“Now, wait a minute,” Bones said, reaching out and grabbing Kiva’s forearm. His grip was so tight that she winced, aware that it would take only a little more pressure for him to snap her wrist.

A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, and she froze to the spot, barely breathing.

“We’ve just lost one of our girls,” Bones told Naari, jerking his chin to the overdose victim. “We need someone to replace her.”

Kiva’s insides plummeted to her knees.

“The healer is needed in the infirmary,” Naari repeated, her voice firm. She didn’t move from the entrance, but the air in the room changed, a charged feeling emanating from where she stood. A warning, a threat, and a promise.

“The healer can go to the infirmary,” Bones said. He tightened his grip enough that Kiva felt her bones grind together and had to hold back a whimper. “But she can go after.”

“Then you can explain to the Warden why he has to wait.”

It was as if Naari had performed magic, her words prompting Bones to release Kiva fast enough that she stumbled.

“Why didn’t you say Rooke was waiting for her?” he said, disgruntled. To Kiva, he said, “Get out of here.”

She took one relieved step forward, but he reached for her again, grabbing her wrist and squeezing her already-bruised flesh as he leaned in and whispered, “Tell the Warden about this and, his little pet or not, next time we throw a party, you’ll be right back here. But it won’t be as a healer—you’ll be here for round four. And round five. And round six.” He squeezed harder. “Understood?”

Kiva nodded, all of her energy focused on not letting tears of pain and fear flood her eyes.

“That’s a good little healer,” Bones crooned, finally releasing her and giving her a nudge between her shoulders, propelling her forward. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Kiva walked on shaking legs toward Naari, who reached for her but stopped when Kiva visibly recoiled.

Naari’s hand fell in the air, her eyes filled with enough concern that Kiva couldn’t look at her, lest she lose control of everything she was trying desperately to keep from pouring out.

She’s too busy spreadin’ her legs for the guards, ain’t she? Havin’ too much fun to be bothered keepin’ the rest of us alive, am I right?

Zalindov’s Bitch.

The Princess of Death.

The Healer Whore.

Kiva had chosen this life. She’d chosen to be obedient to the Warden, to let the guards order her around and treat her as they saw fit, as long as it meant she would remain alive.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what she’d just faced, that she wasn’t traumatized by seeing the overdosed woman . . . by knowing that it just as easily could have been her.