Chapter Eighteen
Kiva had intended to head back outside the prison with Naari the next morning to collect samples from the farms, but not only was the guard absent from the infirmary, something else more urgent took Kiva’s attention.
Tilda stopped breathing.
It was pure luck that Tipp happened to be walking past her bed when she started convulsing, pure luck that Kiva was checking on the quarantined patients and close enough to come running when the boy screamed for her, pure luck that she was able to resuscitate Tilda using chest compressions.
Kiva was covered head to toe in sweat by the time the woman was stable again, part from fear, and part from how hard she’d fought to keep Tilda hanging on to life.
Tipp was shaking like a leaf and looked as pale as the poppymilk Kiva administered to the sick woman, hoping the drug would relax her system and keep her from slipping into another convulsion.
“What w-was that? ” Tipp asked when it was finally over, his voice shrill with residual panic.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal for someone who’s been this sick for so long,” Kiva assured him, gently pushing him onto a stool before he could fall over. “I should have been watching her more carefully.”
In truth, Kiva had no idea why Tilda had just gone into cardiac arrest, because she still had no idea what the Rebel Queen was suffering from. It could have happened for the reasons she’d just told Tipp, or it could be that Tilda was slowly slipping away from them, day by day.
Don’t let her die .
There was nothing, nothing Kiva could do about Tilda’s health, other than keep her comfortable—and protect her from the imminent death of the Ordeals, the next one of which was only a day away.
But Kiva couldn’t think about that right now, unable to handle the way her chest tightened and her breath shortened at the very thought of what she was soon to face.
As the hours ticked by, she was sure of only one thing: there was no sign yet of her family and the rebels, no evidence that they’d received her note and were conscious that time was of the essence.
More and more, it was looking like she would have to trust in the princess’s amulet to keep herself alive.
For the rest of the day, Kiva was afraid to step out of sight of Tilda, remaining close in case she had another episode.
When the quarantined patients needed checking, she sent Tipp in to see to them, and when Naari finally showed up, Kiva claimed that her day was better spent testing the quarry rats with Mot rather than gallivanting around the prison for more samples.
The last was true, since she did need to test the rats, but it was also an excuse to remain in the infirmary, watching over the ill woman.
When Mot arrived midmorning, Kiva explained the situation, and the ex-apothecary sat in silence for a good five minutes, chewing on his dirty thumbnail and wearing a crinkled brow.
Finally, he rattled off a list of ingredients that could help speed up the incubation process, and Kiva pointed him in the direction of the medicinal garden.
When he returned with laden arms, he proceeded to take over her workbench, waving her over so he could explain how to create and administer what he referred to as his Augury Elixir.
“This’ll tell yeh what yeh need to know in hours,” Mot said once he was finished, offering a smug, brown-toothed grin as they peered down at the greenish concoction.
“That’s amazing,” Kiva said to the elderly man, inhaling the sweet, floral aroma. “Thanks, Mot.”
“Yeh just let me know if yeh need anythin’ else, luv,” he replied, handing over the ladle and stretching his hunched back, the resulting cracking sounds making Kiva cringe.
“These old bones can’t keep up with the dead yeh keep sendin’ my way.
Best yeh figure out what this illness is before it takes us all, eh? ”
“That’s the plan,” Kiva told him, just as Tipp stepped back through the quarantine door, sealing it behind him. The look on his face meant Kiva knew what he was going to say before he spoke.
“We lost a-a-another one.”
Kiva sighed. “Who?”
“A woman from the w-workrooms. I think she repairs the g-guards’ uniforms.” Tipp’s throat bobbed and he amended, “Repaired.”
Mot ran a hand over his balding head. “I’ll send someone ’round to get ’er.
” He exhaled loudly. “Almost feel like I should leave someone ’ere to keep draggin’ ’em over when they drop, since it’s ’appening so often now.
Did yeh know Grendel’s been asked to stoke the second furnace?
Rooke made the request ’imself, so ’e must think this is enough of an epidemic to plan for extra burnin’. ”
The Warden had made the right move, Kiva thought, since the last thing they needed was for the bodies to pile up in the morgue, especially if the illness was infectious.
