Page 58 of Healer to the Ash King
“If the Favored request it,” the Ash King says, with his usual cold grace.
He speaks to the musicians. They nod and start to play, a delicate ripple of notes.
The Ash King begins to sing.
At first I can’t believe what I’m hearing. There must be something wrong with my ears. Or maybe I’m not familiar with the song? No, it’s one I’ve heard before.
There’s no other explanation—the Ash King is a terrible singer.
He’s horribly off key, and every phrase or two he hits a note that’s so wrong my skin crawls. I love music, and to hear a song butchered this way—it’s almost physically painful.
I glance around, wondering if everyone else hears what I’m hearing. They all have rapt smiles on their faces, but when I look closely I can tell that some of those smiles are looking a bit forced, a bit pained. It’s not just me, then. Everyone knows he can’t sing. Yet they’re faking admiration. Some of them are even nodding along or swaying to the music. The courtiers and nobles don’t flinch, not even when the King’s voice wavers or skews into the wrong register.
Slowly I creep backward, toward the doors that lead to the hallway. I can sneak out of here while everyone else is pretending to be awed by his terrible voice.
I slip out of the bright lounge and into the gloom of the corridor just as the song ends on a quavering note that’s just so incrediblypainful. Applause rattles the room behind me, and I hear the Favored shrilling over each other, trying to deliver saccharine compliments to the King.
Grimacing, I slink away, while someone calls out for Teagan to sing next. The first notes of a new song echo along the hall, and I slow my steps, convinced that I’ve escaped.
Until a male hand brushes upward, along my spine. “Why do you wear these dresses?” The Ash King’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”
I freeze, my breath hitching. Why did he leave the lounge? Teagan’s song won’t distract the guests for long; they’ll be looking for him any minute.
He runs his knuckles down my spine and then up again, a slow graze that ignites every vertebrae I have. “Did you like my song?”
“I—um, objectively, there is—well, subjectively, I would say—”Stop stumbling around, Cailin! You need to be diplomatic. He just threw someone off a balcony for coughing.
“There is something so charming about a performer earnestly doing their best,” I tell him. “Sincerity is the loveliest music of all, don’t you think?”
It’s something the Ceannaire said once; not original with me, but the King doesn’t need to know that.
His hand leaves my back, and he moves around to examine my face. I give him my brightest smile.
“Well done. You’ve given me the diplomatic answer,” he says. “Now for the real one.”
I suck in a breath and glance around for anyone who might object to pure honesty before the King. There are armored guards standing motionless along the hallway, but none of them are very near to us.
So I look the Ash King right in the eyes, and I say, “You are a dreadful singer. You can’t carry a tune. You can’t hold the notes properly. There are children in my village who have better breath control. It’s too bad, because your speaking voice is so nice. But you can’t sing.”
For a long moment he stares at me, his features rigid. My heart thunders, and I begin to sweat a little.
Then his mouth relaxes into a wry smile. “I know I can’t sing.”
“Oh thank the gods,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. “I thought maybe you didn’t realize it.”
“No, I’m well aware, which is why I never sing before others. But I’ll let you in on a little secret—tonight is the Fourth Challenge. Lord Bayner was in on it—I asked him to urge me to sing, and to tell everyone how wonderful my voice is. And then I watched the Favored, to see their reactions. I’ll be talking to each of them about it, to see how they respond. I won’t tell them it was a test until the end of the evening.”
“Oh,” I murmur, my mind racing. “That’s—that’s actually very clever, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you,” he says dryly. “Occasionally I do something mildly intelligent. And now to see what the other ladies thought of my song.”
He grins and takes a few steps toward the lounge before I say, “You came to me first.”
The King stops without turning around. “What?”
“You came to me first, to see how I would respond. Why? I’m not one of the Favored.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You are not.”
