Page 28 of Healer to the Ash King
“That’s not the activity to which I was referring.”
“Oh, you mean what I did at the Welcoming of the Favored? I did drain quite a bit of my healing energy, but it has already recovered.”
“Not that either.” His eyes never leave my face. “You should know that I have above-average hearing. One might call it a secondary magical ability of mine.”
Oh. Oh gods…
“I can hear everything you say in this room, even when you say it quietly,” he continues.
Oh Heartsfire, he heard my tirade against him last night. I’m lucky he didn’t scorch me into a pile of fluttering ashes—
“I can also hear—other things. Other sounds.”
The blood rushes to my face, a gush of humiliation so hot I can feel its frantic haze in my brain.
He heard me pleasuring myself last night. That’s what he means. He heard me sayYour Majestyright before I came.
Fuck. Me.
My hands press to my burning cheeks. I can’t meet his eyes.
“Next time, if you want me to join you,” he says softly, “all you have to do is ask.”
I’m too embarrassed to look at the Ash King, but I hear the rustle of his rich clothing as he leaves my room by way of the hall door.
“I look forward to your report about the Favored,” he says. “Until tonight.”
Why do those last two words sound like a threatanda promise?
I have no more appetite for breakfast, and when my maid returns for the tray, she directs me to the East Wing where the Favored are residing for the duration of the contest. I take along a notebook, an ink bottle, and a quill, partly for taking notes on the physical condition of each Favored, and partly for nefarious spying purposes. I make a clumsy sketch of the palace layout—at least the parts I’ve seen—and I mark the spots where guards are standing. It’s a bit discouraging, since they seem to be everywhere. Security is ridiculously high during this competition. Or perhaps it’s not ridiculous at all, since there is a very real threat to the King, as I know all too well.
Rince mentioned that the Undoing already has someone on the inside. He also indicated that the contact is female, in a prominent position— “in the spotlight,” he said. It can’t be a palace servant, surely—they’re selected with great care, judging by what Owin has told me. It has to be one of the Favored or their servants. Despite the vetting process for this contest, it’s possible that a sympathizer with the Undoing has slipped through.
I don’t really need to know who the Undoing’s spy is. But for the sake of my own personal curiosity, I’d like to find out. Maybe I’ll discover it during the examinations today.
By dinnertime, I have to examine seventeen women and confirm their ability to participate in the Calling, because tomorrow is the first Challenge. The King isn’t wasting any time getting this competition under way. I think he wants to get it over with. Which is sad, both for him and for the hapless girl he chooses.
Of course, if the Undoing has their way, he won’t survive long enough to make that choice.
The wing of the palace where the Favored reside looks different from the stately, heavily-furnished hall where I’ve been staying. This section is airier, lighter, full of windows and colonnades and balconies. Mistress Effelin greets me and leads me to the first floor of the wing, where great doors stand wide open to the midsummer morning. There’s a garden outside—not a dull, regimented, neatly trimmed garden, but a vine-draped, floral-scented wilderness rich with lush foliage. Sunlight dapples the flowerbeds and sparkles in the dew on leaves and petals. There’s a rain-scented freshness to the air, and I inhale deeply, gratefully.
“You’ll work in this room.” Mistress Effelin leads me past the open doors, into a long chamber that’s also plentifully windowed, though these windows have thick glass. I walk to one immediately and open it wide. The heat of the sun on the sill promises that today will be hot, but for now, there is a lovely breeze.
The room contains cabinets stocked with tonics, herbs, bandages, and medical implements. The white marble counters look spotless. In the center of the room are three thickly cushioned cots and one metal surgical table.
“This room is for non-magical healing.” I look to Mistress Effelin for confirmation.
She nods. “At the King’s insistence, most of the healing that goes on in the palace is unaided by magical means. He insists that we progress in that area, lest magic disappear from the land.”
“Disappear?” I raise my eyebrows. “How could that ever happen?”
“Ask the King.” Her thin shoulders lift and fall briefly. “Of course, he understands that some conditions and injuries cannot be remedied without magic, and he allows the palace healer to treat those.”
“The palace healer? Does this healer treat the King as well?”
“Sometimes. Our healer is nearing his ninetieth year. It is time for the King to choose a replacement, but so far he has not found anyone to his liking.”
“Small wonder,” I mutter, running my fingertips along the clean, smooth sheet stretched taut over one of the exam beds. “Please go ahead and send in the first Favored. I have many women to see today.”
