The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(13)

He examined her face, and she let him, hoping he could read how serious she was, how much peril they were all in, every moment of every day.

Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly when the action jolted his head. “I see.”

And she believed him. There was a furrow between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before, a shadow over his features, a new weight upon his shoulders.

Maybe he would survive, after all.

. . . At least until his body could no longer stand whatever work was in store for him.

“Come on, there’s more to see,” Kiva said, heading toward the center of the grounds.

They moved from gravel to a mixture of dead grass and dirt as she thought about how best to give Jaren some bearings.

“Zalindov is shaped like a hexagon,” she said as they continued walking. “Six outer walls thick enough to be patrolled from the top, with fully manned watchtowers at each of the six corners.” She waved toward the ones they could see from their position, then indicated beyond them. “Given your state when you arrived, I’m guessing you were unconscious for the last part of your journey?” At his confirmation, she went on, “Then you missed the real welcome into Zalindov. Before the iron entrance gates, before the farms and the quarries and the lumberyard and everything else outside of the immediate walls, there’s another perimeter fence, with eight more watchtowers. There’s also a constant patrol of guards. And dogs.” She made sure he was paying attention when she warned, “Don’t bother trying to escape. No prisoner has ever made it past the perimeter fence alive.”

Jaren didn’t reply. It seemed he was finally beginning to comprehend the reality of Zalindov. The color that had steadily returned to his face was fading again, though that could also be because of his increasing pain. Kiva had no idea how long the concoction she’d given him would last. He likely wouldn’t be standing for much longer.

“Inside the walls, there are four extra freestanding watchtowers,” Kiva said as they approached one of them, a daunting stone building shaped like a tall rectangle rising into the sky, the top section opening out onto a wraparound platform. From her position, she could see two guards walking along it, and she knew more were inside. “Together with the six wall towers, they offer a bird’s-eye view over the entire inner compound. Someone is always watching—never forget that.”

Again, Jaren didn’t reply.

Kiva kept walking until they were as close to the center of the grounds as she could get them.

“The infirmary, morgue, and crematorium are along the northwest wall.” She pointed back the way they’d traveled. “If we’d kept following it around, we would’ve hit the workrooms. Everything from stitch craft to administration work happens in there. If we’d gone in the opposite direction, turning right from the infirmary, we would’ve hit the kennels, the central barracks where most of the guards sleep, and the entrance block beside the front gates, where new inmates are processed.”

Jaren squinted through the twilight in that direction, his gaze slightly unfocused now as his pain took hold. “Is that where visitors come to meet us?”

The question caught Kiva unawares. “Prisoners aren’t allowed visitors.”

“What, never?” Jaren asked, turning swiftly back to her. He swayed a little on his feet, and Kiva had to resist the urge to reach out and steady him. “Does that mean . . . You never said how long you’ve been here.”

She shrugged and looked away. It was answer enough.

“I’m sorry, Kiva.”

Three words, said in his low, gentle voice, and they were nearly her undoing. Three kind words from a stranger, affecting her enough to prompt the sting of tears—was that how far she’d fallen?

We are safe. Stay alive. We will come.

She couldn’t be so weak, not in front of Jaren, and certainly not in front of Naari. Her family needed her to stay strong.

Pushing through the heaviness in her chest, Kiva straightened her spine and said, firmly, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. My role as the prison healer might require me to help you and others, but I’m in here for a reason, just like everyone else. Murderers and rebels—that’s what we are. You said it yourself.”

Jaren said nothing for a long beat, but then, slowly, he stated, “So . . . no visitors.” When Kiva nodded stiffly, he went on, “That’s no great loss. I wouldn’t want my family to come, anyway.” A small huff of laughter left him. “They’d be even less inclined to visit.”

A spark of curiosity flared in Kiva. It sounded as if he and his family were estranged, and she wondered if that was because of whatever had landed him in here. But then she saw that he was still watching her carefully, and she realized what he was doing: distracting her, giving her a moment to regain control, offering her a conversational door that she could choose to keep open or slam shut.

But . . . why would he do that?

This was why she didn’t like doing prisoner orientation. It meant she had to talk with them. Spend time with them. Get to know them. She’d much rather remain alone in the infirmary, seeing them when they were sick or hurt and then sending them on their way again. This was not . . . She didn’t like this.

Closing his offered door, she promptly returned to her role as his guide.

“There’s too much for me to show you tonight, and you’re going to forget most of it anyway,” Kiva said, partly because she wanted to be rid of him, and partly because he was still swaying and she didn’t want to have to carry him all the way to his cell block. “Most of what you need to know will depend on what work allocation you’re given, and you’ll learn that tomorrow.”