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The Prison Healer, Lynette Noni
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Lynette Noni

The Prison Healer

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“Lynette Noni is a masterful storyteller. A must-read for any fantasy lover!” — SARAH J. MAAS, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
Seventeen-year-old Kiva Meridan has spent the last ten years fighting for survival in the notorious death prison, Zalindov, working as the prison healer.
When the Rebel Queen is captured, Kiva is charged with keeping the terminally ill woman alive long enough for her to undergo the Trial by Ordeal: a series of elemental challenges against the torments of air, fire, water, and earth, assigned to only the most dangerous of criminals.
Then a coded message from Kiva's family arrives, containing a single order: “Don't let her die. We are coming.” Aware that the Trials will kill the sickly queen, Kiva risks her own life to volunteer in her place. If she succeeds, both she and the queen will be granted their freedom.
But no one has ever survived.
With an incurable plague…
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Впечатления

  • Canaryделится впечатлением2 года назад
    👍Worth reading
    🔮Hidden Depths
    🎯Worthwhile
    💞Loved Up
    🚀Unputdownable
    💧Soppy

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  • Jᜀᜈ᜔ᜈделится впечатлениемв прошлом месяце
    👍Worth reading
    🎯Worthwhile
    🚀Unputdownable

Цитаты

  • ptrinity066цитирует12 минут назад
    “It’s a shame about the c-c-cut on his face,” Tipp said, as Kiva finished wrapping the man’s hand and began to make her way around the rest his body, adding sutures to the open wounds as she went and applying the antibacterial sap over the top.

    “Why’s that?” Kiva murmured, only half listening.

    “It’ll ruin his p-pretty face.”

    Kiva’s fingers paused midstitch over the cut she was closing on his right pectoral. “Pretty face or not, he’s still a man, Tipp.”

    “So?”

    “So,” Kiva said, “most men are pigs.”

    There was a loaded silence, the only sound being a quiet huff from Naari at the door—almost as if she were amused—before Tipp finally said, “I’m a man. I’m not a p-pig.”

    “You’re still young,” Kiva returned. “Give it time.”

    Tipp snorted, thinking she was joking. Kiva didn’t enlighten him. While she hoped Tipp would stay as sweet and caring as he now was, the odds were against him.
  • ptrinity066цитирует17 минут назад
    “Are you g-going to swoon, Naari?”

    Tipp’s words drew Kiva’s attention, and she sucked in a sharp breath at realizing he was questioning the guard.

    Prisoners should never question the guards.

    Worse, he was—he was teasing her.

    Kiva had tried to protect Tipp as much as she could since his mother’s death, but there was only so much she could do. And now, after this . . .

    Naari’s amber gaze finally moved away from the young man’s face, narrowing as she took in Tipp’s mischievous grin and Kiva’s poorly suppressed fear. But all she said was, “He needs to be held down in case he wakes.”

    Kiva’s trapped breath fled her lungs, relief making her dizzy, even as she noted where Naari’s gaze had moved to and saw what was in Tipp’s other hand. The scalpel, already heated, the tip sharpened to a white-hot point.
  • ptrinity066цитирует20 минут назад
    Healthy hair, healthy physique. Both rare in new arrivals.

    Again, Kiva found herself wondering what kind of life this man had come from that had led him to fall so far.

    “You’re not g-going to swoon, are you?” Tipp said, appearing at her elbow with a bone needle and spooled catgut in hand.

    “What?”

    Tipp nodded down to the man. “Swoon. Because of h-how he looks.”

    Kiva’s brow furrowed. “How he . . .” Her eyes flittered to the man’s face, taking him in properly for the first time. “Oh.” She frowned deeper and said, “Of course I’m not going to swoon.”

    Tipp’s mouth twitched. “It’s all right if you d-d-do. I’ll catch you.”

    Shooting him a look, Kiva opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, Naari appeared right beside them, having approached on swift, silent feet.

    A quiet squeak left Kiva before she could help herself, but the guard didn’t shift her eyes from the man lying on the metal bench.

    No, not a man. Now that he was clean enough to reveal his features, Kiva could see that he wasn’t fully grown yet. But he was no longer a boy, either. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen—a year or two older than she was, give or take.

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