Page 79 of Healer to the Ash King
“I’ve heard tales of the invasion,” I say, careful not to betray what Jonald shared with me. “A terrible time. I’m sorry you had to be in the center of it.”
“I’d never had to fight before that day. I fought during training, of course—but not with deadly intent. I had never killed anyone. We were at peace, you see. But during the invasion I killed, and I killed, and still they kept coming.”
“You fought them off, though,” I murmur. “You and the army. You stopped it.”
“Yes, they retreated, but we didn’t stop anything.” He whirls to face me, fire glowing through the tendons of his throat.
I rise from the bed and take another mug from the washstand, guiding water into it. “Drink,” I tell him. “No more wine, or things could get rather explosive.”
As he gulps the water down, the dangerous glow fades.
“How does your water hurt meandease me?” he asks, low.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out. I’d have to ask another water-wielder, but I can only guess that my intent affects the characteristics of the water itself.” I risk a bold look into his eyes. “If only someone would allow more magical learning and research…”
He turns away, scoffing impatiently. “Ah, yes. The part where you believe that because I came inside you, you get to instruct me,changeme.”
“Don’t be so crude. You know I’m right.”
“You aren’t, though. The more freedom wielders have to explore their magic, the deeper they delve into sick, wrong, twisted applications that should never be thought of, or allowed to exist.”
“Greater knowledge and understanding is never wrong,” I counter. “Evil doesn’t come from magic, but from people’s hearts.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He vents a harsh laugh. “I know it better than anyone else in this whole kingdom.”
“Is that so? Enlighten me, oh Great All-knowing One.”
“You want to know? Fine. Sit.” He points to the bed, eyes blazing.
I’m not afraid to challenge him, but this is not the right moment. He’s wavering on the brink of divulging something momentous to me—I can feel it. If I play my cards right, he will tell me everything.
27
I sit, folding my hands in my lap, while the Ash King resumes his pacing back and forth across my bedroom.
“It was months after the invasion. My father was rotting away, cursed by a disgusting wretch of a two-faced Cheimhold wielder, so I had to take on the responsibilities of the kingdom. I received word of an uprising in the south—anarchists who wanted to overthrow the crown while my father was weak. This kingdom was already shaken to its foundations by the recent invasion—we could not afford to be divided from within. So I took a company of soldiers and nine of my closest friends with me to the South. Those nine had battled beside me during the invasion, and I trusted each of them with my whole heart. My two cousins were among them.”
He pulls his long hair over his shoulder and begins braiding it, messily, nervously, as he’s walking back and forth.
“When we reached the southern city of Irafhen, we disguised ourselves, spied among the people, and discovered a terrible truth—that Cheimhold had been funding the anarchists. When the invasion failed, they decided to destabilize our kingdom from within. Money, weapons, supplies—vast quantities of support for the rebels was coming through our northern borders and being channeled to the Undoing in the South.”
My stomach does a sick roll of dread. The Undoing was supported and funded by our enemies? Do Rince and Brayda know this?
“Is Cheimhold still funding the anarchists?” I ask.
“If they are, they’re doing it with much greater difficulty. Why do you think I closed the borders and cut off trade? We cannot trust anyone, not even those who appear to be our allies. Better to be insular and self-sufficient, dependent on no one.”
His fists are clenched so tightly I can see white bone through the skin of his knuckles.
“My friends and I discovered that the Undoing was woven into all levels of society in Irafhen, and indeed throughout the whole southern part of the kingdom,” he continues. “They were lying to my people. The citizens, gullible and terrified, were swallowing every untruth. I was at a loss, unsure how to purge the instigators and arrange peace. And then my cousin Nikkan suggested a banquet to which we could invite the leaders of the southern towns and talk things over. He said we might be able to devise a way to pacify the Undoing.”
The hollowness of his tone tells me we’re nearing the tragic end of the tale. With trembling fingers I lift my mug of wine and take a few slow sips.
The King looks at me, embers of old pain glowing deep in his dark eyes. “The Undoing is skilled at persuading the young and the reckless. So very clever with words and promises. They create the most fervent of zealots.”
Rince’s eager face leaps into my mind, and I swallow hard, averting my gaze.
“I didn’t know they had touched someone I loved,” the Ash King continues quietly. “Not until my cousin Nikkan, my brother, my fellow warrior—he rose from the banquet table and shouted, ‘To the glory of anarchy!’ and smashed a strange-looking bottle. A powdery green smoke curled from the shards, spreading through the room and seeping out the doors and windows into the air. All around the table, my friends fell, choking, frothing, dying. As his own lungs spasmed from the poison, Nikkan slit the throat of the healer who had accompanied us. Not that the healer could have saved us anyway—most healers cannot counter the effect of toxins.”
