Page 10 of Healer to the Ash King
The next day is our last on the road. We should reach Cawn, the Capital City, before nightfall. The blue-eyed guard Owin rides with me, and he assures me that the city will be brightly lit, “from towers to trash heaps,” for the king’s return. He tells me this while we’re lunching by the roadside, a little distance away from the others, and I laugh aloud. He’s been making me laugh frequently, but this time the Ash King glances over at us, glowering.
The next second Owin’s sandwich explodes into ash and sparks. Soot puffs across his face, and he looks so comically surprised that instead of being frightened, I giggle. He reminds me of some of the boys back home; he can’t be more than nineteen.
“Here, have some of mine.” I hold my sandwich to Owin’s mouth, and he takes a bite, grinning through the ash streaking his features. “Delicious,” he says, and crumbs dribble from his lips, which makes us both dissolve into laughter again.
“Stop,” he wheezes. “You’ll get me in trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, wiping laugh-tears from the corners of my eyes. “I’m anxious, and that makes me prone to nervous fits of laughter. Is His Fiery Highness still watching us with that doomful look?”
Owin swallows, humor draining from his tanned face.
“He’s standing behind me,” I whisper. “Isn’t he?”
“Yes he is,” says the Ash King darkly. “Take off your breastplate and tunic, Owin.”
My stomach quakes. “Please, it was my fault… I was—”
The Ash King cuts a hand toward me, and a flurry of sparks stings against my lips.
With shaking fingers, Owin strips to the waist and obediently turns his back to the King.
A whip of fire appears in the Ash King’s hand, short at first, then longer as he flourishes it. When it recoils it shrinks again, but its flaming tip hangs dangerously close to the tips of the meadow grass. With his dark clothing, and that fiery weapon in his hand, and his pale hair gleaming bright in the sun, the Ash King looks wickedly majestic.
But he’s going to whip Owin with that terrible lash.
“No,” I gasp. “Please, I’ll do it. I’ll take the blame. It was my fault.”
“A king’s guard should be alert, not joking and leching by the wayside,” says the King.
“He’s young,” I protest. “New to your personal guard, right? And I don’t know the way of things yet. Please—”
“You confuse me with someone who likes to show mercy,” he retorts.
Teagan and her ladies are watching us, and so are his guards. Somehow I know that he won’t back down, not in front of them.
“At least let me heal him afterward.” I bow low into the grass at his feet. “Please, my lord.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead his arm snaps back and the whip snakes out, lashing Owin’s bare back with bright flame. Owin cries out, but quietly, muffling the sound with his palm.
One more quick lash, and then the King extinguishes the whip and stalks away.
It was a cruel punishment, but I expected much worse than two lashes. I let gold light unspool from my hands, salving the wounds, undoing the damage. Owin turns around, panting, his eyes bright with shame.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as he puts his shirt and armor on again.
He nods, but he doesn’t speak to me again for the next few hours. Neither does anyone else in our company. I ride alone, directly behind the Ash King and Teagan, probably so I’ll be discouraged from any further mischief with the guards.
Around mid-afternoon, we enter a belt of shimmering green trees—a dense forest brimming with abundant life. I can sense the dampness of the ground, the sap running liquid through the trees, the dew collected in the hollows of gnarled roots. Birdsong ripples intermittently from the foliage overhead. All of it delights me deeply. In spite of what happened with Owin, I smile.
The Ash King turns around in his saddle at that moment and catches my expression. I wipe the smile from my face as quickly as I can, but it’s too late. He has already seen it, and he’s frowning, because he hates all happiness and good things.
He pulls his horse up short and falls back to ride beside me.
“Your Majesty.” I bow my head. “Forgive me. I did not know smiling was prohibited.”
“It’s not.”
“Thank the gods for small mercies.”
