Chapter Ten
Tilda’s fever broke four days later.
Kiva was both relieved and concerned. Relieved, because it meant the woman might survive the sickness that was still flooding her immune system. Concerned, because there were now only three days left before the crown prince and princess arrived to witness the Trial by Air.
She was running out of time.
Even though Tilda no longer sweated through her sheets every hour and was waking up for longer periods, Kiva still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her.
The woman couldn’t—or wouldn’t—speak, and not even Kiva’s gentle encouragement could get her to shed any light on her illness.
At times, she appeared lucid, but then moments later she would be overcome by delirium, wrestling against her bindings, frothing at the mouth, and screaming loud enough to have guards sprinting for the infirmary.
Kiva didn’t know what to do or how to help her. And on top of that, she was exhausted not only from the increased cases of the stomach virus, but also from helping prisoners who were seeking her out for other troubles, a growing number of which stemmed from altercations with the guards.
This deep into winter, with very few new arrivals, the guards were ill-tempered and bored.
They sought entertainment in the form of women prisoners, sometimes men.
After ten years, Kiva was used to it, but that didn’t stop the burn of hatred she felt when fearful women came in droves asking for barrenbark to stave off their cycles.
The grueling nature of the labor and limited rations meant that most of the female inmates didn’t bleed at all, but for those who did .
.. The last thing anyone wanted in Zalindov was to fall pregnant.
It happened, of course, and in the rare cases when a woman had gone to full term, Kiva had assisted with the delivery.
But not once in her decade at the prison had a mother and newborn child survived for long.
Kiva took precautions herself, but thanks to her work hours being longer than most and her assumed loyalty to the Warden, she usually avoided the attention of the guards.
She wasn’t always immune—as had been the case a few weeks earlier when Naari had intervened.
But while she’d suffered through being their plaything a handful of times over the years, they’d always stopped before going too far, as if aware that they might need medical aid from her in the future.
It was both a blessing and a curse—a blessing, since she was saved from complete violation, but a curse, because she could do nothing to protect others.
Sometimes she slept in the infirmary, not only to avoid the restless guards, but also to be available around the clock for those in need of her.
It was on one of these nights, in the early hours of the morning, that Kiva was awakened by a low, keening sound.
She’d sent Olisha and Nergal away when they’d arrived for their shift, claiming that she wanted to monitor some of the quarantined patients.
In truth, Naari had warned Kiva not to walk back to her cell block alone that night, and since the guard had been needed elsewhere, she couldn’t provide an escort.
Kiva had reeled for hours after her warning.
She’d wondered if it was because Naari was a woman, or if it was simply because she was a decent human being, despite her role at Zalindov.
Whatever the reason, Kiva was grateful, and after sending Tipp away earlier than usual and telling him to stay close to Jaren, she had remained inside the infirmary and curled up on a pallet when she could no longer keep her eyes open.
The low, keening sound came again, and Kiva stirred more fully, fighting the sleep that tried to pull her back under.
But when she realized the noise was coming from Tilda and that it wasn’t just an incomprehensible sound but, rather, a moaned word, she sat up, shoving her legs over the side of the bed and shuffling over to the woman.
“Waaaater. Waaaaaaaater.”
Tilda was straining against her bindings, shaking her head from side to side, staring blindly into the low-lit room.
“I’m here,” Kiva told her, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get you some water.”
Kiva’s heart was pounding in her ears as she rushed to collect a tumbler and dunked it into a pail of fresh water. Vaguely, she noted that a guard was stationed at the door to the infirmary, someone she didn’t recognize. The armed man was peering curiously toward Tilda, no doubt listening closely.
Discomforted by the thought that he’d been watching them both sleep, Kiva avoided eye contact with him and hurried back to her charge, gently raising the ill woman’s head and holding the tumbler to her lips.
Tilda drank eagerly enough that some of the water trickled down her chin, and once she was finished, Kiva dabbed it dry.
“Thaaaan— Thaaaaaaaannnk—”
“You’re welcome,” Kiva said, swallowing a lump in her throat.
Only one full day remained before the first Ordeal, and despite her fever having broken earlier that week, there had been little improvement in Tilda’s condition. Seeing her finally try to communicate now ... Kiva had to swallow again, a wave of emotion rising up within her.
