Healer to the Ash King (Dark Rulers, #5)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

“Rule violation!” screeches the King’s herald. “Illegal use of magic in the arena.” I’m trembling on hands and knees, wrecked and wretched, even as I weave magic over the volunteer’s shredded feet and send more tendrils of healing power out to the contestants on either side of me. There’s movement above, on the balcony. A scarlet-robed figure. I look up into the Ash King’s crimson eyes. I must be a pitiable sight—eyes washed golden, dripping in gore, my clothes torn and wrenched askew, a web of magic spreading from my hands. The herald is right—I used magic in the arena. Even if it was to save a life, I have no reason to believe the Ash King won’t punish me. “The Healer is not a contestant, and is therefore exempt from that rule,” the Ash King says, in a loud, firm voice. “She has saved the remaining volunteer from certain death, and for that, she is to be commended.” And he stretches his hand toward me.