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

by Rebecca F. Kenney

It doesn’t make sense for her to antagonize me like this. I’m the Healer, for the gods’ sake. What if she’s injured in the next challenge and I decide to leave part of the job undone, to let her suffer or die? Or maybe she knows I wouldn’t do that. Maybe she and the others are counting on my healer’s vow to protect them. I suppose they’re right. I’m not sure I could find it in my heart to leave any of them in pain or danger when it was in my power to help. But everyone is a mountain, as the Ceannaire said—even me. Anyone can be pushed too far. Perhaps I need to remind them of that.

Teagan and Khloe shoot carefully, attempting to win the time with the King, but the others are more intent on making me hurt—even Sabre and Leslynne. There’s a desperate hunger in their eyes, the look of cornered prey. It’s as if they don’t see me anymore—they see everything standing between them and the crown. With these arrows, they’re pinning their fears, their anxieties, all the pressure and pain, onto me, onto the target.

“The punishment is over,” says the King. “It isn’t fair,” Beaori says. “She can ease her own pain, so it wasn’t really a punishment at all.” I clench my teeth. The next time you need my help, just wait… The Ash King grabs Beaori by the chin, tilting her face up to his. “Anything else you’d like to complain about?” Heat shimmers along the lines of his body, and a sudden tension simmers in the air. Khloe grips Teagan’s arm.

I stumble along the archery lane and pick up my clothes. As I’m walking away, through the garden, I hear Teagan say, “This is a good reminder for all of us about who we’re dealing with.” “Careful how you speak of His Majesty,” Axley interjects. “You’re perilously close to treason.” “It’s not treason, it’s reality,” Khloe snaps. “He let all of us do that to her. And he didn’t flinch once.” “True,” says Axley. “Maybe she overstepped, and he finally realized she needed to be put in her place. She walks around like she’s high-born, when she’s nothing but a grimy village whore.” I round the corner of the hedge and limp along the path, not caring to listen anymore. What they think of me doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter.

“You gave them a chance to hurt the woman they’ve mocked and despised for days.” My voice breaks. “Of course they took it too far.” “I had a reason for doing this. A few reasons, in fact. You can hate me for it, but you need to hear why I did it.”

“You think very highly of yourself, Majesty,” I manage. “I truly don’t,” he says, and I look up in time to see the agony of truth in his eyes. A mere flicker, and then gone. Something warms and widens inside me, flooding forward, reaching out to him. So much pain, and he keeps it all carefully hidden away. There is no magic with which he can soothe it.

“For that, and for one other reason. You see, if we want to repair your precious reputation, we have to throw them off the scent. They have to think we hate each other.” “We do hate each other.” “Of course we do.” His hand glides up my back. “Would you like to hate me again tonight?” My mouth is dry, but other parts of me are definitely not. “Only if you hate me harder.”

“Not here,” I manage. “Guards outside—people could walk in—” His hands slide up to my waist and tighten. He sets his forehead against mine. “I want you. And you want me—I can feel you shaking. I know you’re wet for me.” I grip his shoulders, closing my eyes. “Tonight.” “Very well. I’ll see you this afternoon for the art session with the girls, yes?” “As Your Majesty wishes.” He tilts his head, bringing his mouth perilously close to mine. For a moment we stay, breathing in each other’s exhaled lust.

“He went easy on me. And since then he’s been indifferent, which coming from him means we’re best friends.” Another grin. “He even asked me if I knew any portrait artists in the city who could use a wealthy patron. So I did you a favor.” “What favor?” “You told me how you got interrupted when you and your friend in the alley were—” He waggles his eyebrows significantly. “Well, I figured you deserve another chance at—ahem, connecting—with your old lover.” “Old lover?” I echo, confused—and then his meaning clarifies in my mind. The mosaic supplies—art—portraits—my friend from the alley— Oh gods. Rince. My former lover, my friend, zealous servant of the Undoing, advocate for the death of the King… Rince is here, in the palace.

There’s pride in my heart, but it’s mixed with horror and shock, that he would end his life to take out the King. I always knew he was devoted to the cause, but this is beyond anything I thought he’d do. Attempt an assassination, yes—but actively commit suicide to achieve it? It makes me so sad that I ache inside, every breath dragging painfully through my chest.

I let Rince enfold me in his arms, and for a moment I relax against that familiar chest, breathing him in. But he smells different now. He’s not the boy who shifted from friend to something else on the day I turned sixteen, when he persuaded me to show him my breasts. He’s not the boy who put his fingers in me at seventeen, or who took my virginity on my eighteenth birthday. He’s not the boy whose body I learned and enjoyed for the next few years, until he left me. He doesn’t smell like resin and rain-washed earth anymore. He smells like tobak smoke, paste from his artwork, and an unfamiliar perfume.

