Page 29 of Healer to the Ash King
Mistress Effelin gives me a small bow and leaves.
I wait, twisting my fingers together, rehearsing the speech I concocted for each Favored I’ll meet. They’re all of high birth and noble blood, ranked far above me in society. They’ve had more education, they’ve traveled farther, and they’ve met more people and had more experiences than me. I’m a simple healer in a blue tunic and loose pants. One of these women will be the future queen.
I can’t think about that. I must view them like I view anyone else who needs my healing magic. I need to be objective, kind, and courteous, regardless of my rank or theirs.
A few minutes later, the first Favored enters. It’s Axley, the sharp-faced blonde. She’s wearing an ivory dress that hugs her slim frame and pools on the tiles behind her.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully. “I’m here to give you a quick scan, ask you a few questions, and make sure you’re in optimal health for the first challenge tomorrow. If you have any health concerns or ailments, please let me know, and I’ll do my best to take care of those for you.”
Axley gives me a sneering smile. “I’m in perfect health.”
“That’s wonderful. If you’ll lie down right here, we can get started.”
Haughtily she complies, and I spread my hands in the air above her face. I close my eyes, tuning in to the ebb and flow of her body’s systems. Impressing her shape into my consciousness now will make it easier to heal her later if she gets injured.
“The servants told us you’re living in the Rose Room,” Axley says.
“I am. Only because His Majesty wants quick access to a healer.”
“Is that the only thing he has access to? Because we all know what the Rose Room is used for.”
She’s referring to the fact that my room once belonged to the King’s mistress. I can feel myself flushing. When I open my eyes, Axley is watching me keenly.
“It’s nothing like that,” I tell her. “The King is focused on finding his bride.”
“Good. I did not come here to share my future husband with anyone else.”
I try not to respond, I really do, but— “Then it’s unfortunate you have so many contenders for his affection.” I finish her scan quickly. “As you said, you’re in perfect health. Any concerns?”
“Just one.” She rises gracefully from the table. She’s taller than me, possibly because she is wearing dramatic heels. “I hope you realize that magic doesn’t equal nobility. Sitting with someone on a balcony or residing near them doesn’t make you their equal.”
With that, she sweeps out.
The next few girls regard me with the same cool, haughty distaste. It’s a relief when Khloe, the adorable Favored with the big dark eyes, steps into the examination room. She hops onto the table without being told.
“Everyone’s talking about you today,” she confides. “We all saw what you did with your magic, and the way you defended Embri.”
“Doesn’t seem to have won me any friends,” I mutter, spreading my fingers and letting my magic flow over her body.
“You don’t understand,” Khloe says. “None of us expected a young, gorgeous healer with dual gifts. Seeing you up there on the balcony with him, watching him spare you from punishment, and then hearing the rumors that you’re staying in the Rose Room—everyone assumes you’re sleeping with the King. Which makes you our competition.”
“But I’m not sleeping with him, and I’m not competition. I’d never want to be queen, and even if I did, the Calling is for the high-born.”
“Of course. But there’s a precedent for others participating, you know. Back when the King’s great-grandfather was choosing his husband, there weren’t enough noble young men with an inclination to males, so they opened the Calling to men of lower rank. They still had to be important men, well-educated and respected, but they weren’t titled.”
I’m about to respond, but when the ripples of my magic pass over her stomach, I sense something different. I pause, frowning, and press another surge of magic through the area until I’m sure.
“Khloe,” I say as calmly as I can. “Do you know you’re pregnant?”
Khloe’s dark eyes grow even more enormous. “What?”
“There’s no requirement for contestants to be virgins,” I say quietly. “But carrying another man’s child is a different matter.”
“Oh gods,” she whispers. “Oh gods—he told me he’d taken a tonic, that we were protected.”
“I’d say you’re about three weeks along. Does that sound right?”
“Yes.” She bites her lip, tears pooling in her eyes. “Oh gods.”
