Page 108 of Healer to the Ash King
An uneasy murmur rolls through the room.
“Once we’re clear of all this, I will investigate the matter,” Triniden announces. “Though I suspect the Healer is as skilled a deceiver as the Ass King himself. We should give no credence to anything she says. The point is, we got Wirtun out of prison, and we will break out our beloved Khloe too. She has risked too much for the cause to be left in that murderer’s bloodstained hands!”
The anarchists respond with quiet cheers before returning to their work.
The rebel leader puts his mouth close to my ear again. “I would kill you right now,” he says in a companionable tone. “But I can’t waste a gifted Healer, so you’ll be coming with us. You’ll spend the rest of your life serving our cause, healing our people. But we can’t risk you using your water-wielding to try to escape, so Pye over there is going to Mute the water side of your magic. He’ll create the tattoo while you speak the vow, and you will never wield water again. Because only the tattoo mage who Mutes you has the power to reverse it. Though I’m sure you know that already.”
Panic courses through my veins. “I won’t say the vow.”
“Oh, but you will,” Triniden hisses. “Did you ever wonder how the Ass King’s Ricters control people so easily, why the wielders they Mute don’t make more of a fuss? The Ricters threaten their families, you see.”
He rises, crosses the room to where my parents are kneeling, and grips my father’s hair, jerking his head back.
“Serji, lend me your weapon,” Triniden says, and one of the largest rebels hands over a gigantic sword, broader than Witherbrand. “If you resist the Muting, Healer, I will lop off your father’s head. If you try to heal him, or if you keep resisting, I’ll do the same to your mother. See how that works?”
An agonized sob wrenches from my mother, and tears burn in my own eyes.
I could use my Rotter magic now. I could hurt these people until they let us go. But if I let it flow again, I’m not sure I can control it. What if I hurt my parents, or Rince? And there are so many people in this room—what if I don’t Rot them fast enough and they kill my parents before I can stop them? If I’m not quick enough, and the Undoing finds out about that darker power of mine, they’ll either kill me on the spot or force me to use Rotter magic against the people of Bolcan—against my King.
No, I have to submit and accept the Muting tattoo for my water magic. I have no choice. Maybe later there will be a chance to use my Rotter magic to escape.
“Don’t hurt them.” My voice is thread-thin. “Please. I’ll speak the vow.”
The tattoo takes a while, and it hurts more than I anticipated, but though I cry silently, I don’t scream. As directed, I speak a binding vow never to use my water magic again, in any way, for any purpose. If I try to wield water, the tattoo will cause me pain, and if I keep trying, it will kill me, unless it is removed first.
I’ve heard that most Muted wielders get to choose their tattoo. Pye doesn’t ask what tattoo design I want—he just inks a simple spiral shape on my inner wrist. I assume it worked, but even if I wanted to test it, there is no water here.
Water-wielding has been such an intrinsic part of me, ever since I was very young, and now it’s gone. I can’t grasp the reality of what I’ve lost yet; I have more urgent things to think about.
“Finished.” Pye puts away his ink, needles, and other implements and leaves my side.
Triniden returns and grabs my wrist, inspecting the tattoo. “Now that it’s done, we can move out. Since Rince was foolish enough to bring the girl here, I have no doubt the Ass King’s men will be close behind.”
“We weren’t followed,” says Rince. “If they’d followed us, they would be here by now.”
“Of course you were followed. You thought you could poison three sentinels and not be noticed? Here’s what I would do, were I the captain of the palace guard—I’d send a couple spies after you, and then once I found your hiding place, I’d return to the palace to tell the King. He’d want to take us down personally, so he’d need time to prepare a company and ride all the way here—and we’re quite a distance from the palace. Which leaves us with just enough time to get out before he arrives. I suggest you start carrying the rest of those crates downstairs,” he shouts to his people. “We can’t afford to lose all of this. Brayda, get the Healer up and keep a hold on her.”
Brayda pulls me to my feet and moves behind me, gripping my upper arms.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper to her. “Remember what we are to each other.”
She doesn’t reply.
“Come quietly, and it will be all right.” Rince steps in front of me, touching my cheek gently. Under his breath he says, “I’m sorry, Cailin—”
“Don’t apologize to her,” Brayda hisses.
“Now, before we run with our new Healer prize, we need to get rid of the dead weight.” Triniden hefts the big sword, posing with it dramatically, almost jokingly. For a second I fear he’s going to strike Rince with it. Apparently Rince fears so too, because he retreats, eyes wide. Brayda’s grip tightens on my arms.
“Not you, boy,” Triniden says, with a peal of merry laughter.
Then he whirls and strikes off my father’s head.
And my mother’s.
My brain stutters. Refuses to accept the sight of their bodies slumping aside, their heads rolling to a stop, the blood—the blood—like lava, spewing across the floor—volcanic, horrific—
Everyone is a mountain.
