Page 22 of Healer to the Ash King
“We’ll have to be quick,” I whisper. “My guard will be back soon.”
“I’ll go wash up.” Rince wiggles his damp fingers at me with a grin. “Meet you inside.”
With the help of the Ash King’s ring, I’m given my choice of tables in the tea shop. I choose a booth in the back corner, with padded benches and curtains half-drawn around it—perfect for a clandestine meeting with representatives of the Undoing.
When Rince enters the shop, he’s hooded again, and there’s a second hooded figure with him. My stomach ripples with excitement at the thought of seeing Brayda.
But when they reach the booth and she pushes back her hood, it’s all I can do not to gasp.
Brayda has light brown skin like mine, tanned to a deep coppery glow. Her hair is straighter and darker, and she’s thinner than me, her build more angular. All of that is the same—but her face—
Her features, once smooth, are now seamed with shiny scars. They look like—burn scars.
I can’tnotmention it.
“Heartsfire, Brayda.” I rise from the table and reach for her. She hugs me briefly, rigidly, a performative act, not the heartfelt squeeze she used to give me. “What happened to you?”
“Your Ash King happened,” she says in a low tone, taking a seat on a bench. “You should know—you were there. I told you, Rince,” she snaps at him. “I told you I saw Cailin in the King’s traveling party.”
Wait—Brayda was part of the group that attacked us? She was the one who nearly cut Owin’s throat?
“I thought you were mistaken in the hurry of things.” Rince frowns at her. “You were practically delirious with pain after the attack.”
“Oh, she was there,” Brayda confirms. “She saw him spew fire in my face and light up my head like a candle. Lucky for me our clothes and head-wraps were treated with fire retardant, or I would have died. Of course the fire retardant didn’t help our friends in the east woods. They burned alive anyway, cooked inside their skins by the Ash King’s inferno. And you, Cailin—you protected him. I saw it.”
I’m about to retort, but the tea server comes by our table, so I resume my seat and wait until she takes our order and departs.
Then I lean across the table toward Brayda and Rince, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t know what was happening. I reacted instinctively.”
“Your instinct should have been to kill him as soon as you had the chance, with a knife, water powers, whatever you had at hand. At the veryleastyou should have let that arrow go through his head. We had him, Cailin. Wehadhim, and you ruined our one shot. The archer whose arrow you blocked was our best markswoman, and she’s dead now. A lot of people are dead because of what you did. And more will die if you don’t make the right choice.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. But your face—don’t you have healers among the anarchists?”
“We do, which is why I’m not lying in a bed with raw seeping wounds all over my face. Not all healers are as good as you, Cailin. I’ve come to realize that the hard way. Rince could only find one Anarchist healer on such short notice, and she did her best with me.”
“I wish I could help,” I whisper. “But you know I can’t, once it’s scarred over…”
“I know,” snaps Brayda. “I’m proud to wear my scars. What haveyouto be proud of?”
It’s the worst kind of whiplash—Rince’s over-enthusiastic and heavily sexual welcome, versus Brayda’s anger. She’s treating me like a traitor. Maybe I am.
“If I do what you want me to do—” I begin.
“If?” Brayda cuts in. “Is that even a question? Cailin, we’ve had these discussions before. You know how many people the Ash King has killed, and how his current policies keep our nation from growing, trading, and forming alliances. You know what we stand for—opening talks with other countries, engaging in trade, maybe even pushing our kingdom’s borders out farther. We need a fighting military, not just a defensive one. And we’ll abolish the Muting of wielders. We’ll encourage the open practice of unbridled magic, as well as magical education and expansion. That’s something you want, yes? Not this murderous king who holds everyone back.”
“So when he’s gone, who will be in charge?” I ask.
“No one.” Rince reaches to take my hand. “And everyone. That’s the beauty of anarchy.”
“But these things you want—trade and expansion, a different kind of military—they can only happen with leadership,” I counter.
“Leadership will form naturally,” he says. “First we have to break down the current structure. We have to demolish the establishments of the past, burn them to the ground, so that the new reality can emerge. Like a child’s birth, Cailin. I know you’ve seen birth before—it’s beautiful.”
I cock an eyebrow, thinking of the children I’ve helped into the world. “It’s messy, and bloody.”
“Yes! Yes, exactly. Bloody and beautiful. New life exploding from the narrow channel of the Ash King’s rule. We will be unfettered. Free. We won’t have to fear another Massacre of the Ashlands. No lovely face like Brayda’s will ever be ruined again. Look at her, Cailin. Look at your friend, at the sickening result of this King’s power.”
Brayda shoots him a pained glance, and I hasten to say, “She’s not sickening.”