When a warped memory is crystallized into stone, and people build upon it, the future is skewed as well.”

“I should go,” I tell him, rising. “But thank you so much for speaking with me. I wonder if I could return sometime? I have so much more to learn, and you are a treasury of wisdom.” “Silver-tongued girl.” He smiles. “Of course you may come back. I’d be delighted.”

With my magic, I calm the inflamed joints, ease the function of bowels and kidneys, strengthen the heart muscle. In the process I discover several spots of mutated cells in his body—small tumors that are bound to grow rapidly. I’ve encountered this kind of disease in people before. It’s not something my healing magic can fix, but suddenly I wonder if the other side of my ability might be useful here. With it, I could potentially erode those tumors, erase the mutating cells. As I’m considering the possibility, I can feel something shifting, changing inside me. When I open my eyes, I’m horrified to see the lines of my golden magic darkening to black. Quickly I withdraw all my power, sucking it back into myself.

I’m becoming increasingly certain that I don’t want to help the rebels at all. But Rince hinted there might be some sort of retaliation if I back out now. And I can’t keep making excuses and stringing Rince along, because eventually his contact inside the palace will make a move. Before she does, I must figure out who she is so I can protect Perish—the Ash King—from her.

The door of the pantry creaks, and I whip around, startled and guilty, brushing cookie crumbs from my lips. A hooded figure stands in the doorway.

“I was exploring the castle.” His hood falls back, his beautiful, harsh face bared to me. His voice is hoarse with rage. “What else were you exploring?” Why is he so angry? Desperately I search for water—there’s some in jugs on one of the shelves. If I can get over there and unstopper one of them, I’ll have something to protect myself.

Hes JELLY girrrl

“Not that I’m complaining,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck, “but what is this about?” He grabs one of my wrists and slams it against the wall above my head. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps, eyes flaming brighter. Shocked, I pull back my other hand. I’m pinned against the cupboards by my wrist and thigh, splayed open for him, and despite my fear of his new mood, I’m violently aroused. He drives into me without warning, and I voice a tiny shriek. He grinds his brow against mine, skull on skull, so hard it hurts. “Shut. Up.” He’s shaking. Whatever emotions are rolling through his body, they’re overpowering him completely. His hips jerk forward, ramming his length deeper inside me. “I’m going to drive the memory of his cock out of you,” he hisses. His body slams against mine, over and over, dark velvet and hard muscles burning like heated iron. “You won’t remember it. I’m the damn king. I don’t fucking share, Cailin.” “Heartsfire… is this about Rince? The artist?”

God thats hot

So my intent does matter, then. If I’m defending myself, repulsing an attack, that strength of purpose infuses the water, changes its quality somehow. And when my intent is to calm, to soothe, the water does exactly that, and no more.

“When we reached the southern city of Irafhen, we disguised ourselves, spied among the people, and discovered a terrible truth—that Cheimhold had been funding the anarchists. When the invasion failed, they decided to destabilize our kingdom from within. Money, weapons, supplies—vast quantities of support for the rebels was coming through our northern borders and being channeled to the Undoing in the South.” My stomach does a sick roll of dread. The Undoing was supported and funded by our enemies? Do Rince and Brayda know this?

“My friends and I discovered that the Undoing was woven into all levels of society in Irafhen, and indeed throughout the whole southern part of the kingdom,” he continues. “They were lying to my people. The citizens, gullible and terrified, were swallowing every untruth. I was at a loss, unsure how to purge the instigators and arrange peace. And then my cousin Nikkan suggested a banquet to which we could invite the leaders of the southern towns and talk things over. He said we might be able to devise a way to pacify the Undoing.”

“The Undoing is skilled at persuading the young and the reckless. So very clever with words and promises. They create the most fervent of zealots.” Rince’s eager face leaps into my mind, and I swallow hard, averting my gaze. “I didn’t know they had touched someone I loved,” the Ash King continues quietly. “Not until my cousin Nikkan, my brother, my fellow warrior—he rose from the banquet table and shouted, ‘To the glory of anarchy!’ and smashed a strange-looking bottle. A powdery green smoke curled from the shards, spreading through the room and seeping out the doors and windows into the air. All around the table, my friends fell, choking, frothing, dying. As his own lungs spasmed from the poison, Nikkan slit the throat of the healer who had accompanied us. Not that the healer could have saved us anyway—most healers cannot counter the effect of toxins.”

