Page 38 of Healer to the Ash King
His eyes glow a fiercer crimson. “Believe me, I know,” he says softly.
“Your eyes.” I tilt my head, peering at him. “What does the glow mean?”
“Heightened emotions.”
“What kind of emotions?”
“Emotions that do not concern you. You ask far too many questions.”
“Me? No.” I shake my head soberly, blinking innocently at him. “Just a few questions, like how does your magic work? Where does the fire come from? Why haven’t you Muted yourself so you don’t have to buy new bedroom furniture every month or so?”
He slams a palm against the doorpost. “You think I haven’t tried to Mute myself? Do you honestly believe that wasn’t the first thing I did after it happened?”
He doesn’t have to explain what “it” is. He’s talking about the massacre in the Ashlands.
“But everyone thinks you didn’t try a Muting, that you don’t care about what happened.” I frown.
“Iletthem think that. A king who is powerful and fearsome is much more secure on his throne than one who is helpless, captive to his own uncontrollable magic. I want everyone to believe that Ichooseto keep my enormous power. The truth is, I would have stifled it long ago if I could. My skin simply won’t accept the Muting tattoo. I’m impervious to my own fire, as you know, and while I’m not invincible, my flesh is difficult to damage. A tattoo won’t hold. It vanishes within hours.”
Mouth open, I stare at him.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he warns. “If people knew that I tried to Mute myself and couldn’t, it would cause unrest. Better that they think me callous, cold, and fully in control. The only ones who know this secret are the two tattoo mages who tried to Mute me, and now you.” He grips the edge of the doorpost. “Fuck. Why did I tell you about this?”
“I won’t speak of it,” I say, and my heart sinks at the lie, because I might tell Rince and Brayda. But how can I, when he looks so furiously wretched and so utterly alone?
He’s breathing hard, a panicked light in his eyes. He prowls forward, menace in each step, and without warning he goes to one knee by the tub and wraps a hand around my neck—not tightly, but his fingers sting with heat. “If you speak a word of this, I will end you, do you understand? I’ll do it personally, and I’ll enjoy it.”
Staring into those burning eyes, after everything today—I can’t hold back anymore. My lip trembles and my eyes fill with tears.
The Ash King lets go of me immediately, alarmed. He backs away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Broken sobs escape me as he rushes out. I hug my knees and weep for everything he has taken from me.
I don’t cry long. I finish bathing and grooming, and I summon my maid.
“I’m going to a banquet,” I tell her. “And I need to look like a woman no one should dare to cross. How does this clothing allowance work? You’ve been bringing me a lot of clothes—have I reached my spending limit yet?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says. “The Ash King has told us we should provide you with any clothing you request, and as much of it as you want.”
“When did he tell you this?”
“When you first arrived, my lady.”
My chest tightens. Why show me such generosity? First the room beside his, then the royal ring, and now I find out he’s given the servants orders to provide me with endless luxury, at least where clothes are concerned?
He likes me. It’s the only explanation.
He invited me to his bed that first night in Aighda, and since then he has shown a marked interest in me. At least, I think he has. Perhaps he treats all the Favored with the same informal intimacy that usually characterizes our conversations.
Of course, he did threaten to kill me… and he burned a handprint on my chest. His herald promised my village would be razed to the ground if I didn’t comply.Andthe Ash King says he might keep me here against my will even after the Calling of the Favored.
I don’t know what to think. But I do know how I want to appear tonight—fully armored, with the soft places in my heart covered and protected against his crushing force. I won’t let an unguarded moment or two derail me from my goal—to have him removed from power.
I hoped that maybe he could be Muted and deposed quietly, without an actual assassination. But with this new information about his physical qualities, that’s looking less likely.
I’m escorted to the banquet by Owin. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his usual armor; he’s wearing a magnificent uniform of ash-gray. A stag with fiery scarlet antlers is embroidered across the breast. He guides me through the palace hallways into a banquet hall five times larger than the Lord Mayor’s dining space back in Aighda.
Long tables glitter with amber glass and golden plates, a dozen chandeliers shimmer overhead, and the floor is a sprawl of glossy tiles. The tiles are oddly shaped, varying in color from red-brown to deep umber to pearlescent ivory and creamy yellow. As I examine them more closely, I realize they’re not tiles at all; they are fragments of petrified wood, fitted together in a glorious polished mosaic.
