Chapter Twenty-Six
Kiva struggled to control her breathing as she, Naari, and Olisha climbed up the ladder shaft, having determined to come back later for the remaining tunnel samples.
Finally, the three of them reached the surface, panting and sweating with their muscles on fire.
Or, Kiva and Olisha, at least. Naari was barely out of breath, the picture of physical fitness.
If Kiva hadn’t been in such a rush to get back to the infirmary, she would have asked for more details about her prosthesis and how it worked so effortlessly, the guard having had no trouble gripping the ladder, nor anything else she set her hand to do.
Ignoring her body’s need for a moment of respite, Kiva strode out of the domed building with Naari at her side, Olisha breathlessly calling that she’d catch up.
Unsure what she would find, unsure what she wanted to find, Kiva’s mind was awhirl with thoughts, concerns, and questions by the time they arrived at the infirmary and stepped inside.
“Kiva! You’re b-back!” Tipp called, sitting beside Tilda’s bed, holding one of her hands.
Kiva’s heart gave a pang as the woman’s face turned, not quite in the right direction owing to her blindness, but close.
Swallowing, Kiva moved first to place her samples from the pumping station and aquifer on the workbench, finding Nergal on a stool there, right where she’d left him.
“You can go,” she said to him. “Tell Olisha, too—she’s on her way back from the tunnels.”
The man was up and out of the infirmary so fast that it was as if he feared she’d change her mind.
But Kiva didn’t want him here for this. Nor Olisha.
In an ideal world, Tipp and Naari wouldn’t even be in the room, allowing Kiva a private moment with her patient.
But Tipp was already quietly talking to Tilda, and Naari was striding toward her bed, the guard’s features wary enough that Kiva assumed she was recalling the Rebel Queen’s unprovoked attack soon after her arrival.
Tilda had been restrained ever since, but Naari was no doubt still on high alert.
Kiva’s heart was thundering in her ears as she walked on wooden legs over to Tilda’s bedside.
She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. No, that wasn’t true—there were so many reasons, not the least of which was if Tilda remembered anything from before she’d arrived at Zalindov.
Did she know about the note from Kiva’s sister?
Did she know Zuleeka had sent it, that Kiva had risked everything, and was still risking everything, to keep her alive?
And what about her followers outside the walls—did she know they’d tried to free her?
That they’d failed? Did she know if they had a backup plan?
Or was that just a fool’s hope on Kiva’s part?
So many questions, none of which she could ask while Tipp and Naari were present.
Approaching with courage she didn’t feel, Kiva stepped past the guard, who was looking down at the woman with a closed, distrustful expression, and stopped at Tipp’s shoulder.
“I hear someone’s feeling a little better,” Kiva said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.
“She hasn’t r-r-really said anything,” Tipp shared. “Just a-asked where she was. And for some w-water.”
Kiva felt a pang of alarm, since the last time Tilda had been even remotely lucid, she’d known she was in Zalindov—until she hadn’t, forgetting just moments later. It was good that she wanted water, though. Everworld knew Kiva was having trouble keeping her hydrated.
“Kiiiivva,” the woman said. “Kiiiiiva.”
“That’s r-right,” Tipp said encouragingly, patting her hand. “This is Kiva—the p-prison healer. I told you a-about her, remember? Kiva M-Meridan. The best healer in all of W-Wenderall. She’s been looking a-after you.”
“Kiiiiiiiiiiva,” Tilda said, staring sightlessly in the direction of Tipp’s voice.
Kiva’s nails dug into her palms at the sound of her name coming from Tilda’s lips. Despite Olisha’s summons, the Rebel Queen didn’t seem wholly lucid at all. Or perhaps she was again having trouble with her speech, as she had the last time Kiva had tried speaking with her, weeks earlier.
“Have you given her any gumwort?” Kiva asked Tipp.
His eyes lit up and he released Tilda’s hand, jumping from his stool and hurrying over to the workbench to collect the sludgy brown paste. He then handed it to Kiva and she smeared some on Tilda’s tongue, waiting to see if it would afford her any clarity and relax her mouth.
