Page 54 of Healer to the Ash King
I swing off my horse and run toward Khloe. Out of the corner of my eye I see the wind-wielder and the trainers moving through the fence, ready to intervene, but the Ash King bellows, “Wait!”
My body feels like it’s on fire, frenzied chemicals fueling my survival instinct. These beasts go for the smallest prey, which means I have tomakethis monster focus on me instead of Khloe. If I make it mad enough, it will chase me instead of her.
I step right into its path and spread my arms, and I stamp my feet as hard as I can, until pain shoots through my shins.
“Stop, you big coward!” I shout. “Fucking stop!”
The ollpheist is close enough for me to glimpse its beady eyes, half-buried in clumps of fur. Its attention is on me now, and it slows to a halt. But then it begins tearing up clods of dirt, preparing for another attack.
I’m too far from the outer fence to try Teagan’s strategy. But I sidle to the right, slowly, and the creature turns to keep me in its sightline—until the late afternoon sun flashes over my shoulder, into its eyes. It screeches, pawing at its head.
Samay tried a few commands on this one during her session. They didn’t work, probably because her voice was so thin with fear and her body language was anything but dominant. My voice probably won’t be any better, but I have to try something.
I could flash gold healing light in the monster’s eyes. I could siphon water from the drinking barrels and whip it into submission. But something inside me wants to know I’m capable of this, that I can conquer the beast without my magic.
The sun’s fiery glare heats my back and shoulders. My neck is slick with sweat, and my nostrils fill with the hazy scent of hot leather, the acrid smell of my own body, the aroma of freshly clawed earth and grass.
I stretch both arms up and out, as if I’m embracing the sky, and I walk toward the beast.
Diaza removed herself from her beast’s rage. Teagan let hers smash its own skull until it was too dizzy to defy her. But Khloe—Khloe made a sort of connection with hers. It’s still obeying her firm commands, despite the ongoing standoff between me and the second monster.
My ollpheist lowers its head, those upturned jaws sagging wide. A snarl rips from its throat as it lopes forward.
“Can you even understand me?” I shout. “You want to kill, to eat. Well, guess what—the quickest way to dinner is you getting back inside that cage. Then this ridiculous challenge can be over, and we canallgo home to eat. I’m sure your trainer will feed you something nice.”
The beast tenses for a spring, and I hold out both hands and bark, “Stop!”
The ollpheist skids to a halt in front of me and roars, spraying spittle from its fangs. It swipes at me with a paw, but I don’t move, not even when the tips of the claws rake across my chest. Pain sears through my flesh, but I force myself to step forward, slamming my boot to the ground, a tangible threat that reverberates through the turf.
The monster withdraws a step, like it’s confused about why I don’t scream and run like Samay did.
“I’m not afraid of you.” My voice is low and firm, but I know a certain gifted pair of ears in the audience can hear every word. “You think you’re so big and scary, that no one can handle being around you, but that’s not true. You can’t hurt me, because I’ll heal and I’ll come back, every time. Everything you want—you can have it if you just give in. If you submit to me.”
The ollpheist slashes me again, my arm this time. I keep walking through the haze of pain, through the sensation of my own blood soaking my clothes, dripping on the turf.
When the creature squalls, I bare my teeth in a smile, because I can hear the difference in its voice now. This isn’t a raging scream; it’s more of a “who-is-this-scary-girl-and-why-doesn’t-she-run-when-I-hurt-her” scream. The monster scuffles backward as I keep prowling forward, caging it against the bars of the outer fence. Beyond those bars is the royal box.
“See there,” I murmur. “You’re not so terrifying after all.” And I lift my eyes, just for a moment, and meet the scarlet gaze of the Ash King.
The ollpheist cringes down against the bars, quieting.
A bell cracks the porcelain silence.
After healing myself, I mend the wounds of the Favored one at a time. Samay is first, since her injuries are the worst. I begin with her face and discover that her eyeball has been sheared in half, her jaw is broken, and a claw ripped right through her lip. I soothe the pain receptors and slowly rebuild all the layers of tissue until she looks as beautiful as ever. Then I work on knitting her arm bone back together.
“Thank you, Healer,” she says. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I’ve said about you.”
“I didn’t hear any of it, so there’s nothing to forgive.” With the arm fixed, I move to her chest, scanning for more injuries. She’s got two broken ribs.
“But I feel bad for laughing with the others,” Samay says. “Axley and her girls joke about you all the time. She really hates you.”
I pinch my lips together, trying not to respond. At least Axley has lost two of her poisonous little friends in this challenge. One of them stepped out of the ring, and the Ash King eliminated another at the end. Which leaves just eleven women in the contest.
With my fingers splayed over Samay’s body, I scan her again, top to toe. “You’re fine now,” I tell her. “Perfectly whole.”
“That’s a relief. If I can ever do anything to thank you,” she says, sliding off the table.
“What’s your ability?” I point to the temporary Muting tattoo on her ankle.
