Page 26 of Healer to the Ash King
Furious, I stalk the length of my room, muttering everything I want to say to him. If I were to knock on his door and ask for an audience, he’d probably burn me to a crisp and find himself a new Healer of the Favored. So the most I can do is talk to myself, and pretend I’m calling him out.
“You cruel, selfish bastard,” I hiss. “You unfeeling piece of shit. How dare you stare that poor girl down and then humiliate her? You’re the worst king this country could have. An abject failure. Heartsfire, if only you’d burned yourself up along with the Ashlands.”
I’m halfway across the room again, gnawing a piece of bread as if it’s his stupid haughty face, when the door between our rooms bangs open.
The Ash King is bare-chested, breathing hot steam, his eyes flooded with flame. I can see fire glowing molten through the skin and tendons of his throat, flickering under his ribcage. It’s swelling inside him, trying to burst out.
“Water,” he gasps.
“Don’t you have water in your room?”
“Your water,” he grits out, while flames coat his teeth. “Water touched by your magic—different.”
Quickly I siphon water from the pitcher on the washstand. He opens his mouth, and as fire begins to pour from his jaws, I crush the water against it. With a steaming hiss, the water gushes into him, quenching his inner flame.
He braces one hand against the wall, panting, his lips and chest gleaming wet.
My knees have gone weak with the awareness of what might have happened if I hadn’t been quick enough.
“How do you control it when I’m not around?” I ask.
“I have ways. They usually involve the incineration of furniture. This is quicker, and cheaper.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re useful. There’s something unique about your magic—I may have to keep you around.”
Dread ices my veins. “You said I could go home after the Calling of the Favored.”
“No. The herald said you would be in my service as long as I saw fit to employ you.”
My fists clench. “You can’t do this to people. Ruin their hopes, their dreams. Like you’re doing to me—like you did to that girl tonight—"
“You think I ruined her dreams?” His laugh is razors and darkness. “I did her a favor. She did not want to be here. You think I crave a wife who is so frightened of me she can barely stand upright in my presence?”
“Of course she was scared the first time she saw you. But you didn’t give her any time to acclimate, to get to know you.”
“And you think I improve upon acquaintance?”
“Well…no.”
He’s still bowed over, breathing heavily, but he looks up at me with dark eyes, no longer flaming. A smile quivers across his mouth. “An honest answer.”
“The only kind I’m capable of, unfortunately. You’ll kill me for it, one day.”
His lips part, shock in his eyes. But he swallows and nods. “You’re probably right.”
The raw truth bleeds in the air between us until I can’t stand the silence. “Do you want to sit down?”
“I’ve been sitting for hours. I’d rather stand, or lie down.” But he doesn’t move to return to his room.
My own anger has ebbed, oddly enough. I’ve done him a favor, helping with his overpowered magic—maybe he’s feeling grateful. Maybe I can draw information out of him, the way I siphon water.
“What did you think of them? The Favored?” I ask.
He shifts his position, his shoulder blades pressed to the wall and his body slanted. In those dark pants, his legs look impossibly long. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Did none of them stand out to you? No exceptional first impressions?”
He shakes his head. “What about you?”
“Me?”
