“What would you have of the Healer?” he asks. “A display of water magic? Or perhaps—a show of her combat skills?” I stifle a sharp gasp. I have no combat skills. But the King isn’t done. “Perhaps both?” He gives his people a rare smile, and their roar of approval pummels my ears. “Ah, but our Healer is sworn to help and not harm, except in defense of herself or others. She cannot engage in offensive combat.” A hum of disappointment from the crowd. “Shall we provide her with the proper motivation then?” The Ash King’s smile is wider, crueler, and I remember his words to me: I shall have to
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