Page 71 of Healer to the Ash King
I scramble for something to say, and I blurt out, “Poison. The internal kind, not the type absorbed through the skin. He’d have to ingest it. It could work.”
“And you could get him to drink it?”
I grit my teeth. “I told you—my vow—I can’t do that.”
“Hm.” He shakes his head. “You mean well, Cailin, but your values are grossly misplaced.”
“One week,” I whisper. “I’ll have more information by then—I can focus on how food and drink is tested and delivered to him. And already I have notes and sketches for you, marked with times and guard postings.” Part of me doesn’t want to hand over those notes—but I have to give Rince something tangible. I’m trying to save many lives here, including the lives of my first lover and my new one.
Rince’s expression shifts at the mention of the notes. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“Give me time,” I say. “Meet me after the portraits, and I’ll hand over what I’ve collected so far. Just don’t be an impatient idiot and destroy our only chance of really making this happen.”
He grins at me, brief and bright. “Impatient idiot, eh? Now you sound like the Cailin of my childhood.”
I grin back.
As we’re smiling at each other, the King enters the gallery, and the Favored greet him with a cooing chorus of saccharine voices.
Teagan isn’t with him. Did he send her home?
That’s the least of my worries. My biggest fear right now is that Rince will change his mind sometime during this art session and blow us all to pieces. I’m not sure if the King would survive an explosion, but hopefully I was convincing enough to hold Rince at bay. He has known me a long time, and he would have caught me in a straight-up lie; but I mixed my words with truth, so I think he believed me.
Rince turns from me and moves to greet the King, with a graceful, humble demeanor that almost makes me laugh even as my stomach churns. I settle my nausea with a little magic, and I suppress my heart rate slightly. I need the nerves and adrenaline to keep me sharp and attuned to the situation, but I have to be calm enough to appear normal, as if nothing’s wrong.
Teagan enters shortly afterward, and the portrait sessions begin. Thanks to a pair of court musicians in the corner, the gallery soon fills with delicate song, and my tension eases a little.
Rince is charm incarnate with his wide smiles, quick fingers, and velvety voice. He teaches the girls the basics of creating a mosaic, and for those who’ve done something similar he provides extra tips to make the art more realistic and complex. He’s good at this—suave and skilled. I can tell he’s met many people in various scenarios since he left our little village, and I can’t help watching him.
There’s pride in my heart, but it’s mixed with horror and shock, that he would end his life to take out the King. I always knew he was devoted to the cause, but this is beyond anything I thought he’d do. Attempt an assassination, yes—but actively commit suicide to achieve it? It makes me so sad that I ache inside, every breath dragging painfully through my chest.
I’m conscious of the Ash King circling the girls, eyeing their work with a kind of tolerant approval, but I barely glance at him. I’m too occupied with reading Rince’s face, trying to discern any miniscule change that might spell our imminent doom.
When I finally do glance at the King, he’s watching me watch Rince. And he doesn’t look pleased.
At last, after three tense hours, Rince has completed the mosaic portrait of every Favored woman. The girls make their obeisance to the King and leave to dress for dinner, while I remain in my chair in the seating area, waiting for Rince to pack up his things.
The King lingers as well, running one bejeweled finger along the edge of a portrait tray. His hair is unbound today, a snowy river over the dark gray suit he wears. A silver band is his only crown. It looks much more comfortable than the black ones he sometimes wears. Thin-beaten as the iron is, those other crowns must get terribly heavy.
“Where are you from?” the King asks Rince. “I’ve not seen your work before.”
My gut twists, and I clutch the arms of my chair.No, stop talking to him. Just walk away, please. He could kill you right now.
I’m not sure which of the men I’m more terrified for.
Rince half-smiles as he turns to face the King. “I’m from the same town as Cailin.”
Shock runs cold through my veins. I did not expect him to give a truthful answer. Shouldn’t Rince have a secret identity, a fake hometown?
“Is that so?” The Ash King glances at me, his features cool and remote. “Old friends, the two of you?”
“Childhood friends, Your Majesty, and more.” Rince gives me a warm smile. “If you would kindly permit, I’d like to stay a little longer to speak with your Healer. She and I have not seen each other for a long time. Though we did have a brief encounter in the city the other day.”
“Did you now?” The King speaks through tight lips, and his eyes flicker scarlet. “That must have been when she was out with Owin, the guardsman who recommended you.”
Why is Rince telling the King all of this? I suppose there’s no obvious connection between him and the Undoing. Still, revealing his real identity feels dangerous, for him and for me.
Maybe that is part of Rince’s plan—establishing the connection between us, so if he’s outed as part of the Undoing, I’ll be implicated as well.