“The leaders of every southern city died at once, alongside my friends. And that was not the end of it. The toxin was a magical one, devised in Cheimhold. It crawled from person to person like a plague, and each body it touched served as fuel, enabling it to spread farther. Within hours, the entire city was infected—people dropping and dying in the street, in their houses. Only those with allegiance to the rebels had been given an antidote.” “How did you survive?” His fingers close around the bedpost. “I was able to burn the poison out of my lungs. I had to keep doing it over and over, as more toxin seeped into my body—and I was weakening from lack of clean air, but I managed to find one of the surviving rebels. I forced him to show me where he’d hidden a spare dose of the antidote. I wanted more of the antidote to save my people—but he said there was no more, and no time.”

“I went back and fetched my horse from the stables of the Lord Mayor,” the Ash King continues. “The magical toxin did not harm the animals—a small mercy. With my rebel prisoner, I rode out of the city. We were nearly shot down by rebels as we rode. Once we cleared the city walls, I saw green fumes sweeping across the land, leaping from farmhouse to roadside inn and to villages beyond. This was a plague designed to destroy all life in our kingdom, leaving it thinly populated by those with allegiance to the Undoing. I could not allow it time to spread any farther. So I rode to the edge of the toxic fog, and then I released my magic.” “You burned everything,” I whisper. “A cleansing fire, destroying the bodies, the plague itself, and every traitor, along with their families. All the animals, the buildings, the possessions, the crops—I wiped it all away. Once I began I could not stop. My anger and pain were too great.”

“I cannot describe the overwhelming power I felt during those hours. I was unleashed, yes—but more than that, I was connected to the land, to the fires of every southern mountain. I could perceive the edges of the magical plague, as you might perceive the edges of a wound. I made sure that I burned it all, and more.” “Your cousin, Nikkan—he didn’t take the antidote?” “No. Perhaps he did not wish to live past that single act of manic devotion to his wretched cause.” The Ash King’s jaw tightens, and his eyes glimmer with unshed tears. After a moment he says, “The rebel I took prisoner—he said the poison had taken years to develop and was difficult to make. He said it required the soul essence of many wielders, and he promised that Cheimhold had no more of it. They planned to let it fester within our kingdom, confined by our mountainous borders, until it wore off in a few days—and then they would enter without resistance and take possession of Bolcan.”

“Telling the truth would only have caused a panic,” he says. “Think about it. A magical poison that kills within seconds, with no remaining doses of antidote, and no other cure? Imagine the paranoia that would have ensued—a pointless panic, because I eradicated both the toxin and the rebels. The threat was gone.” “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” I ask softly. “Your cousin.” “Yes, I wanted to protect his name. To keep anyone from knowing what he did, who he had become. My aunt believes that I killed her sons, and she hates me. Moved out of the palace the day after I returned, and hasn’t spoken to me since. Better she despise me than know the truth—that her son was a traitor. I may have destroyed the cities and killed the rebels, but he was responsible for everyone else. Thousands of our people. Five years later, and I still do not understand why he did it.”

“They’re all so frightened of me,” he whispers. “Even the people I’ve known since I was a child. They don’t see me anymore. They only see what I’ve done. I lost everything to that massacre, everything. My people are waiting for me to explode again. And I won’t lie—it’s a possibility. Something was unlocked inside me that day—I drew upon power I should have never accessed, and it changed me, down to my very bones. You saw the proof of that, inside my body.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him. “You are.” He sighs, setting his chin on my hair. “I’ve seen it in your eyes.” “Maybe sometimes,” I concede. “Especially at first. Less often now.” I try to keep the next words back, but they slip out anyway. “Have you told any of the Favored about this?” He shakes off my embrace and glares at me. “The telling of a tale doesn’t make you special.” I should be hurt by that caustic comment, but instead a smile spreads over my face. I can’t stop grinning. “I’m the only one you’ve told.” “Don’t look so damn pleased with yourself.” He’s trying to be stern, but I can tell he’s fighting a smile, so I let my whole heart shine through my eyes. For a moment, I’m as vulnerable with him as he has been with me. His gaze brightens, a tender glow suffusing his eyes.

“If you need comfort,” I say crisply, “may I suggest your Majesty finds a pillow to hug? Or perhaps the palace seamstress can sew you a stuffed fire-weasel. I only sleep beside men who are committed to me—heart, soul, and body.”