She wasn’t supposed to become attached to her patients. That was the first rule of being the prison healer. Any healer, for that matter. But especially one at Zalindov. And yet, this woman ... Kiva couldn’t help feeling connected to her.
Don’t let her die .
“Do you know where you are?” Kiva asked quietly, dragging over a stool and sitting beside Tilda’s bed.
She wasn’t sure if the woman understood her words, but she had to at least try.
Even with the guard listening in and likely reporting everything back to the Warden.
She would just have to be careful. Both of them would have to be careful.
“Zallll— Zaaaaaalllll—”
“Zalindov, that’s right,” Kiva said encouragingly. She noted that Tilda was having trouble with her speech, adding it to the list of symptoms that might help her find a cause of the illness. An idea came to her, and she said, “I’ll be right back.”
Jumping up, Kiva hurried across to her supplies and pulled out a pot of gumwort that Tipp had already ground into a paste. The sludgy brown color was unappealing, but it smelled like fresh herbs and aided with relaxation and clarity.
Hoping it would loosen Tilda’s words, Kiva returned to her side and asked her to open her mouth. The woman hesitated, and Kiva feared she would resist—possibly even try to fight her around the restraints—but after a beat, Tilda did as asked, and Kiva smeared some of the gumwort onto her tongue.
After giving the paste enough time to take effect, Kiva asked, “Can you tell me your name?”
The woman’s lips opened and closed before she finally said, “Tilda. I’m ... Tilda.” Her throat bobbed, as if she was trying to swallow but the effort pained her. “Where ... am ... I?”
A breath whooshed out of Kiva, even while her heart sank. Hearing Tilda say her own name made Kiva feel like she was finally getting somewhere, at least until Tilda questioned where she was—right after having already answered that herself.
“You’re in Zalindov, remember?” Kiva asked slowly.
The woman blinked sightlessly up toward the ceiling. “Zalindov? Yes. Yes ... where?”
Kiva’s heart continued to shrivel. “You arrived ten days ago,” she shared, unsure what else to say. Tilda gave a small, surprised jerk. “You’ve been very sick. I’m—I’m trying to make you better.”
“Why?”
One sharp word, and Kiva found she didn’t know how to answer. There were so many reasons, most of which she couldn’t say. Especially with the guard listening in.
Don’t let her die.
“Because I’m— Because you’re— Because we’re—”
“The ... Trials,” Tilda interrupted, her voice beginning to sound weaker again. “My ... sentence. Why—” She inhaled a rattling breath, and with visible effort, continued, “Why keep me ... alive ... only so ... I can ... die?”
The broken words had Kiva fisting her hands in her lap, her nails digging into her flesh. Of all the things for Tilda to know, to remember ... why did she have to ask about the Trials? What was Kiva to say? Too many answers sprang to her mind.
Because it’s my job .
Because the Warden ordered me to.
Because my sister wrote me a note.
Because Cresta will kill Tipp if I don’t.
Because I won’t be able to live with myself if—
“Where ... am ... I?” Tilda asked again, interrupting Kiva’s thoughts.
Slumping in on herself, Kiva was just about to repeat that Tilda was in Zalindov, but then she paused, wondering if perhaps that wasn’t what Tilda was really asking.
With a quick look at the guard, Kiva weighed her words and, seeing no harm in it, answered, “You’re in the infirmary. Zalindov’s infirmary.”
A moment of silence fell, until Tilda asked, her voice a mere whisper now, “Who ... are ... you?”
With another quick look at the guard, Kiva offered the most honest reply that she dared.
“Someone who wants you to survive this— all of this.” She reached out and, impulsively, gave Tilda’s hand a squeeze before coming to her senses and releasing her quickly.
“You should rest. We can talk again tomorrow.”
But when morning dawned, Tilda had slipped back into her delirium. Not even the gumwort worked this time.
The hours trickled by, and Kiva waited to see if the woman would return to herself, but her hope was in vain. Tilda was still too sick, fully at the mercy of whatever ailed her. And when the following day arrived—the day of the first Ordeal—Kiva knew she was out of time.
Don’t let her die.
Don’t let her die.
Don’t let her die.