Page 42 of The Prison Healer

“Finally,” Mirryn said to him.

“Apologies, dearest Mirry. I’ve been busy,” the prince said. “There are so many interesting people here. Such fascinating stories.”

The way Deverick looked at Mirryn made Kiva think they were communicating without words, and she felt a pang, having had entire silent conversations with her own siblings, once upon a time.

“Well, hel-lothere, gorgeous,” the prince said, coming to a halt at Kiva’s bedside. He grinned down at her, a flash of perfect teeth. His mask hid everything but his mouth and his cobalt eyes, which were dancing with what looked like amusement. “You’re looking well.” He winked. “Verywell.”

Kiva wondered if he thought himself charming. For her part, she was unimpressed. And entirely uninterested. Impulsive and reckless, Mirryn had called him. Apparently, he was also a bit of a cad. Not that Kiva hadn’t guessed as much, given that he’d saved her life on the basis of her appearance. Still, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse was coated in slime.

“Your Highness,” she returned, stiffly. “Thank you for saving me.”

Prince Deverick waved a hand, still grinning. “It was nothing. Really.”

“The healer has some complaints about her physical condition,” Mirryn told her brother, inspecting her fingernails. “Consider yourself lucky to have received any gratitude at all.”

Kiva’s eyes widened.

“I’ll admit, the timing was close,” the prince acknowledged. “Another few seconds and—” He made a slapping sound with his hands, enough to churn Kiva’s stomach. “But you’re alive, and that’s what matters. It’d be a shame for someone as lovely as you to—”

“Gods, spare me,” Mirryn groaned, her features pinched. “Can we go now? I need to bathe for the next hundred years. I fear I’ll never get the stench of this place off me.”

“The People’s Princess,” Deverick said to Kiva, his tone wry. “Patient, long-suffering, full of joy, abounding with love and kindness and—”

“Oh, shut up,” Mirryn said, reaching for her brother’s arm and dragging him away from Kiva’s bedside. “You do so love to hear your own voice.”

“It’s a very nice voice,” the prince said. “Don’t you think, Kiva?”

Kiva jolted at the sound of her name falling from his lips. It was startling how casually he’d used it, as if they’d known each other for years. She said nothing, which only made his smile grow wider.

“I’ve enjoyed this,” he said, even as his sister continued pushing him from the room. “I hope our paths cross again one day, Champion.”

And then Mirryn shoved him past Captain Veris and out the door, pausing only to straighten her cloak and call back to Kiva, “I still think you have a death wish. Feel free to prove me wrong.”

Chapter Thirteen

After the royals left the infirmary, Kiva tried to get out of bed, but her aching body wasn’t up to the task. Instead, she tossed and turned until even that caused her too much pain, so she lay there, thinking about all that had happened that day, before the poppymilk finally swept her back to sleep.

When she awoke again, the infirmary was much darker, the low-lit luminium beacons chasing away the worst of the night’s shadows—and revealing that she wasn’t alone.

“What are you doing here?” Kiva croaked, her voice raspy from sleep.

Jaren was sitting on a stool beside her bed, looking down at his hands, but his head shot up at her question, relief flooding his features. “Why do you always ask me that?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m constantly surprised to see you’re still alive.”

A half smile tipped his lips before it faded and his face turned stony. “The same could be said about you after that stunt you pulled today.”

Kiva didn’t want to have this conversation while lying horizontal. She didn’t want to have this conversationat all,but definitely not in such a vulnerable position.

Pushing herself up, she held in her grimace as pain shot through her arms, torso, and head all at once, and she carefully assumed the same position as she had with the princess, leaning back against the wall.

“That looked painful.”

Kiva sent a glare toward Jaren. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She didn’t know why she was so defensive around him, why she hated revealing any sign of weakness.

Jaren sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It was sticking out at odd angles, as if he’d repeated the action numerous times. Peering closer, Kiva noted that he was covered in even more dirt and grime than when she’d seen him out by the gallows, indicating that he’d labored hard in the tunnels both before and afterward. There were shadows under his eyes, and a weariness about the way he held himself. Zalindov was getting to him, she could tell, even if it hadn’t yet broken him.

---