Page 51 of The Prison Healer

“Ah,” Jaren said, a smile breaking out on his face as he understood her earlier warning. Or, that’s what Kiva assumed, until he again reached out to pet the fluffy feline.

“No, wait—” Kiva started, only to stop when Bootsdidn’treveal that she was evil incarnate, and instead arched into Jaren’s touch, purring loud enough for them all to hear. “Traitor,” she muttered under her breath.

Jaren sent her a blinding grin. “I have that effect on all moody—”

“If you value your health, don’t finish that sentence,” Kiva stated, her cheeks beginning to heat.

Tipp started laughing again, but then it turned into a yawn so huge that Kiva was sure she heard his jaw crack. Narrowing her eyes, she jabbed a finger toward him and said, “You, bed.” To Jaren, she added, just as snippily, “You, make sure he gets there without falling asleep.”

Jaren chuckled quietly, as if fully aware that she didn’t want to be left alone with him. Not that they’d be alone with Naari there, but still. Kiva had made it no secret that she was avoiding one-on-one time with him. He just wasn’t getting the hint that she couldn’t—andwouldn’t—form any more attachments at Zalindov, not even friendship.

“Until next time, Boots,” Jaren said to the cat with one last scratch under her chin, before pushing off from the workbench and reaching Tipp just as he scrambled down to the ground.

“See you t-tomorrow, Kiva!” the young boy said with a wave as Jaren began herding him from the infirmary, the latter offering one last smile at Kiva over his shoulder before he was gone.

Naari, however, remained behind. When Kiva looked at her, the woman said, “Are you sleeping in your cell block tonight?” At Kiva’s nod, Naari continued, “I’ll wait until you’re ready to leave.”

Kiva had to swallow the emotion she felt, surprised to find that it was relief, not fear. The other guards were still causing more trouble than usual for the inmates, especially at night. Naari’s presence would keep them at bay.

“Thank you,” Kiva croaked out.

In return, Naari said, “I saw the way you looked between Jaren and me.”

Kiva wished she could say she didn’t know what the guard was talking about. “It’s none of my business,” she mumbled, reaching toward Boots but withdrawing her hand quickly when the demon cat hissed and then tottered back into her hidey-hole.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Naari agreed. “But all the same, I would never carry out inappropriate relations with someone under my charge.”

A weight lifted from Kiva, even if she mentally scolded herself for feeling that way. She didn’t care whether Naari and Jaren were having relations, inappropriate or otherwise—or so she tried to convince herself.

“That’s very ... professional of you,” Kiva said, desperate for some-thing to say. “I’m sure I speak for all prisoners when I say we appreciate it.”

Naari tilted her head, her cropped hair and jade earring both shining in the light of the luminium beacons. “You intrigue me.”

“I ... what?”

“I’ve been on duty here for months,” Naari said, gesturing to the infirmary. “Long enough to watch how you interact with others. Aside from Tipp and, on the rare occasion, Mot and Grendel, you keep almost exclusively to yourself.”

Kiva was staring at her with wide eyes, surprised not only that Naari had been watching her, but also that she knew the names of the other prisoners. Most guards just referred to inmates by their job allocations, their physical descriptions, or, if they were near enough to read them, their identification numbers.

“Why don’t you allow yourself to get close to others?” Naari continued, sounding genuinely curious. “Jaren seems like one of the rare good ones. I think he’d be worth your time.”

“You can hardly judge that based on only thirty-three days of knowing him,” Kiva said. Needing a distraction, she picked up an open flask and began searching for the stopper.

Naari’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Swearing internally, Kiva only said, “It’s an estimate.”

“‘Thirty’ is an estimate. ‘A month’ is an estimate. ‘A few weeks’ is an estimate.” Naari grinned, her teeth bright against her dark skin. “‘Thirty-three’ is an exact number.”

“You know what?” Kiva said, finding the stopper and shoving it down the lip of the flask harder than was necessary. “I’m actually fine here, if you want to take off.”

Naari laughed. It was a hearty sound, deep and almost raspy. “Why don’t you instead tell me what needs to be done before you can leave, and I’ll help you finish up.”

Kiva’s brain all but short-circuited and she wheezed, “What?”

“I have two hands and two legs,” Naari said. Raising her gloved left hand, she added, “This isn’t just for decoration. Give me a task, and I’ll do it.”

Stunned by the offer, Kiva was unable to respond until Naari prompted, “Come on, healer, I don’t have all night. I want to make it to Vaskin before the innkeeper calls for final drinks.”

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