Page 90 of Healer to the Ash King
The room we’re in is dark, too dark for the light of his fire orbs to reach far, but by the feel of the air I can tell we’re in a large space.
“What is this place?” I whisper.
“A private vault of the Justice Building.”
“We’re in the Justice Building? Gods, how far did we walk?”
“Far.” He leads me to another door that unlocks in answer to his fire magic. “This building is magically sealed at night, and its exterior is well-guarded. We do not have to be quiet now.”
“Magically sealed? I thought you disliked using magic for things. You prefer that everyone operate without it, yes? But apparently you make exceptions for air circulation in the palace, and for this.”
He looks down at me, his eyes glinting. “I have people working on non-magical air circulation systems for the palace, and others designing mechanics that would operate on some type of fuel—the details are beyond my understanding, but they assure me that progress is being made. We will not always be dependent on wind-wielders to cool the palace.”
“I’m not complaining,” I tell him as we walk down a wide, empty hallway. “I appreciate the cool air flowing through the vents in my room. I imagine the wielder can set it in motion and then it circulates on its own for a few days, yes? That’s how my water magic worked back home—the irrigation patterns I set in the fields would flow for a couple of days before I had to redo them. Of course the fields are so large and numerous that by the time I finished with all of them, the first ones usually needed tending again.”
“Did you not tire of it? The constant labor?”
“I love being outside. I love the earth, the plants, the views—and other villagers were always at work nearby too, hoeing or weeding. We sang and told stories. And we’d finish our labor by mid-afternoon, so we had time for other pursuits. It was perfect.”
The Ash King’s pace slows. The hand that swings at his side curls into a fist. “You could not be happy anywhere else, then. In any other role.”
If he’s asking me if I will stay on as the royal healer, my answer is still no. Not for the reasons he believes, but because of one simple truth—I cannot bear to watch him marry someone else and live with her.
“When this is over,” I say quietly. “I will collect my payment and return home.”
“Your payment, yes. Did you like it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The yellow diamonds I had sent to your room. They were my mother’s, and they are yours to keep.”
I stop walking.
Those jewels are worth more than my entire home village and all its crops.
“But—that’s too much,” I breathe.
The Ash King halts several paces away. Amid the shadows of the great stone pillars that flank this gallery, he is uplit by the three tiny orbs circling around him—a cloaked figure swathed in hazy amber light.
“You deserve it,” he says, his voice floating through the cool emptiness of the hall.
I hover in the darkness just beyond the orbs’ glow, conscious that if I step closer, he will be able to see my emotions much too clearly.
“I don’t understand you,” I murmur. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Come with me,” he says, “and perhaps you will. Just a little farther. We are almost there.”
32
The Ash King guides me through more gloomy, echoing corridors of stone, with ceilings that soar high into blackness. Finally we emerge into a large room with colonnades down either side and lots of benches flanking a central aisle. At the head of the chamber is a raised platform with half a dozen broad steps leading up to it. And on that platform is a magnificent throne crafted from a gigantic piece of petrified wood.
I gasp and rush forward. “This fragment came from the ravines near my village. It was cut and polished by Ceardai, the finest lapidary in this kingdom! I wish I’d been able to meet him before he passed to the afterlife—but to see this—Heartsfire, just to see his work in person—”
I hurry up the steps and circle the throne, marveling at the natural curve of the back, the neat crafting of the armrests. The design embraces the natural shape of the wood, with as few cuts as possible interfering with its beauty.
“Is it comfortable?” I ask the King, without taking my eyes off the throne. “Imagine the size of the ancient tree that yielded this! Gods, I love it. It’s just as beautiful as I imagined.”
“There is one thing that could make it more beautiful.” The Ash King’s voice is as cool as ever, but there’s a heat simmering within it that makes me turn and look at him.
