Page 87 of Healer to the Ash King
Today the Ash King introduced the idea of me and him, together, into the people’s minds—which incites a tiny flare of hope in my heart. Yet he humiliated me, too, rebuking the audience for calling my name. He knew—everyone knew—I had no chance of beating him. There was never a real possibility of my becoming one of the Favored.
I don’t know whether to be flattered, furious, hurt, embarrassed, or some of each.
I’m on my back, eyes half-closed, so when three fiery orbs drift across the dark wood of my bedroom ceiling, I notice at once. The Ash King must have opened the door very quietly. I didn’t hear him come in.
“Go away,” I murmur.
“You fought well,” he says. “Almost as if you wanted to win.” There’s a tentative, questioning note in his voice.
“I wasn’t given the option of declining, so I put on a good show for the people. As you did.” I turn my head on the pillow, and the sight of him is a fresh wave of pain and pleasure. He’s wearing a loosely wrapped tunic and pants, both dark, and there’s a cloak draped over his shoulders. It’s early evening, after all—he probably has plans for private time with one of the remaining Favored.
Perhaps I should tell him the secrets I know about the women. But I’m not feeling very generous at the moment.
“I had to do it,” he says, advancing. His eyes linger on the towel, where my breasts swell against the soft folded edge.
“I understand. You can’t have your people calling the name of a village vagabond in the same breath as the names of the high-born.” Bitterness tinges my tone. “I’m good enough to serve the Favored, good enough for you to bed, and worthless beyond that.”
“You’re angling for compliments and reassurance.” His brow arches.
“I can’t exist on duty alone,” I murmur. “Back home I was loved as well as needed. People cared about me, and they showed it. I miss that. I miss nurturing the crops and watching them respond to my magic. I miss wandering the slopes and ravines, picking up strange rocks, finding fire salamanders in the little smoky crevices near the peak of Analoir Doiteain. I miss watching my parents come home arm in arm, dirt-stained and laughing together, delighted over some piece of petrified wood or magnificent geode they found, talking of what they planned to do with it. I miss going with them to towns on market days and providing my healing magic to anyone who needed my help.”
I focus on the fiery orbs circling near the ceiling, but I’m conscious of the King standing at the edge of my bed, arms folded, listening.
“I miss the Ceannaire. She’s the leader of our village, and she tutored me—taught me most of what I know. My mother used to laugh when the Ceannaire taught me courtly manners and dance steps and modes of address. My mother knew I was happy in our village, that I would never want to leave. But the Ceannaire always said that one day I would need those lessons in etiquette and proper speech. I may not be nearly as refined as the Favored, but I’m no dirt-grubbing halfwit.”
Still he doesn’t answer, and I sit up, clutching the towel, growing angrier by the minute. I like to think of myself as a kind, caring, even-tempered person, butgods, he makes me more furious than anyone I’ve met in my entire life.
“I won’t do it,” I say. “I won’t stay here and be your royal healer. The people of my region need me, and I need them. I won’t be a ghost of myself, starved for love, trapped in this palace, bound to this broken city.” I get to my feet, my cheeks burning, my fists curled tightly around the edge of the towel. “After the Calling I’m going home, and if you want to keep me here, you’re going to have to chain me up or kill me.”
His eyes flame, and he slides his hand along my neck, past the corner of my jaw, sinking his fingers into my damp hair. “You forget who you’re speaking to,” he says, low and dangerous, cupping my nape. He’s drawing me closer, and I let my head fall back, tipping my face up to his.
“I know exactly who I’m speaking to,” I whisper. “A cruel, selfish, arrogant man who uses, punishes, and manipulates people. I don’t like you. I pity your future bride.”
“Is that so?” he snarls softly, his mouth nearly grazing mine.
“Yes. I hate what you did to me today. I’m sure those women you eliminated hate you too, for putting them in that position, treating them like common captives. Their families won’t like it.”
“They know the rules. When they came to the Calling, they knew that suffering would be part of it.”
“But you enjoy it,” I hiss in his face. “You like making people suffer. What would your parents say—”
His face changes, and I realize with sickening dread that I took it a step too far. His eyes aren’t even eyes anymore—they’re pools of whirling fire. One of his hands is still cupping the back of my skull, and with the other he squeezes my face. His breath gusts painfully hot against my lips.
“How dare you?” His voice is lethal power, savage fury. “I told you what I’ve been through, how much I’ve lost. You think Iwantto make my people suffer? That I enjoy it? I do it to make them stronger. I do it to test their mettle. Everything I do has a reason, Cailin. Everything has a purpose, for the good of this kingdom and its citizens. There is only one thing I do for myself, purely for the joy it brings me.”
His fingers compress my cheeks harder, and my lips are pushed into a pout by the force of his grip. When we were children, Rince and Brayda and I used to squish our own cheeks and make faces at each other, just like this—and when I imagine how my face must look right now, a bubble of laughter rises inside me. I can’t help it.
He must see the merriment in my eyes, because his own widen abruptly, and the flames fade somewhat.
“What is the joyful thing you do for yourself?” I say through my bulging lips.
His mouth twitches, and sparks of humor dance in his gaze. “Gods, Cailin.” With a hoarse chuckle, he relaxes his fingers, cupping my face instead of squeezing it, and I smile at him.
How can I be so furious with him one moment, and feel nothing but ridiculous joy the next?
Joy—he said the one thing brings himjoy, not just pleasure. There’s a difference.
I hope theone thingis me.
