Page 13 of Healer to the Ash King
Are all kings this well-protected, or is there really a danger to the Ash King’s life? The assassination attempt on the road seemed clumsy, poorly planned. If those attackers were part of the Undoing, and that was their best effort, there’s no way they could ever make it into the palace itself.
Not without someone on the inside.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about the healer the Ash King conscripted and dragged to his palace. I’ve been standing in the entry hall for a long time, and my eyes are starting to prickle with angry, humiliated tears.
What am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to sleep? The insides of my thighs are sore and chafed from all the riding, and I don’t have the heart to heal myself. In a strange way, Iwantto feel the misery, the abandonment, and the loneliness. They feed my hatred for the Ash King.
I’m just getting up the courage to approach one of the stiff, silent armored guards when a voice from above booms, “Healer.” The word echoes through the hall.
The Ash King stands on the landing of the central staircase, with a male servant and two guards poised motionless behind him. He has removed the crown of black-iron leaves and he’s wearing a loose, silky robe that belts at his waist and trails on the carpeted steps.
“Your Majesty,” I say, and bow. It’s all I can manage without crying.
“Come here,” he orders.
I mount the steps, my cheeks burning.
“Look at me,” he says, when I reach the landing.
Reluctantly, I lift my eyes to his.
“I neglected to give the servants instructions regarding you,” he says. “My fetching of you was unplanned, so they were not expecting your presence, and they did not recognize your importance to the competition. This oversight will not be repeated.”
It’s almost an apology. “Shall I follow Teagan to the East Wing?” I ask.
“It would make sense for you to be near the women you’ll be treating,” he muses. “And yet I do not want you interacting too closely with them after hours, lest you become partial to certain contestants. No, I think I will place you elsewhere.”
He looks past me, toward the sound of hasty footsteps and jingling keys. “Mistress Effelin. Just the person I wished to see. We have another guest to place—Cailin, the Healer for the Favored.”
“Oh!” The woman looks startled and a little frightened. “Did you come in with the rest of them, dear? I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness—I did not see her. I have a room I can put her in, if she doesn’t mind sharing with the maids of the Favored.”
The Ash King’s features harden. “She is possibly the most important participant in the Calling,” he says. “She is responsible for maintaining the health of my future bride. She will not share with the maids.”
“Yes, yes, Your Majesty. So foolish of me.” The woman is practically trembling, curtsying deeply.
“The Rose Room is clean and well-ordered, yes?” he says.
“The—the Rose Room?” falters Mistress Effelin. “It is, yes. But—my lord—”
“Put her there.”
“But Your Majesty—”
The Ash King draws himself up taller, flames sparking at his fingertips.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” whispers Mistress Effelin. “Come, my lady.”
She guides me along the central hallway, dimly lit by infrequent candles in sconces. I hear footsteps behind us, and I glance back. The King and the three men with him are following us. His face is inscrutable, but his eyes glow scarlet.
Mistress Effelin pauses at a finely carved door and fumbles with her keys. She unlocks it, murmuring, “A moment, while I light the lamps.”
I wait in the hallway, pressing myself to the wall while the Ash King glides past. His nearness sends a shiver over my skin. He is pure male power deceptively draped in whispering robes and silky hair.
One of the guards hurries ahead, stopping at a pair of doors a short distance down the hall. He opens the doors for the Ash King, then bows and stands aside.
Ice forms in my stomach, chilling my nerves. Is my room next to the Ash King’s chambers?
Right before going through the open doors, the Ash King looks at me, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
