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The Prison Healer

Lynette Noni
Chapters (45)
  1. Copyright
  2. Dedication
  3. The Kingdoms of Wenderall Map
  4. Zalindov Prison Map
  5. Prologue
  6. Ten Years Later
  7. Chapter One
  8. Chapter Two
  9. Chapter Three
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-One
  28. Chapter Twenty-Two
  29. Chapter Twenty-Three
  30. Chapter Twenty-Four
  31. Chapter Twenty-Five
  32. Chapter Twenty-Six
  33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-One
  38. Chapter Thirty-Two
  39. Chapter Thirty-Three
  40. Acknowledgments
  41. Escape to Another World
  42. Must-Read Sci-Fi and Fantasy Books
  43. Read the Bloodleaf Series
  44. About the Author
  45. Connect with HMH on Social Media

Copyright

Copyright © 2021 by Lynette Noni

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

hmhbooks.com

Map art © 2021 by Francesca Baerald

Cover illustration, design, and lettering by Jim Tierney

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file.

ISBN: 978-0-358-43455-9 hardcover

eISBN 978-0-358-43634-8
v1.0321

Dedication

To Sarah J. Maas—

Thank you for being so generous with your friendship, support, and encouragement. But mostly, thank you for believing in me, even—and especially—when I didn’t.

The Kingdoms of Wenderall Map

Map of the kingdoms of Wnderall, showing Jiirva, Mirraven, the island of Odon, Evalon, the serpent isles, Nerine, Valorn, Caramor, and Hadris.

Zalindov Prison Map

Map of Zalindov prison, with a key labeling, from left to right, the lumberyard, blackwood forest, infirmary, quarantine, morgue, crematorium, kennels, guard barracks, stables, entrance block, workrooms, abyss, quarry, tunnels, gallows, aquifer, kitchens and refectory, food storage and processing factory, cell blocks, animal farms, luminum depository, vegetable plantation, grain farms, and slaughterhouse

Prologue

Death arrived at twilight.

The little girl was down by the river picking jerriberries with her younger brother, their father crouched at the icy water’s edge replenishing his supply of aloeweed. The soothing gel would be needed later, given how many thorns had dug into her flesh. But she could barely feel the pain, thinking instead of the supper that awaited them. Her mother made the best jerriberry jam in all of Wenderall, and since the silver berries were sweetest when picked just as the moon crested the night’s sky, she already knew this batch was going to be delicious. If only she could stop her brother from stuffing his face with them, then she could finally deliver enough to their mother to reap the benefits of her labor.

The basket was barely half full when the first scream cleaved the quiet night air.

The girl and her brother froze, silver juice smeared around his half-open mouth, concern creasing her brow. Her emerald eyes looked to their father beside the wintry stream, a large bunch of aloeweed in his hands. His gaze wasn’t on the mossy plants, but staring up at their small cottage on the hill, his face draining of color.

“Papa, what—”

“Quiet, Kerrin,” the man hushed his son, dropping the aloeweed and hurrying toward them. “It’s probably just Zuleeka and Torell playing around, but we should go check that—”

Whatever he’d intended to say about their older sister and brother was stolen by another scream and a crashing sound that echoed all the way down to where they stood.

“Papa—” The little girl spoke this time, jumping when her father wrenched the basket from her hands, berries flying everywhere, and caught her fingers in his crushing grip. She didn’t get the chance to say more before her mother’s shrill voice bellowed out a warning.

“RUN, FARAN! RUN!”

Her father’s grip turned painful, but it was too late for him to follow his wife’s order. Soldiers were pouring from the cottage, their armor glinting silver even in the limited light, their swords raised.

There were at least a dozen of them.

So many.

Too many.