“Kiva,” the Rebel Queen said after a few moments, no longer slurring the word, but still saying nothing else.
“She’s h-here,” Tipp said. “And N-Naari as well. I told you a-a-about her, too. She’s a g-guard, but she’s nice. You’ll l-like her.”
Tilda turned her face this way and that, as if trying to see them. Kiva again wondered how long she’d been without vision, whether it was a side effect of whatever ailed her, or if she’d lost her sight some time ago.
“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Kiva made herself ask, determined to remember that she was the healer and she had a job to do. “Headache, nausea, pain anywhere? You’ve been here for nearly six weeks, and I still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong. Anything you tell me could help.”
“The ... Trials,” Tilda said. “Why haven’t ... they come ... for me?”
Kiva, Tipp, and Naari were all silent, none of them knowing what to say.
“Why ... am I ... still alive?”
Tipp shifted on his stool. Naari crossed, uncrossed, and crossed her arms again.
“I ... should be ... dead.”
Those four words tore something in Kiva. Not the statement of fact, but the emotion behind them. She remembered what Tilda had said during their previous conversation: Why keep mealiveonly soI candie?
Tears prickled behind Kiva’s nose as the thought hit her hard and true: it sounded like Tilda wanted to die.
Like many who came to Zalindov, it sounded like she had nothing to live for, nothing to make her want to survive.
But Kiva knew that wasn’t the case. As the Rebel Queen, she had a purpose, she had people looking up to her, she had a kingdom to reclaim.
She should have been the last person in the world to want to die, not before fighting with everything she had to take back her family’s crown.
“Kiva ... why? ” Tilda asked, her words begging, as sweat began to glisten on her brow, the effort of this conversation costing her.
“Why, what?” Naari asked, speaking for the first time.
Kiva jumped, almost having forgotten the guard was monitoring them, watching closely.
“Why?” Tilda repeated, emotion threading her voice.
“I think she w-wants to know why she’s still here—still a-alive,” Tipp whispered, even though they already knew that was what she’d asked.
Kiva, however, wondered if Tilda sought a different answer, one that she couldn’t give her.
“I’m sorry,” Kiva said around the lump in her throat. “I’m not sure why you’re sick, but I’m doing everything I can to help you get better.” Including taking on Tilda’s sentence as her own, but Kiva didn’t plan to reveal that, and a quick warning look at both Tipp and Naari silenced them as well.
“That’s w-why you’re still alive,” said Tipp in an upbeat voice. “Because of K-Kiva. She’ll have you f-feeling like your old self in no time.”
A low moan left Tilda, the sound piercing straight to Kiva’s heart.
“Kiva,” the woman said, her voice trailing into a whisper. “Kiiiiva.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Naari asked quietly.
“She’s sick,” Kiva said, barely keeping from snapping.
A loaded pause from Naari, before she cautiously, almost gently, said, “I know she’s sick, Kiva. I meant, why does she keep saying your name like that?”
Kiva only shook her head, unable to say anything around her constricted throat.
“Tell me ... the story,” Tilda said, closing her eyes and laying her head back.
Naari and Tipp both frowned with confusion, but Kiva had to breathe deeply to hold in the tears that were no longer just prickling her nose, but stinging her eyes. This woman, this poor, sick woman ... Kiva didn’t know how long she had left. Didn’t know what she could do to help her.
“Your ... father ... Kiva,” Tilda said, raising a weak, trembling hand toward her. “And ... the thief. Tell me ... the story.”
Kiva swallowed, then swallowed again. It was painful, like glass working its way down her esophagus. Her own fingers shook as she took Tilda’s offered hand gently in her own, knowing it was what the woman wanted.
“What’s she talking about?” Naari asked.
Finally forcing words through her lips, Kiva said, “I told her a story, the day before the fire Ordeal. She wasn’t sleeping well—restless, groaning. I thought it might help.”
“I like s-stories,” Tipp said eagerly. “Will you t-tell it again?”