“Don’t tell the King, Cailin. Please.” She fumbles for my hand, squeezing it. “I would make a good queen. You know I would.” “It was you, wasn’t it?” I say quietly. “You told the Ash King about me somehow. Not personally, because then he would have suspected a connection—no, you hired someone else to tell him about me. You wanted me in this position, so I’d feel obliged to keep your secret if I discovered it.” She closes her eyes. “I hoped you would keep it, yes. I consider us friends.”

“You fought well today,” he says. “And I know some of you are still suffering. I will not make you wait for my decision. You may all remain here until you are completely healed, but afterward, Beaori, Morani, and Samay must leave the Calling and return to their homes. They are no longer counted among the Favored.” Murmurs of shock, disappointment, or joy ripple through the audience. Each onlooker has a favorite contestant, and for some of them, their favorite lost her chance at the throne today. People in the crowd shout the names of the remaining women, an endless echo of “Khloe” and “Teagan” and “Axley” and “Cailin” — Wait. Cailin?

Wait wuuuttt

“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 reawaken your hatred somehow. It’s so refreshing. What the Heartsfire is he about to suggest?

“My guards will tie the eliminated Favored to three posts in the center of the arena,” says the King. “The Healer will defend them from my attacks. If she can do so successfully for a half-turn of the hourglass, she wins a most enviable prize…” The crowd quiets, anticipation hovering thick in the air. “If a single flame of mine touches any of the three women, the Healer loses the challenge,” says the Ash King. “But if she protects them effectively, she may replace one of them as a Favored contestant in the Calling.”

He strides rapidly along the center of the arena, Witherbrand flaming in his hand. “The Calling is not a game to be won. It is a grueling test of worthiness. The women here are suffering on your behalf, striving to prove themselves worthy of you, the people of Bolcan. Do not diminish their birthright, their strength, and their competence by praising their names alongside the names of others who are not part of the Calling.” Others like me. Those words—it feels as if he has wrapped my heart in fiery fingers and squeezed. He keeps walking, right up to me, smelling of smoke and fire. “There is a time, however, for praising the dutiful servants of the crown. And this moment is such a time.” He grips my wrist, raising it high. “The Healer of the Favored,” he shouts. “She did not win, but she did well.” At his nod of permission, the crowd applauds. It’s torture standing beside him, inhaling the raw masculine scent of his bare skin, feeling the strength of his grip, the heat of his body. Not mine, not mine. I want to cry. So I let a few tears escape, and I smile through them. The crowd will think they are joyful tears because my King has acknowledged my efforts. Not heartbroken tears because the man I love will not love me back. Yes, I love him. I love him, I love him… I love you… My heart cries after him as he releases me and strides away.

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, but gods, 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 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.

“Have you kissed them all?” “I did not kiss all the Favored candidates, but I’ve kissed the seven remaining women, at least once each.” Something twitches inside me—a knot of corruption uncoiling, sending out viperous threads. When I look down at my hands, my fingertips are darkening, and thin black lines are slithering out of them. Panicked, I tighten my grip on my magic, hauling it back in, crushing it down. This is the second time recently that the darker side of my healing powers has surfaced. Not a good sign.

Uhoh

“Of course it wouldn’t bother me,” I say lightly. “Heartsfire, I’ll even hold the woman’s legs open for you.” “Filthy words, kitten.”

“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. He mounts the steps, sending his fire orbs up to float high above our heads. Then his warm hands close around my waist, and he’s lifting me bodily, placing me on the cushioned seat of the throne. I’m speechless, my throat dry and my heart hammering violently. The Ash King steps back to survey me, cocking his head. “Just one improvement. Remove the dress.”

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a woman on this throne,” the Ash King says. “Ever since I was about fifteen, when the idea first entered my head.” I swallow hard. Of course that’s all he wants—to use me to fulfill an illicit youthful fantasy of his. “Sit,” he says. “And spread your legs.”

“Do I please Your Majesty?” I murmur. He lifts his gaze from my sex to my face and says, “Always,” in a tone so tender I can hardly bear it. He doesn’t remove his clothes. He’s moving in, kneeling between my legs— This cannot be happening. The Ash King himself, His Royal Majesty, Perish the son of Prillian, Ard Rí of Bolcan and High Vanquisher of her enemies, is pressing his mouth into the heated center of me. He touches his tongue to my clit, flicking the tip, and I whimper, arching against the polished back of the throne. He chuckles, a warm breath of delight, and begins to enjoy me in earnest.

