Page 102 of Healer to the Ash King
With my healing magic, I replicate the healthy blood in my arteries, pushing all my energy to do it faster, faster, until I have just enough to survive.
Dragging myself closer to Perish, I spread my naked body over his. I need to be able to sense every bit of him.
My eyes close as I focus on his skin, pressing through that nearly impervious barrier to the glowing muscle and bone beneath. His inner light is dimming, and his heart is failing, slowing. Nearly all his blood is poisoned—I can feel the toxin eating the healthy cells, spreading through his limbs at a frightening rate, signaling his organs to stop functioning. A normal man would have already succumbed, but thanks to his magical nature and his possible godly heritage, he is still here. He is not dead yet.
Black corrosive magic floods from me into him, destroying his blood supply in one great blast of dark power.
His heart stops.
I swallow hard, terrified as I scan his form. The damage I caused was more extensive than I intended. I haven’t used this power, I can’t control it as precisely as I want to—oh gods, I may have killed him. I have to fix him. I have to heal himfast, before it’s too late.
I pour healing magic into his body, a violent rush of golden energy, repairing the half-rotted veins and the withered blood vessels. Then I fill up his arteries with fresh blood, as many cells as I can generate—hurry, hurry, hurry. My limbs tremble against his bare skin—my consciousness dims as my well of healing energy wanes.
“No,” I whimper aloud. “No.”
I will not pass out. I will finish this.
His body is healed, but his heart hasn’t started beating again. Frantic, I thump against his chest with my fist. “Please,” I sob. “Please, gods. You’re a mountain, Perish, and mountains don’t die. They endure. You—have to—live.” I punctuate each word with a blow. “Do—not—die.” I press my mouth to his and blow air into his lungs, as deeply as I can.
The air leaks from his lips, unused, and tears blur my eyes. Weakness saturates my body, and I slump against him.
And then he inhales, sharply enough to startle me. I roll off his chest and press my ear to his heart.
The soft thump-thump is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
He’s still unconscious, and his breathing is barely perceptible, but he’s alive.
Now that I’ve purged the poison and he’s stable, I need to summon the guards and get help—and tell them where the toxin came from—
“I thought you might wriggle out of this somehow,” says a voice close behind me.
I start to turn, but an arm locks around my throat, and the tip of a knife lodges beneath my chin.
“Scream and you die,” says Khloe brightly.
“You,” I breathe. “You did this. You almost killed both of us.”
“I didn’twantto kill you,” she says. “Rince tells me you’re on our side. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t get the toxin into him any other way. He wouldn’t kiss me—hasn’t kissed any of us in a while—and I gambled that he must be saving himself for you. I was right.”
With surprising strength for her small form, she pulls me to my feet, still holding the knife to my neck. “So you managed to save yourself, but he’s dead, yes? The poison was designed to be absorbed through the body’s membranes, the thinnest and most delicate skin—you kissed him, I’m guessing? Maybe sucked his dick a little?”
“That’s none of your business. But yes, he’s dead,” I lie, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “How did you get into his room?”
“The guards let me in. I told them I’d been summoned for my night of passion with the Ash King.” She snickers. “It’s the final five, so they believed me, of course. Now the question is, Cailin—whose side are you really on? The monarchy, or the Undoing? Because I need to make sure he’s really dead, and I need both hands free to do that. I can kill you right now, or I can let you go if you promise to stay quiet.”
“I’m with the Undoing,” I say quietly. “Sure, I’m a little upset that you nearly killed me as well as the wicked king—but I’m glad he’s dead. You spared me the trouble of eliminating him myself.”
“Ah yes, your healer’s vow.” Khloe’s grip tightens, and the knife pricks my skin. “Rince believes that’s the only reason you refused to assassinate His Horrific Majesty. But I have a suspicion you’re actually in love with the man.”
“The sex wasn’t bad. But love?” I force a laugh. “I’ve been playing a part, just like you. How could I love someone like him?”
The knife falls away, and she steps back. “No one could. He’s a tyrant and a monster. And I’m not trusting to the poison—I’m going to cut his head off, impervious or not. Want to help?”
“Do you have an extra knife?”
Khloe grins, throwing off her silky robe and reaching under the short skirt of her nightdress. From a sheath strapped to her thigh, she extracts another dagger. “It will take some sawing, especially when we get to the spine, but the certainty of his death is worth it. Rince has poisoned the guards by the sluice gate in the northeast corner of the back gardens. That’s our way out. We’ll meet him there once this is done.”
“Perfect,” I say, taking the knife. As she leans over the Ash King, I create a long whip of water from the washstand and slice it toward her. The lash strikes her hand, and she drops her dagger with a faint cry.
