Page 119 of The Prison Healer

Jaren hissed, and Kiva snapped her arm back, looking at him with concern, since she’d barely touched him.

“Sorry, your fingers are cold,” Jaren said, sounding embarrassed. Looking it, too.

Kiva could have laughed. Might have, had she not been so raw from everything they’d just waded through.

“We can’t all make fire burst from our hands,” Kiva said, though she did rub hers together to heat them a little before reaching for him again.

As carefully as possible, she pushed against his bruises, trying to determine how bad the damage was. Despite everything, she hated that she was causing him pain, unable to miss his staggered breathing and muscle clenches every time she pressed too deep.

Kiva wasn’t sure who was more relieved when she finally sat back and declared, “A few cracked ribs, but I don’t think there’s internal bleeding. We’ll keep an eye on you, just to be sure.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to leave me on my own down here?”

His tone was joking, but Kiva saw a hint of worry in his eyes—not about whether she’d abandon him in his injured state, but about whether she was still upset enough to consider it.

Kiva didn’t ease his mind and only said, “Lean forward. I want to check your back.”

“It’s—”

“If you say ‘it’s fine,’ Iwillleave you down here.”

Jaren promptly leaned forward, and Kiva pushed his tunic further up. What she saw caused her to simultaneously ice over and fill with fire. The deep, thick wounds were only partially healed, even after a fortnight. What the Butcher had done ... the damage he had caused ...

“These are healing well,” Kiva made herself say as she tried to stifle her anger—and her guilt. She ran her finger along one of the scabs, and Jaren shivered at her touch. “They look sore, though.”

“It was worth it,” Jaren said quietly, causing Kiva’s heart to stutter at his implication. He cleared his throat and added, “But yeah, they don’t feel great. Walking isn’t much fun.”

He didn’t need to mention what they both knew—that the Butcher’s newest beating had only enhanced his pain.

Having nothing on hand to help him, Kiva was just about to release his tunic when her eyes fell on one of his older scars, buried beneath fresher scabs, but still there. Seeking a distraction—anydistraction—from how she felt at seeing his newer wounds, she touched a finger to it, causing  Jaren to shiver again, but then he froze when she said, “You said someone close to you did this.”

Jaren pulled away from her, lowering his tunic himself. “Forget what I said.”

Forget?

Forget?

He was the heir to the throne, one of the most protected people in the kingdom. And someone had hurt him. Hadabusedhim. How could she just forget about that?

“Seriously,” Jaren said firmly, seeing her expression. “Just drop it.”

Kiva saw red.“Drop it?”she repeated, her anger rising anew. “You’re willing to trust me with your magic and your identity and your secret, forbidden plans, but not this?”

Jaren remained silent.

Her fury growing, Kiva pointed a finger right in his face and said, “After everything we’ve been through! After the Trials and the poison—the gods-damned poison that Naari swearsyourfamily will stop—after all that, you want me to just—”

“It was my mother, all right!”

Kiva lurched backwards, Jaren’s shouted words echoing down the tunnel.

Thequeenhad hurt him?Queen Arianahad scarred him?

The fire flickered, as if reacting to Jaren’s distress.

“She— It’s—” He broke off, cursed, ran a hand over his face, wincing as the move tugged at his abdomen. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “It’s not really her. It’s the angeldust. She has a problem with it, sometimes takes too much. Too often. When that happens, she forgets who she is, gets confused, loses control.”

Compassion rose within Kiva, dousing her earlier fury. All of it.

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