Page 11 of Healer to the Ash King
He regards me quizzically, then says, “Tomorrow your skills will be tested. We will present you with an enemy spy who has been brutally tortured, and you will heal him.”
“Tortured by you?” I ask.
“I have people who do that for me.”
“Ah. So a personal torture session with the Ash King is a special privilege.”
“That depends on what kind of torture we’re discussing. Some torture can be—pleasurable. In that case, yes—it would be a privilege. A privilege rejected too easily by those who don’t realize what they are missing.”
I sneak a look at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, his features perfectly immobile.
“Perhaps they don’t care to know what they’re missing, Your Gloriousness,” I murmur. “Perhaps they prefer the company of people who know how to smile.”And people who don’t whip their bodyguards, I want to add—but I restrain myself.
The King inhales as if he’s about to answer, but at that moment I see a shadow shifting in the sun-dappled wood. The shadow of a person with a bow, and an arrow poised to fly.
6
I don’t think; I simply react, instinctively sucking moisture from nearby plants, hollows, anything—it all coalesces into a spinning orb of water, just in time—just as the shadow in the woods releases the arrow.
The deadly missile streaks toward the Ash King’s head. I fling the orb of water into its path.
The arrow strikes the water with a dullsplorch, and it’s caught, halted, revolving in the ball of liquid. When I release the magic, the arrow falls, and the water splatters on the dusty road.
“Attackers!” shouts one of the guards. The King’s soldiers and the Lord Mayor’s guards close around me and Teagan, but the King leaps from his horse and shoves his way between our protectors, striding toward the forest. He lifts his hands, and fire streams from his palms, engulfing the beautiful trees in searing flame.
I scream, agonized.
The Ash King’s head whips toward me. His teeth are bared, flickering with fire again, and his eyes are ablaze. He’s frightening enough in broad daylight; I can’t imagine facing him in the woods at night.
I don’t have access to enough water to quench that blaze. His palms are still pouring fire into the trees, destroying everything in his urge to kill the person who shot at him. Judging by the screams rising from the inferno, there were several people concealed in that part of the forest.
A shout from behind me. More attackers are coming out of the trees on the opposite side of the road, engaging with the guards. Steel clashes, blades scrape and ring—I’m frozen, my mind spinning in place, snagged on the awful reality of the burning forest. Teagan has pulled a knife from somewhere and she’s slashing at anyone who comes near her.
Trapped in the center of so many horse bodies and riders, my horse panics, rears a little, and then plunges down again, her hooves slamming into the road. My teeth snap together at the impact. The reek of burning wood and foliage fills my nostrils—a carnage of nests and blossoms singed and flaking away to ash. My eyes sting with the heat, and with angry tears.
Another arrow whistles past me. One of the guards cries out, blood spurting from a wound in his arm. His horse staggers, shouldering against mine, and I tighten my grip on the reins, but there’s nowhere to run, no way to escape. Black-clad figures are everywhere, swarming the horses, slashing at their legs to hobble them. One horse goes down, then another, and the guards on their backs leap off, engaging directly with the enemy. The attackers’ heads are wrapped in dark cloths—impossible to see a face, only fury-filled eyes and flashing blades.
I can’t think what to do. I’ve never used my water magic to attack anyone, and I won’t use the other side of my healing magic. Desperately I fling out strands of healing energy, trying to mend the leg of a wounded horse. But I can’t focus properly—I’ve never had to do this during a battle. The job is only half done when my concentration breaks—one of the attackers has leaped onto the hindquarters of Owin’s horse, right behind him. She’s woman-shaped, lithe and deadly, wielding two crooked knives. She drags Owin’s head back, exposing his neck—a gleam of savage metal—she’s going to cut his throat—
The Ash King is there, seizing her by the collar. Dragging her off the horse. He opens his mouth and vomits fire into her face, and she screams, a piercing sound I’ve never heard from a human throat, not in all my days of healing. As she staggers into the trees, her head aflame, I siphon the water I dropped on the road and stream it toward her, quenching the blaze—both to help her and to keep her from setting the other half of the forest alight. One of the other attackers seizes her arm and escorts her away, and the rest flee as well.
I’m sobbing, crying for the pretty forest, for the burning woman, and for Owin who was nearly killed. The Ash King saved him.
And I saved the Ash King.
The King swings up onto his horse again, but instead of riding forward he leans over and grips my jaw. “Can you do anything? About that?” He jerks his head toward the blazing trees.
Mentally I scan the surrounding area, as far as my senses can reach.
“Not enough water here,” I say miserably.
“Then let it go. It’s done,” he says. “Heal the horses quickly, and let’s be gone.”
Trembling, I dismount and unleash my healing magic, mending the sliced tendons of the poor horses.
Afterward, the King orders us to ride on, and as we’re moving I let a line of magic flow into the arm of a nearby guard, the one who was struck by an arrow. In moments, I’ve sealed up his wound.
Teagan is riding beside me now, with her maids directly behind us. They seem all right, if a little shaken.