“I am sorry about today, Cailin.” He nuzzles into my sex, breathing me in, nibbling along my folds. Rince was never this eager—he preferred using his fingers, not his face—but the King seems to delight in pleasuring me this way. I’m writhing, wide awake and flooded with sensation, every nerve alight, desire pooling at my core. He licks through the wetness and presses more suckling kisses to that perfect spot. I close my eyes, my entire consciousness focused on nurturing the bead of pleasure that’s condensing, brightening, right at the tip of my clit—he starts to flicker his tongue, a rapid patter against the sensitive nub. My thighs and belly are tightening—I’m coming—I’m coming on the Ash King’s throne, while he kneels at my feet. “Yes, kitten,” he croons, rocking back on his heels to watch me pant and spasm. “Oh yes. Look at you, beautiful. You’re perfect.” “I can’t bear it, I can’t,” I whisper, bucking as the ecstasy spirals through me. I need to be held, I need—I need him. “Please—please, Perish—” I reach for him, and he surges forward with fire in his eyes and kisses me. His mouth envelops my faint cries, his hands rush over my body. I release a sob, winding my arms around his neck. He’s joining me on the throne now, pulling me into his lap, cradling me against him, and the whole time our mouths never part. I am illuminated inside, widening and sparkling, thrilling with the pleasure and with the joy of kissing him. I release a bit of my healing light and wind it aroun...

OHMYGODDDDDD

I touch his mouth with a fingertip, tracing the shape of his lips. “I wish I could bring you home with me. I would dress you in simple clothes, a field worker’s garb, and we would run barefoot through the potsava fields. I would show you a volcano with a fire that rivals your own. We live on the edge of danger, you see. My village is under constant threat from that mountain, but even if it destroyed us, we would not blame or hate it, because it has given us such a good life.” I’m not sure why there are tears in my eyes, but his are wet, too. “That sounds perfect,” he whispers. “And you love this mountain, the one that could kill you without meaning to?” I press my palm over his heart. “I do.” “The mountain would give you everything in its power.” He leans in, lips brushing mine. “But the one thing a mountain cannot do is move. It cannot give up its place, or abandon those who depend on it.”

“You should have told me about that immediately.” Five tiny flames spurt to life at the ends of his fingers, and I tense, waiting for punishment. But he only says, “In the time we’ve known each other, I’ve withheld things from you as well, so I will not rebuke you for this. But if you know anything else, Cailin, tell me now.” My mind fills with things I should confess: Rince’s near-suicide and assassination attempt, the Undoing and their plans, Khloe’s pregnancy. But Khloe’s secret isn’t mine to speak. And revealing Rince’s connection to the Undoing could make the Ash King suspect me as well—and I can’t let that happen, not when he has finally admitted the connection between us, not when I finally have hope that maybe, maybe— “There is nothing else,” I tell him.

Fuck girl i think thats a bad idea

He digs in the nearly empty bag for another nut. After popping it into his mouth, he inspects his sugar-coated fingers. “Here, let me.” I take his wrist gently and guide his fingers between my lips, sucking each one slowly. His pupils dilate, and a telltale glow lights his eyes.

My stomach does a dizzy twirl. “We need to get you somewhere else until this wears off,” I murmur. “Where can we go?” “A tryst booth?” He slow-blinks at me. “I’ve never used one, but I’ve had them installed throughout the city. Before I did that, people would simply couple on street corners or in alleys. It was a problem.” “Gods.” I swallow hard at the thought. “Do you know where the nearest one is?” “Of course I do.” He bends, his mouth brushing my temple. “I’m the King, sweetheart.”

“Wicked woman,” he murmurs at my ear, as his fingers lightly caress my bare sex. “You knew I would want to pet this pretty little kitten tonight, didn’t you?”

“Are you coming, kitten?” he breathes roughly in my ear. “I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Come undone for me, sweetheart. Come for your King.” He nuzzles my cheek, whispering more filthy encouragement, and when he grinds the heel of his hand hard against my clit, I break. Spirals of glorious bliss twirl outward from his hand through my sex, my belly, along my spine. I arch, squealing softly, and he croons, “Yes, kitten, yes. Gods, I adore you, you beautiful thing.”

Perish darts aside and swaps a coin for a gold ribbon. “Tie it around my wrist for me,” he says with a wink. “I want the Healer to know I fancy her.” “I think she knows,” I murmur, winding it around his forearm and tying a neat knot.

“They say the gods once roamed the mountain ranges of the world—the high places,” the old woman continues. “Hlín, Hœnir, Eostra, Macha, Diancecht, and Nehalennia. They loved humans and gave some of them special powers which live on in the wielders of this land. On rare occasions they bred with mortals and produced new wielders with fresh divine blood, more powerful than others—the Numenai.”