Even if it wasn’t, the dead couldn’t lie around rotting as they waited for their turn to be cremated.
Best to get them out of the way and lessen the risk of other diseases beginning to spread because of mass decaying flesh.
“Tipp, can you walk Mot back to the morgue, and then head to the rats’ nest Grendel mentioned? We’ll need more for my next samples, so catch as many as you can carry,” Kiva said, thinking the young boy could use some fresh air and time away from the near-constant cloud of death over the infirmary.
His blue eyes brightened at the idea of hunting for more vermin—something that Kiva couldn’t begin to understand the thrill of, but perhaps that was because she wasn’t an eleven-year-old boy.
To Mot, Kiva gestured to the elixir and said, “Do I just mix this into their food?”
“Yeh can do that, sure, or in their water,” he said. “Or yeh can just shove it down their throats with a dropper.”
Kiva pulled a face at the contact that would require. “I think I’ll keep my distance, thanks.”
Mot laughed, a deep, wheezing sound that should have been repulsive but was instead almost comforting.
“Yeh take care of yehself, Kiva luv,” Mot said, hobbling toward the door with Tipp trailing behind him. “And best of luck tomorrow. If I were a bettin’ man, yeh’d ’ave my gold.” He paused, then added, “Yeh’ve got yehself a plan? To survive?”
Kiva’s insides tightened, a ball of tension settling like a rock in her stomach.
She reached automatically for the amulet tucked beneath her tunic, its now-familiar weight offering a hint of reassurance.
She still believed—still hoped —that it wouldn’t be needed.
There was still time for her family to come. But if they didn’t ...
She wished she knew what was in store for her the next day, wished she’d thought to ask the princess if she had to do anything to make the elemental magic in the amulet work, wished she didn’t have to face the Trial at all.
But wishing had never done her any good before, just as she knew it wouldn’t now.
The look on Tipp’s face kept Kiva from sharing her uncertainty with Mot, and instead she croaked out, “Of course. I’m not at all worried.”
Mot squinted at her, and then looked to Tipp, who was beaming with relief at Kiva’s apparent confidence.
“I see,” the old man said. Without another word, he turned and hobbled back toward the medicinal garden, returning with yet another load and dumping it all on Kiva’s workbench.
She watched in baffled silence as he measured, sliced, and ground his concoction, before rifling through her supplies until he found a jar of karonut oil that Tipp had spent hours painstakingly collecting. Mot poured the entire jar into his mixture, gave it a stir, and then thrust it toward Kiva.
“Let this sit overnight,” he instructed her.
Inhaling the delicious, fresh scent, Kiva asked, “What is it?”
Mot placed his wrinkled hand on her shoulder.
“It’s for yer Trial, Kiva luv. To help protect yeh.
” When she stiffened with shock, he gave her a gentle squeeze and nodded to the pot.
“It’ll turn waxy by mornin’. Make sure yeh smear it good and proper all over yer skin, do yeh hear me?
It won’t save yeh if they plan to set yeh up on a pyre, but it’ll do more than any other salve yeh can think of.
Might give yeh a fightin’ chance, extra time to get free or somethin’.
” He paused. “Don’t get it in yer eyes, though. It’ll sting like a bitch.”
Kiva didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—or vomit—at the thought of a pyre. It seemed as if Mot, like her, assumed it was an option she might have to face.
Surprising them both, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, an unprecedented display of affection from her, and enough to startle him so much that he failed to return the embrace before she stepped away again.
“Thank you, Mot,” she said, with feeling. “Truly.”
“Yeh can thank me after the Trial is over and yeh’re still alive,” he said, his ruddy cheeks slightly pink. He then turned to Tipp, who was smiling even wider than before, as if certain Mot had given Kiva a foolproof way to survive. “Come on, boy. Time’s a-wastin’.”
The two of them exited the infirmary, leaving Kiva with only her thoughts for company.
Soon enough, her fears about the next day began to scream for attention.
She needed a distraction, something to keep her from spiraling into panic.
She had the amulet, and if the magic in it failed, she now had Mot’s protection, even if he’d warned of the mixture’s limitations.
There was nothing more she could do. She needed to stop thinking about it, since that was only making it worse.