Page 25 of Healer to the Ash King
Gods, I’ve missed the introduction of the next three girls—I was lost in my personal fantasy. I can feel heat pooling between my legs. I must take care of my own needstonight, once I’m alone. I can’t be thinking that way about the godsdamned Ash King.
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t hear the names of those three girls; I’ll meet them soon enough. The fifth Favored is Khloe, daughter of some High Lord of Cawn. She’s short, perky, and adorable, with enormous brown eyes and glossy dark-brown hair. She looks about eighteen—probably the youngest of the Favored. She gives the Ash King the most darling smile I’ve ever seen.
Next comes Adalasia—deep umber skin, rich curves, graceful bearing. Then there’s Leslynne, with soft peach skin and abundant golden hair. Morani is olive-complexioned, with short, spiked black hair and several body piercings on display through the cutouts in her gown. A tall, pale blonde with a sharp face and keen eyes—Axley. A small, lithe woman—Diaza—with light brown skin and plentiful freckles. A woman named Sabre with cinnamon-colored hair and powerful arms. She looks as if she could lift the King easily.
I lose track of all the names, cities, and ranks. But I love looking at the radiant gowns, the dazzling jewels, the different shades of bronze, cream, or ebony skin, the unique facial structure and intricate hairstyles of every woman.
At last, all twenty of the Favored are standing parallel to the balcony, waiting to be welcomed. They’re all smiling. Some of them look genuinely excited—they flutter their lashes and simper, or grin broadly and familiarly at the King, as if they’re already old friends. Others wear polite, tense smiles.
The Ash King rises abruptly, and when he does, I see the edges of even the most friendly smiles crack a little. Every single one of these women is afraid of him.
Good. They should be.
He walks to the end of the balcony and begins to speak their names, one at a time, reaching out to allow every Favored to kiss his fingertips.
There’s one girl in the middle of the lineup who is visibly shaking. The closer he comes to her, the harder her body shakes, until I’m afraid she might crumple where she stands. Her smile wobbles, and her eyes are blown wide with terror.
The Ash King pauses in front of her and stands there without speaking. I can only see his cheekbone and the corner of his jaw from my angle, so I’m not sure of his expression, but clearly his stare terrifies the poor girl. She lets out a tiny sob, her smile gone. Her pupils are dilated so far there’s almost no iris left.
She’s about to pass out.
I’m the healer. I should step in and see to her wellbeing.
Swiftly I rise and move forward to the Ash King’s side. I reach out to the girl. “Embri’s your name, isn’t it? Take my hand, Embri.”
Whimpering, she obeys, and golden wisps twine her fingers with mine. I can’t alter her emotions, but I can soothe the nausea in her stomach, slow her heart rate a bit, ease the panicked fight-or-flight responses of her body. Within a few seconds, she stops trembling.
Cautiously I glance up at the Ash King.
And in the violence of his scarlet eyes, I see my doom.
10
My fingers are still wound with the girl’s, and I continue soothing her nerves even as my own grow taut. The Ash King is staring at me with such implacable rage I can hardly breathe.
The entire audience is silent. The music has stopped. Fear and tension vibrate in the air.
They are all waiting for the King to punish me for my interference.
“She was about to faint,” I murmur.
He glares at me a moment more, then turns to the girl, Embri. “You are dismissed from the Calling. You are no longer one of the Favored. Go.”
“No!” I exclaim, before I can think. “She was only nervous. She’s calmer now—she’ll be fine.”
The Ash King steps nearer, towering over me. “Silence, Healer. Return to your seat.”
For one burning second I hesitate, my jaw tense, glaring right back at him. A guard steps forward, hand upraised to strike me for my defiance, but the Ash King hisses “The fuck you will” at him, and he backs down.
That act of his, protecting me from punishment, is enough to make me yield. With a resigned curtsy, I step back to my seat.
More guards appear, escorting the shivering, weeping girl out of the Favored lineup. The Ash King continues his cold welcome of each remaining contestant, and then drinks are distributed through the crowd. There’s a toast, more music, some acrobatics, and a few speeches. I sit silently through it all, while the Favored have to stand in their places for the entire two hours. It must be a test of their endurance and poise.
One woman collapses near the end of the festivities, and then another faints, striking her head on the wooden platform. They are both taken away, removed from the competition—but when I try to follow them to check on their well-being, I’m ordered back to my seat by a guard who says, “They are no longer your concern, Healer of the Favored.”
By the time it’s all over, when I’m finally escorted out of the arena and taken back to the palace, I’m in a towering rage. My maid brings me a tray of food, and I take savage bites while I pace the room and seethe about the injustice of it all. Now I’m twice as determined to see that bastard king taken down.
I know immediately when he returns to his chamber. I can hear him through the door between our rooms, shouting at his servants to begone and leave him alone.
