Kiva bit her tongue to keep in a sarcastic reply about inconveniencing him.

“Thanks to you, we have to see out the rest of the Trials,” Rooke continued. “Or as many as you can survive.” His brow furrowed. “And when you fail—and you will fail, Kiva—you’ll be leaving me without a competent prison healer.”

“You have Olisha and Nergal,” Kiva said, though her throat was tight at how easily he dismissed the thought of her surviving. Care was evidently too strong a word for what he felt toward her, unconventional or not. She was just a tool to him. A healer, an informant. “And you’ve told me before—many times—that you can easily find a replacement for me.”

Rooke ran a hand over his short hair and ignored the accusation in her words. “You made a grave mistake today. I’ve done all I can for you. I can’t help you with these Ordeals—you’re on your own now.”

Kiva had been on her own for nearly ten years, even with his supposed protection. She could survive another six weeks—or less, if her family arrived in time.

The Warden spun on his heel and strode away from her. Only when he reached the door to the infirmary did he pause near the guard on duty and turn back to offer his parting shot.

“Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

And then he was gone, leaving Kiva with eight words that repeated through her mind, over and over, until the poppymilk began to pull her back under once more.

As her eyes drifted shut, she couldn’t help thinking that the Warden was wrong. Her father would have been the first person to encourage her to save a life. Her mother, on the other hand . . . Her mother would have had strong words about Kiva’s actions today.

But neither of them had been able to stop her.

And so, Kiva would just have to live with the consequences.

Or die from them.

Chapter Fourteen

Despite Kiva’s best efforts, she wasn’t back on her feet the next day. It took four days before she was able to stand without assistance, and even then, she still felt as if one of Zalindov’s rail carts had run her over with a full load of luminium on board.

Lingering aches or not, Kiva stopped taking the poppymilk after her second day in bed. Part of that was to avoid building up a dependence on it, which was a risk given its addictive qualities. The other part was to save what was left of her dignity, since she’d had the unfortunate timing of taking a large dose just before one of Jaren’s increasingly regular visits. When he’d sat beside her and asked how she was feeling, she’d said, apropos of nothing, “You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like sunlight on the sea.”