Page 65 of Healer to the Ash King
“Enough!” shouts the Ash King, and the two women freeze, glaring and seething at each other.
“I think it’s time for a new kind of training,” says the King. “Healer, when you’re done repairing Adalasia’s wound, we’ll need you for practice.”
Some of the women murmur at that, and Axley scoffs openly. “Why would we need her?”
I move over to Adalasia and focus on mending her wound, while studiously avoiding the King’s eyes. But I’m all ears, desperately curious how he’ll answer.
“As some of you know, our Healer disobeyed me recently,” says the Ash King. “She took a phaeton without permission and went into the city. She spent all her healing magic on unworthy citizens and left nothing for her duties to the Favored. And she nearly died. All of which displeased me greatly.” His tone darkens with vindictive heat. I can practically feel the apprehension of the girls at that change in tone. Casual though he might sometimes be with them, they haven’t forgotten his terrifying side. I suspect he likes to remind them of it now and then, as he did with Axley yesterday.
“I told the Healer she would be punished for her carelessness and disobedience,” says the Ash King. “Perhaps she thought I’d forgotten, or that I’d grown suddenly soft and merciful. Not so.”
He’s right. I thought he’d decided to spare me. I swallow hard, pushing more magic into Adalasia’s wound so I can seal it up quickly. Not that I want to hasten my punishment, but I can’t bear not knowing what it is.
I risk a glance at the Favored. They’re all watching either me or the King, a dreadful interest and eagerness painted across their features.
“What say you, my ladies?” says the King, stretching out both arms. “Would you like to help me punish the Healer?”
22
If the people of my village could see me now…
I would be mortified, and they would vengefully attack the Ash King and get themselves burned to bones.
I’m tied to an enormous wooden target at the end of the archery range behind the weapons building. My wrists and ankles are bound tight, stretching my legs and arms wide. And I’ve been stripped down to my corset and pantalettes. So much for dressing modestly today.
At the end of the shooting lane, the ten Favored women are preparing their bows and arrows. Their voices are somewhat softened by distance, and I’m glad. I’d rather not hear the comments they’re making about me, about this situation.
“Each of you will take three shots,” says the Ash King, loudly enough for me to hear. “No arrows should land above her shoulders. The one to come closest to her skin without breaking it wins a private lunch with me. But if your aim is off—well, she can heal herself.” He gives the girls a wolfish smile, and they smirk and giggle in response—all except for Khloe, who looks paler than usual, and Teagan, who frowns at the King but doesn’t speak.
The King is humiliating me on purpose. Is he doing this because he regrets what happened between us? Or because I was cold to him this morning? Maybe he’s simply proving he doesn’t care about me at all, that I was just another one-night conquest to him.
Seems like he could have found a way to do all those things without tying me to a board and letting his would-be wives shoot arrows at me.
“If your Majesty pleases,” says Axley, her voice raised for my benefit. “I’d like the first three shots.”
“By all means.” The King makes a sweeping, inviting gesture toward me.
I hate this. I hate the rough grind of the wood grain against the skin of my back. I hate the chafing of the ropes against my wrists. But the burn of the sun against my bronzed skin is familiar—and to be honest, I’m more comfortable in my underthings that I have been in any of the fancy gowns I’ve worn lately. I close my eyes, letting my head tip back against the board, savoring the heat of the morning as it soaks into my body.
With my eyes closed to the King and his women, I can shift their murmuring voices to the back of my mind and focus on the sweet twitter of a bird somewhere nearby. I can feel the dirt of the archery lane under my bound, bare feet. A strong herbal scent, almost minty, wafts from a nearby flowerbed. Cedars form a hedge-wall behind the target, and I inhale their sharp, spicy fragrance.
A sharp whine, and something thunks into the board, right at the curve of my waist. It passed so close I felt the whisper of its edge against my skin.
My eyes pop open.
Axley’s first arrow. Its green-tipped feather shivers slightly from the force of the shot. It landed precisely at my waistline, nearly touching me but not quite.
Axley meets my eyes, and her mouth bends in a rigid smile.
She’s an expert shot. And she might have just won the King’s challenge. She gets two more arrows, but I’m not sure how she can do any better.
She nocks another green-tipped arrow. Pulls back the bow again.
And fires a second arrow directly into my thigh.
The pain is horrific, but I don’t scream—I only gasp, tears starting in my eyes. I try to push the arrow out with magic, but I can’t. This is no splinter. I’ll have to wait until they’re all done shooting, then pull the arrow out and heal myself.
“Oh my,” says Axley loudly, touching her fingertips to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. My aim wasn’t very good that time.”
