“That’s very . . . professional of you,” Kiva said, desperate for some-thing to say. “I’m sure I speak for all prisoners when I say we appreciate it.”

Naari tilted her head, her cropped hair and jade earring both shining in the light of the luminium beacons. “You intrigue me.”

“I . . . what?”

“I’ve been on duty here for months,” Naari said, gesturing to the infirmary. “Long enough to watch how you interact with others. Aside from Tipp and, on the rare occasion, Mot and Grendel, you keep almost exclusively to yourself.”

Kiva was staring at her with wide eyes, surprised not only that Naari had been watching her, but also that she knew the names of the other prisoners. Most guards just referred to inmates by their job allocations, their physical descriptions, or, if they were near enough to read them, their identification numbers.

“Why don’t you allow yourself to get close to others?” Naari continued, sounding genuinely curious. “Jaren seems like one of the rare good ones. I think he’d be worth your time.”

“You can hardly judge that based on only thirty-three days of knowing him,” Kiva said. Needing a distraction, she picked up an open flask and began searching for the stopper.

Naari’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Swearing internally, Kiva only said, “It’s an estimate.”

“‘Thirty’ is an estimate. ‘A month’ is an estimate. ‘A few weeks’ is an estimate.” Naari grinned, her teeth bright against her dark skin. “‘Thirty-three’ is an exact number.”

“You know what?” Kiva said, finding the stopper and shoving it down the lip of the flask harder than was necessary. “I’m actually fine here, if you want to take off.”

Naari laughed. It was a hearty sound, deep and almost raspy. “Why don’t you instead tell me what needs to be done before you can leave, and I’ll help you finish up.”

Kiva’s brain all but short-circuited and she wheezed, “What?”

“I have two hands and two legs,” Naari said. Raising her gloved left hand, she added, “This isn’t just for decoration. Give me a task, and I’ll do it.”

Stunned by the offer, Kiva was unable to respond until Naari prompted, “Come on, healer, I don’t have all night. I want to make it to Vaskin before the innkeeper calls for final drinks.”

Only ten minutes away by horseback, Vaskin was the closest town to Zalindov, so the guards often headed there to blow off steam after their shifts ended. Some even lived there, especially those with families, since the prison barracks were no place for partners and children. While curious whether Naari lived onsite or off, Kiva wasn’t yet comfortable enough to ask such a personal question. Instead, at the daring look the guard sent her, she pushed aside her trepidation and accepted Naari’s offer.