Page 64 of Healer to the Ash King
With that resolve in mind, I dress myself in simple clothing—plain trousers, a blue shirt, a high-collared vest with toggles up the front. Not a hint of cleavage. My maid braids my hair and pins it tightly to my head.
“Are you all right, my lady?” she asks.
“Just Cailin,” I say for the hundredth time. “I’m fine. The Ash King and the Favored are training and exercising this morning, and I’m supposed to observe, in case anyone gets hurt.”
“Very good, my lady,” she answers. “I can take you to the activity grounds that the Favored have been using.”
She leads me through the wing where the Favored reside, past the examination room I used a few days ago, then through the garden. At the far end of the garden is a walled square, paved with stones and lined with several motionless guards. There’s an expanse of sandy dirt in the center of the area—a combat ring. A long, low building forms one side of the square.
“There are weapons and weights in there,” says my maid, pointing to the building. “This area is for sparring and dueling. And that is for agility training.” She gestures to an array of posts, beams, bars, ropes, and wheels along the right side of the square.
It’s an obstacle course like the one in the First Challenge, only not in perpetual motion, and not as lethal. Four people are swinging across the bars, leaping the gaps, ducking under the beams. Axley, with a body like a tight-coiled spring, whips through the obstacles. Teagan dashes across the tops of several posts and then climbs a rope net, every movement lithe and graceful. Khloe dances along a beam barefoot. And the Ash King, shirtless, climbs a post and then leaps to catch a bar, swinging hand over hand across a gap and landing sure-footed on the narrow step beyond. His skin shines in the morning light, sinew and sculpted muscle. A long white braid trails down his spine.
At the sight of him, a ripple of panicked delight rolls through my stomach and chest.
My maid squeezes my arm lightly, and I glance at her, surprised. Her eyes are bright with awareness. “I must tend to my duties. Enjoy yourself.”
“Not much chance of that.” I release a breathless laugh.
She hesitates, then whispers, so quietly I can barely hear her, “Don’t chase him. Make him come to you.”
She’s gone before I can respond. Hers was the tiniest of whispers, so I don’t think the Ash King could hear her. I suppose the servants know of his hearing ability, and they’ve learned to account for it.
I’m still watching my maid’s retreating form and mulling over her words when two feet thump into the dirt nearby—someone leaping from the obstacle course and landing not far from me.
When I turn, the King is looming over me, mouth curved in a smirk. “Healer.”
As I curtsy, I keep my face immobile and my voice cool. “Your Majesty.”
He’s practically glowing today, vibrant, brimming with an unusual energy. And at first I think it’s for me.
But then Khloe runs up to us, shouting, “I did the entire course without falling!” and he catches her, picks her up, and captures her excited squeal with his mouth.
She has opened a part of him that none of the other girls have been able to touch. ThatIhaven’t been able to touch. He’s ruttingplayfulwith her.
The King sets Khloe down immediately when Axley leaves the obstacle course and approaches us. Several of the other Favored arrive through the garden gate, while Sabre and Morani come from the weapons building. They’re already sweating and panting as if they’ve had a rigorous practice session. At last all ten of the remaining women are gathered.
“Some of you have made use of these facilities before today,” the Ash King says. “But this morning, all of you should spend a few hours honing your skills. Trust me when I say, you’ll need all the strength and skill you have for tomorrow’s challenge.”
“Team combat,” says Leslynne under her breath. “It’s got to be.”
She’s standing right at my elbow, but she doesn’t look at me or greet me. In fact, most of the women seem determined to pretend I don’t exist. Only Khloe smiles at me, while Teagan and Samay offer brief nods.
For the next hour, I sit on a shady bench between two of the guards and watch the girls train. They rotate through the obstacle course, the combat ring, and the exercise building. The Ash King participates a little, but mostly he prowls in a slow circle, watching them spar or climb.
Adalasia and Diaza make a particularly glorious and graceful pair as they practice swordfighting. The sun flashes off their blades, gleams on the different shades of their brown skin, glitters in their black hair. They battle with an unrelenting ferocity that soon draws the other girls to watch. Neither one wants to give in, and the blows begin to rain faster, the clang and scrape of the blades exploding in the quiet morning. Breath hisses through their clenched teeth, and now and then one of them cries out with the effort of blocking an attack or delivering a blow.
I lean forward on my bench, gripping the stone edge. They’re going at it so fiercely now that one of them is bound to get hurt.
Sure enough, Diaza sidesteps and drives her sword beneath Adalasia’s guard, right into her side.
She stops herself—the blade doesn’t go in far, but Adalasia screams. As Diaza jerks the blade back, blood pulses from the wound, spattering onto the dirt.
I leap up and dart forward, magic already slithering from my fingertips. The gold tendrils dive into Adalasia’s wound, staunching the blood.
“Come here,” I tell her. “I can heal you.”
But Adalasia vents another scream and charges at Diaza, who’s turning away. Diaza barely has a second to lift her sword and block the blow.
