“I think you should be getting back to the quarry now,” Naari said, clearly thinking along the same lines. “Where’s Harlow?”

“Where do you think?” Cresta asked, one hand on her hip. “He’s in the kitchens, stealing from our rations. Like you lot don’t get enough of our food as it is.” Her face darkened. “He’s probably getting handsy with the workers there at the same time, so trust me, he’ll be in no rush to leave.”

Naari’s expression tightened, her eyes blazing as she turned to Kiva. “I’ll meet you at the tunnel entrance. Don’t go down without me.” To Cresta, Naari said, “Come with me.”

And without another word, she strode off in the direction of the kitchens, not waiting to see if Cresta would obey.

“If she weren’t a guard, I think I’d like her,” the angry woman mused. But then she remembered who she was standing with, and she sneered at Kiva. “Fix this, healer whore. Before we all die. Our blood is on your hands.”

With that parting line, she turned and began marching away.

“Wait!” Kiva called.

Cresta paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “What?”

Aware that she had mere seconds before Naari became suspicious of the delay, Kiva closed the distance between them and whispered, “Have you heard anything? About Tilda? About another rescue attempt?”

Cresta’s features were like granite as she forced out a single word. “No.”

Kiva’s shoulders slumped, even if she’d already assumed as much. “What does that mean?”

“It means we wait,” Cresta said. “And you do what you’re supposed to—keep her alive until the time comes.”

With a sharp, warning look, Cresta took off again, leaving Kiva alone.

“That’s easier said than done,” she muttered to herself. Not only did she have to survive tomorrow’s Trial, she also had to keep both herself and Tilda from catching the stomach illness—without knowing how it spread to begin with—and if she somehow managed those, she then would have to face yet another Ordeal in a fortnight.

Kiva sighed and rubbed her temples. As far as confrontations with Cresta went, that one hadn’t been so bad. She felt a niggling of concern in the pit of her stomach, wondering what the rebel leader might do with the information she’d learned about the sickness, limited as it had been. Anyone else, and Kiva wouldn’t have been so worried. But Cresta . . . she was a wildcard. It was possible that she would do nothing, keeping her head down and focusing her energy on what was happening with the rebels both inside and outside the walls. Or she could use what she’d heard to add to the fear spreading among the prisoners, creating a dangerous environment where everyone was even more on edge, guards included.