Page 9 of Healer to the Ash King
“I’m not running away,” I tell him. “I can’t sleep, and I’m desperate for some air. Please—I just need to open a door, a window—anything. Let me sit in the common room a while, please.”
“The common room is occupied,” says the guard in a low, warning tone.
“It’s all right, Owin,” says a voice from somewhere below—a voice like iron and ice. “Let her come down.”
A bolt of lightning races through my gut—panic and nerves. I retreat, climbing back up a step. “Never mind,” I whisper frantically. “I’ll get to sleep somehow.”
“Come down here, healer,” says the King’s voice. Did he hear me whisper? Does he have special hearing powers as well as fire abilities?
The blue-eyed guard, Owin, winces sympathetically at me and stands back so I can pass. I wrinkle up my nose, but I descend the steps, conscious that I’m wearing a threadbare nightdress that’s much too short for me, and much too low in the neckline.
I move into the inn’s common room cautiously; it’s gloomy, and I don’t want to trip over the thicket of chairs and tables. The Ash King is sitting at a table in the center of the room, and at first I think he has a candle in front of him, but it’s a little ball of flame that dips and swells and shrinks, hovering in midair.
The King lounges sideways, shirtless, hunched down in a chair, one elbow on the table with his hand propping his cheek while the other hand rests on his thigh. He’s not even moving his fingers. He’s controlling the fire with his thoughts, idly, easily.
His eyes lift to mine, and I gasp. His irises are entirely molten. They’ve transformed into swirling orbs of scarlet flame.
“Your pardon, Majesty.” I start to kneel, and he says, “Enough of that. A bow will do.”
“Majesty,” I repeat, and bow to him. “Forgive me. I needed some air.”
“They’ve shuttered and barred all the windows in case someone tries to assassinate me,” he says.
“What?” My voice shrills in mock surprise. “Who would want to killyou?” I hope he notices the wry twist to my tone.
“I am hated,” he says. “As all men with power are hated.”
My good sense tries to stop me from speaking, but I push past it. “All men with power have not burned an entire section of their kingdom and murdered thousands of their citizens.”
“True.” His eyes flare brighter, tiny flames escaping and catching on his lashes. “I did do that. I burned thousands of people alive and turned whole towns to ash.” He rises, and I realize with dread fascination how tall he is. His long white hair is loosely plaited in a single braid, and escaped strands stir around his face as if caught in a hot wind. He is terrifying and glorious—a glowing, flame-eyed menace in the dark room.
“Thank you for reminding me who I am, healer.” His voice is black smoke and burnt bones. “Let me remind you whoyouare. You’re a farm girl who happens to possess the gift of water-wielding and healing. I may have found you amusing yesterday, but tonight, I’m wondering if you’re worth my trouble.” He places a searing palm in the center of my chest, the heel of his hand pressing into my cleavage and his fingers splayed over my collarbone. The heat of his skin scorches mine, and I clench my teeth against the painful touch.
Despite the heart-quickening pain of the Ash King’s fiery hand, there is something horribly intimate about his touch against my chest. I can’t read his expression through the fire swirling in his eyes, but I can sense his anger building. My burning skin sizzles, and a strange roasted scent rises from it.
This is the end. This is where he burns me to ash.
I’ll be damned if I become a living candle without trying to defend myself.
There’s water in a bucket across the room—I can sense it as surely as if I could see it. I pull the water and it races to me, coiling around the Ash King’s fingers, dousing his fire with a hiss of steam. The Ash King’s lips pull back in a snarl and I startle, because flames are licking through his clenched teeth. It’s as if his throat is full of fire and it’s all he can do to hold it back.
Quickly I splash some of the water across his mouth, pressing the liquid between his teeth and down his throat, quenching the flames.
For all I know, I’ve committed an unpardonable offense. But he was going to kill me anyway, so… what did I have to lose?
The fire in his gaze dies, and he stares at me, lips wet. He peels his hand from my chest, and I can’t help voicing a small pained cry as the contact breaks. My skin is blistered and swollen where he touched me.
So the stories are true. He is every bit as dangerous and wicked as they say.
I release the water-wielding part of my magic and tap into my healing ability. The two skills are different, and I can’t use them at the same time. It’s one or the other.
Golden curls of light emanate from the handprint on my chest, swirling through my skin, repairing the burnt cells. I can’t quite see it happening, but I can sense when it’s done, and I can see the effect on the Ash King. His dark eyes are wide, his face gilded in the glow of the magic. Mine is a far gentler light than his.
“I think you’ve had enough air,” he says tightly. “It’s time for you to return to your room.”
“My apologies for any offense, Your Majesty.” I give him a deep bow, even though, king or not,heshould be apologizing tome. Without waiting for an answer, I race upstairs to my room.
For some reason, sleep comes to me quickly after that.
