The shuffle back to her pallet was more agonizing than she remembered the walk to Tilda being, and while she would never admit it, Jaren was right—there was no way she’d be able to stand long enough to look in on the sick patients.

“Thank you,” she made herself say quietly once she was settled again. Her whole body was throbbing, but she continued to give no outward indication. Even so, she was hyperaware that she must look as terrible as she felt.

Jaren nodded, then strode away, heading toward the wooden cabinet at the end of the workbench on the far side of the room. Kiva shared a puzzled glance with Tipp, who shrugged and fluffed her pillow behind her back. Neither had to wait long before Jaren returned to them, a stone tumbler in his hands.

“Drink,” he said, passing it to Kiva.

She blinked stupidly down at the white liquid. “You . . . got me . . . poppymilk.”

She didn’t phrase it as a question, but surprise caused her voice to trill upward at the end of her broken statement.

“Drink,” Jaren said again. “It’ll help.”

“But . . . you don’t . . .” she trailed off, looking at him and trying to understand.

His mouth twitched at the edges, and he shook his head as if finding her reaction amusing. “Just because I don’t like to take it doesn’t mean others shouldn’t. You said it yourself—you fell fifty feet today. If ever someone needs to be drugged, it’s you.”

The dose he’d poured her was more than what Mirryn had given—half a tumbler’s worth. Definitely enough to knock her out.

Frowning slightly, Kiva said, “I—”

“Just drink it, Kiva,” Jaren said, albeit gently. He placed his hand over her free one, the calluses on his palm rough against her flesh, yet oddly comforting. They were the proof that he was surviving the tunnels, that he hadn’t given up, unlike so many others. “You need to rest.”

“Olisha and Nergal will b-be here soon,” Tipp said. “I’ll m-make sure they know about the new p-patients and promise to look after them. Sleep, Kiva. They c-can survive a night without you.”

The young boy leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, before pointedly tapping his finger against her hand holding the tumbler.

Tipp had never shied away from affection before, but the forehead kiss was something new. Blinking back tears at the tender gesture, Kiva raised the poppymilk and swallowed it down, handing the empty tumbler to Jaren.

“I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow,” she told them, yawning as the drug began to take effect.

“And then we c-can figure out how to get you through the next Ordeal,” Tipp said, tucking her in.