Page 43 of Healer to the Ash King
“Palace-funded housing,” she answers. “The King ordered the construction of new tenement buildings throughout this area, with low rates for those who can’t afford anything better. There are palace-funded food stalls, too, and physik clinics.”
“What about healers?”
“No healers. Just non-magical remedies and treatment. What’s your business here, my lady, if I may ask? You said the King ordered this outing?”
“Um, yes.”
The driver tilts her head, as if she hears deceit in my tone. She has angular features and shiny black hair beneath a broad-brimmed hat. “You’re getting me into trouble, aren’t you, Healer?”
I give her an apologetic smile. “Maybe. I want to provide healing to those who can’t afford it. And I knew the King wouldn’t agree, so—”
“So you lied to me. Do you know what he does to people who displease him?” She pulls aside her collar to reveal a small round scar on her shoulder. “That’s from his finger. It was on fire at the time.”
“What did you do to anger him?” I ask.
Her face hardens. “That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” I back away, upset with myself. Since when did I begin looking for reasons to excuse the Ash King’s cruelty? “Please return for me in three hours’ time.”
The driver barely acknowledges me. She chirps to the horse, and the phaeton rattles away.
I wander along the street, gazing up in awe at the huge yellow tenement building. The Ash King has his faults, but at least he’s trying to help the less fortunate. Whether his efforts are successful or not is beyond my knowledge; I’m not skilled at economics or the finer points of city management. All I know is, there are people in this sector who need my help, and I’m going to give it.
A little farther along the street is a public house, a place to buy drinks and food. As I approach, a skinny boy brings out an A-frame sign, sets it up by the door, and begins to write the day’s menu on the slate sides in chalk.
The door to the public house is propped open, so I step inside. The space is so gloomy it takes my eyes a minute to adjust.
A hefty barmaid is moving chairs and tables around, setting up for the day.
“Good morning,” I begin—but when she turns to me, her face lights up, and she exclaims, “Healer of the Favored! I was in the stands yesterday during the First Challenge! Won the ticket in a game of chud-lobber. Best day of my life.” She throws both beefy arms around my neck. “Honored that you’re here, my lady. Honored.”
“Oh, no, please—it’s not ‘my lady.’ Just Cailin. I’m from a farming village.”
She clasps my shoulder with a broad hand. “I knew I liked you. What can I do for you, Cailin?”
“I’m looking for people to heal,” I say simply.
“People to heal?” She puckers her lips. “Not sure many in these streets can afford your services, but—”
“No, no—not for money,” I interject. “For free.”
The barmaid stares. “You want to heal people for free. People around here?”
“Yes. Do you know of anyone who needs healing?”
She keeps staring at me. Despite the gloom, I can see tears shimmering in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “If that’s offensive or something, I can go.”
“Offensive?” she chokes out. “Please—please sit here.” She drags a chair over to me. “I know at least a dozen people who could use your help.” She looks toward the open door. “Boy! Run to Aunt Mag’s house, and Master Daly’s, and Rohu’s place. Tell them the Healer of the Favored is here, and she’s willing to heal for free!”
Five hours later, the crowd in the public house doesn’t seem to have diminished at all. In fact, it has swelled beyond anything I could have predicted.
I’ve been healing everything from infected sores to swollen ankles to stomach ailments. I’ve repaired broken limbs, knitted torn flesh together, eased bruises, soothed headaches, and calmed colicky babies. And I pushed extra energy into each healing to speed the process along so I could have time for more people.
My energy reserves are dangerously low, far lower than they were yesterday after I healed the Favored. Once I drain my healing energy to a certain point, it starts to affect me physically. I’ve never learned exactly why, but my best guess is that my healing magic begins to draw on my actual life force to supplement itself.
My vision is beginning to grow hazy around the edges, and when I try to blink the haze away, it grows thicker. My fingers tremble as I splay them over the chest of a man with a heart problem. I can sense the blockage inside his artery—I just need a little more time to clear it.
