Page 23 of Healer to the Ash King
“Don’t try to defend me, Cailin,” Brayda snaps. “Rince has been there for me when you weren’t. You could have come with us when we left the village. You could have joined up when we did and prevented this. We need someone like you.”
She pauses, biting her lip, while the tea server sets our individual teapots and cups on the table. When the girl leaves, Brayda looks up at me again, her eyes bright with resentful tears.
“I didn’t go with you because I didn’t want that life,” I murmur.
“You think we do?” she bursts out. “You think I wanted this face? It’s calledsacrifice,Cailin. We’re devoting ourselves to the greater good. But of course you wouldn’t understand that. Your pacifism is just another word for laziness and weakness.”
Her words lash me like a whip. She’s hurting because of her permanent scars, and because I messed up the ambush against the Ash King. But beneath that hurt I can feel the truth of what she’s saying—a belief she has held onto for a long time. She believes I’m weak and lazy. She is convinced that’s why I don’t want to fight back or kill for the cause.
And I can’t bear for her to think that of me. We grew up together, harvested the fields together, built playhouses out of boleweed stalks, dressed up in lacy potsava leaves and pretended to be fine ladies. We made jewelry and tiaras out of the iridescent shattered shells of ash-burrower eggs, and we dreamed about becoming rich and powerful. Eventually I realized that all I wanted was my quiet, beautiful life among the villages and the fields, while she realized she wanted to upend the monarchy.
She despises my choice. My best childhood friend actually despises me. And I can’t bear for someone to despise me, to hate me. I adore being the healer andbeireoir uisce, water-bringer, for my people, because I enjoy being appreciated, feeling loved.
But the two friends I used to love best are staring at me like I’m a stranger. In Rince’s eyes I see pained disappointment, and in Brayda’s I see frustrated rage.
I want Rince and Brayda to love me again.
“I don’t think I can kill him,” I say softly. “But maybe I can help you in some other way.”
Brayda scoffs and picks up her tea, gulping instead of savoring it. But Rince nods encouragingly. “All right, then. We’ll work with that. Any information you can gather about the Ash King’s habits—when he’s alone, who tests his food and drink, where he bathes, how many guards are usually around him and where they are stationed in the palace—oh, and if you find a less heavily-guarded route or a secret passage into the palace. Anything like that. Find out how his magic works, so we can determine his vulnerabilities. You don’t have to actually kill him, Cailin. Just give us everything you can collect, and we’ll take care of the rest. We have someone in play already, but you’re positioned even closer. This can work.” He turns to Brayda, nodding emphatically, smiling brightly.
She grumbles into her tea, while I try not to examine the scarred patches and lines across her face. She’s still beautiful, through it all—but I know I could have rendered her flawless again, and it hurts that I wasn’t there for her. By blocking that arrow, I incited events that led to my friend’s harm. I have to focus on the wellbeing of my friends, not on protecting a cruel man I barely know. If I can help the Undoing without actually killing anyone, I owe it to Brayda to do everything in my power.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “But you should go, before my guard shows up. Meet you here again in a week? Or should I meet with your contact inside the palace?”
“Oh, no,” says Rince quickly. “We can’t risk our contact. She’s in enough danger, being in the spotlight.”
“Rince,” snaps Brayda. “Gods, stop talking before you give the whole thing away.” She shoves herself out of the booth. “I take it you’re paying for the tea, Cailin. Or rather, the Ash King is.” She looks at my ring, her scarred mouth hitching in a sneer.
“I’ve got it,” I say quietly.
Brayda stalks out the back door of the tea shop without another word. Rince pauses to kiss me on the mouth and he whispers in my ear, “See you here in a week. Maybe we can get a room and I can reward you for your spy work. You take care of that beautiful body of yours for me.”
He winks and strides out the back way, just as Owin enters the tea shop.
I draw a long breath, trying to slow my racing heart. With a lifted hand I summon Owin, and he hurries over, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Sorry, I took longer than I expected.”
“Did you meet the hot fire-wielder?”
“You could say that.” Owin smirks, adjusting the crotch of his pants. “We should return to the palace. You’re supposed to be at the Welcoming of the Favored tonight, and I want to show you a few sights on the way back.”
Owin hails the tea server and orders us a packet of sandwiches for the return trip through the city. Food in hand, we hire a carriage and take the scenic route to the palace. He shows me the artists’ plaza near the Triune Arch, the Justice Building where the Ash King and his officers hold court twice a week, and the Market of Uniquities, where exotic wares are sold and where most of the city’s sex work is centered. He points out the gaudily decorated booths where mutually interested parties can step in and enjoy each other quickly before going about their business.
“There are more of those tryst booths throughout the city, if you know where to look,” he says. “The fire-wielder and I made use of one. Very good use. What about you and yourfriend? Did he treat you well? Or she?”
“He was going to,” I say. “But we were interrupted.”
He winces sympathetically. “I’m sure someone at the palace would be happy to pleasure the Healer of the Favored.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” My cheeks are growing hot, and I fan them with my fingers. The late afternoon sun presses heavily on my skin, reminding me of the Ash King’s palm on my chest.
I’ve never been quite as sexually liberated as some in my village, and apparently I’m old-fashioned compared to many of the people in this city. I wouldn’t have stopped Rince from fingering me to climax in the alley, but I’m not sure I would have consented to a full-on coupling with him—not there, not with so many people so close by. When he and I were together back home, we were always in his bedroom or mine, or somewhere far out in the fields, where there was no one to see us. I like intimacy and privacy when I’m with someone.
Back at the palace, I find my maid waiting for me, along with a tailor and a rack of gowns, one of which will be altered to fit me for the night’s event. I bathe quickly and yield myself to their hands.
When they’re done, I’m clad in a form-fitting dress of sheer dark-blue material that flares gradually outward from my hips. Wave-like swirls of thicker material travel over my thighs, rear and breasts, concealing those areas while my body shows through the translucent blue everywhere else.
My dark hair is pinned half-up, with the rest tumbling in unruly curls. Long gold pendants shimmer from my earlobes, and my upper arms are embellished with gold cuffs. A dozen thin gold chains, like the threads of my magic, lie across my collarbones and cleavage. My maid highlights my natural beauty with a few cosmetics, and when I look in the mirror, I let a quiet swear escape me.
