Page 8 of Healer to the Ash King
“I must deny you either way, Your Majesty,” I tell him quietly.
“Do I repulse you?”
“No, my lord.”
“And you have done this before, yes? With a body like that, you must have.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure what that comment means. But he’s right. “Yes, I’ve been with a man before.” My friend Rince, before he and my best friend Brayda left our village to join the Undoing, the rebels who want to bring down the monarchy. They were very zealous about it, both of them. I slept with Rince many times, and I wouldn’t have minded continuing the trysts, but he decided his body and mind should be dedicated to the cause.
It's supremely ironic that I’m alone with the very man Rince and Brayda would love to assassinate. Gods, evenIwas wishing he was dead earlier today.
They would want me to try to kill him now. But I couldn’t harm him if I wanted to; he’d react too quickly with his fire magic. And besides, I have sworn the healer’s oath, not to harm a living soul unless it’s in defense of another.
“You keep staring at me,” says the Ash King. “Why? Most people fear to look at me too long.”
“Maybe they’re afraid because your guards smack people’s skulls at the slightest provocation,” I say sweetly, but my gut clenches, because I know at some point I will go too far. I will anger him, and he will maim or kill me. Or force me into bed.
“It’s your mouth,” he says, stroking his smooth jaw. “The quick way you have of speaking before you think. The defiance. It flows from you like water. Usually I would punish such rebellion, but when it’s mixed with humor, in that body—” He gestures with splayed fingers, indicating my chest— “I’m inclined to let it pass. For now.”
“Thank you, my lord,” I murmur, relief and rage mingling inside me.
“And you are officially refusing me? Most women are pleased to accept my attentions, and they leave satisfied afterward.”
The faintest trickle of warmth traces between my legs at that suggestive promise. But no. “Perhaps one of the other ladies in town would be agreeable.”
“I cannot summon anyone else at this hour, nor do I wish to.” He waves me away. “Back to your room, healer.”
He’s letting me go? Thank the gods.
I rise, dipping a curtsy, and his eyes settle on my enhanced cleavage. Damn this accursed gown.
My mother always tells me that one mark of a good man is taking responsibility for his body’s reactions, and not placing that blame on a woman’s choice of clothing.
By all accounts, the Ash King is not a good man.
“Your Majesty,” I breathe. “Good night.” I back up to the door, fumbling behind me for the handle. My eyes are trained on the Ash King, as if he is a wild animal and if I look away for one second, he’ll attack.
But he doesn’t move. He only lifts his eyebrows slightly at my odd manner of exit.
I spend the next few hours lying stiffly in bed, wrapped tightly in blankets, eyes wide open to the dark. What if the Ash King reconsiders letting me go and decides to creep into bed with me?
Why does he even want me? I’m not flattered. I’m not. I’m offended, deeply offended that he interpreted a few smirks as some sort of seduction technique. I’ll have to be sure to frown at him from now on… though that might get me more blows to the head from his guards… no, I won’t look at him at all, ever.
That resolution proves to be easier to keep than I thought, because the next day, the Ash King rides beside Teagan all day. Between me and them are more guards, her two maidservants, and a small cart containing a ridiculous amount of luggage that is apparently essential for her participation in the contest.
I’ve heard stories about how the “Calling of the Favored” was conducted in previous generations. Some of the rounds of the competition are public, while others are private, and the challenges differ every time—but there are always physical challenges, sometimes involving combat, either one-on-one or in groups. I don’t know much about the nobility of Bolcan, but I’ve always imagined them as soft and spoiled, not worth much in a fight. Perhaps they will simper and slap at each other, and squeal whenever one of them is scratched. Or perhaps I’m being unfair. Teagan doesn’t seem like the simpering kind; in fact, she seems like the kind of person with whom I’d want to be friends.
The blue-eyed guard isn’t riding with me—instead it’s the short steely-eyed guard who struck me those two times. So I have no one to talk to, but I don’t mind. The vistas are lovely—sweeping hills, forested valleys, water wheels turning between grassy banks, fluffy sheep nosing about in sloped pastures bordered by neat rock walls.
We pass through a couple of villages. The people bow to the King and Teagan, and they eye me curiously as I ride past. I’m an anomaly, an enigma. I’m wearing one of my own outfits today—my best traveling outfit. It’s a simple brown overdress with creamy embroidery, paired with brown pants. My hair is still in the fancy braids from last night—they’re a little mussed from the pillow, but they look decent enough.
We pause for a noon meal in a pasture by the side of the road. I’m given a share of food and then ignored, which suits me. A long afternoon of travel follows, and by evening we still haven’t reached the Capital. Instead, we turn into the courtyard of a wayside inn. There’s much shock and flurry among the owner’s family when they realize who their guests are. Again, I’m given food as an afterthought and assigned a tiny room, little more than a closet at the end of the second-floor hallway, while the King and Teagan and their entourage receive all the best rooms.
It’s stuffy and windowless in my chamber. Back home, I’m used to sleeping with the windows open so the mountain breeze can flood the room. My sleep was poor last night, and if I can’t sleep tonight, I will be a weepy mess tomorrow.
After hours of struggling with wakefulness, I can’t stand the suffocating room another minute. I slip out my door, pad barefoot along the hall, and creep down the stairs.
There’s a guard on the landing, and he halts me. Despite the gloom, I recognize the blue eyes and smushed nose of the friendly guard, even before he speaks. “Ho there, healer. Where are you off to? Running away, are we? Let me warn you against that. His Majesty will go back to your beautiful village and use it as kindling if you cross him.”
