on the ground, drawing her arms in closer to herself. Kiva had never seen her look so defeated. “I told him everything—all the tests you’d done, how nothing had been coming up. Then I told him what you’d said at the quarry, and what I’d learned about the so-called immunity boosters.”

  Kiva waited, but when Naari said no more, she prompted, “And?”

  Naari dragged in a deep breath. “And he already knew about them.”

  Kiva’s stomach bottomed out. Denial hit her hard and strong. “No, he didn’t,” she said hoarsely, recalling how he’d found her holding a vial just before the Trial by Water. He’d looked straight at her and asked what it was.

  But then . . . his eyes had narrowed at her answer, when she’d told him it was nothing important, and he’d refused to speak with her in private, even when she’d blurted out her request. If he really had already known the truth . . .

  “Why didn’t he say something?” Kiva demanded.

  When Naari remained silent, not looking at her, Kiva continued ranting, “So much wasted time! If he knew about the vials, why did he let us run around like idiots searching for the source? You could have been hunting down the supplier and I could have been working on a cure! There’s so much we would have done differently if we’d known! So many people who didn’t need to die! ”

  Kiva was burning with resentment. If there had been room to move in her cell, she would have gotten up and paced. What had Warden Rooke been thinking, keeping that from her? How long had he known? After the Trial by Fire, he’d wished her luck. He’d told her that many lives were counting on her. Had he known then? Had he just been laughing at her as she met failure after failure?

  Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden. You were probably too young to remember—

  “I don’t understand,” Kiva wailed as she recalled what he’d told her, knowing that he’d faced the same sickness—the same poison—years ago. “Why would he keep that secret, when it could have helped? He was at risk, too. Everyone was.”

  Only, that wasn’t true, Kiva realized.

  Because not a single guard had fallen ill.

  A strange, tingling sensation began to spread through her insides, as if she were beginning to understand something that, once discovered, could never be unlearned.

  Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden.

  Naari wasn’t meeting her gaze. The feeling within Kiva intensified into the roiling, bowel-twisting sensation of true dread.

  “Naari?” Kiva said, her voice unintentionally quiet, as if she subconsciously didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know.

  Finally, the guard looked back at Kiva. The same emotions were still blazing behind her eyes—anger, disbelief, despair. But there was a new one, too: helplessness.

  “I swear I didn’t know,” Naari whispered, her normally strong voice hoarse. “If I’d known, I would have said something, done something. I would have stopped it.”

  “Stopped what?” Kiva asked, fearing that she already knew.

  Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden.

  Naari’s throat bobbed. “They’re expecting a record number of prisoners come spring. The winter has been harsh, all across the continent. So much more crime than usual, especially with the rebel uprising bleeding into the other kingdoms and rumors of war on the horizon.”

  Kiva felt like she’d missed a step. “So?”

  Naari held Kiva’s eyes, openly sharing her horror at what she was about to reveal. “Zalindov is already past capacity. So Rooke decided to enact his own form of . . . population control.”

  Population control.

  The two words echoed in Kiva’s mind, her fears confirmed.

  The prisoners were being poisoned.

  No, not just poisoned. Executed.

  It was deliberate.

  And it came from the top. From Warden Rooke himself.

  Something like this went around years ago, soon after I first became the Warden.

  He was murdering prisoners now, just as he’d murdered them befo
re.

  Nine years ago.

  Warden Rooke had killed her father.

  Kiva felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut and then trampled to keep from getting up again.

  Was that why she was locked away in the Abyss? Not just because of Jaren’s interference with the Ordeal, but also because, after Naari had confronted Rooke, he’d realized Kiva might find a cure to his poison, ruining his plans? Or had he decided to get rid of her before that, when he’d seen her holding the vial, and Jaren’s rescue in the quarry gave him the excuse he needed to lock her away before she could stop him?

  With sudden clarity, Kiva now understood. He’d never wanted to protect her—he’d wanted to keep her close, to make sure she remained his submissive puppet. And as soon as he knew she wouldn’t . . .

  Rooke didn’t answer to any single kingdom, he answered to all of them. But if they didn’t know what he was doing, if word never left Zalindov’s walls, then Kiva would have been his only threat. So he’d sent her to the Abyss, along with any chance of a cure.

  Was that what he’d done with her father? Had Faran Meridan figured out the truth nearly a decade earlier? Kiva had assumed the sickness had taken him, but now she wondered if he’d learned of Rooke’s treachery—and paid with his life.

  Fire ran through Kiva’s veins, her entire body trembling.

  “It gets worse,” Naari said.

  Kiva didn’t know how that was possible.

  “We were in the infirmary when I spoke with him,” Naari continued. “He’d come to check on Tilda, wanting a report on her condition, as if hoping to get some scrap of rebel information from her while he still could.” The guard fiddled with the luminium beacon, but then made herself stop, clutching her fingers together instead. “Tipp was in the quarantine room, Olisha and Nergal weren’t around. I thought we were alone.” She paused. “I didn’t know Cresta had come to drop off another sick quarrier, that she’d hidden and overheard everything.”

  Everworld help them.

  If Cresta knew—