Page 28 of A Healer's Wrath

The room transformed from a place of light-hearted banter into an angry anthill of activity.

I threw all of my focus into the Queen. “NO!” I screamed as my Light flared even brighter. Several guards staggered back. Servants shielded their eyes.

I pressed two fingers into Asin’s neck, then laid my head against her chest, desperate for the sound of a heartbeat.

There was none.

The Queen was dead.

Chapter fifteen

Irina

Hours later, I stumbled through the Palace gates, headed home.

I was numb, yet my mind was somehow spinning and dazed at the same time.

When it was clear the Queen would not rise, I had stepped back and allowed the King to grieve. If I lived a thousand years, I hoped to never see such anguish again. Servants wept. Tears even streaked down the faces of a few of the stone-faced guards.

High Chancellor Wilton and High Sheriff Wien arrived sometime later. The Palace had been sealed, and every servant, maid, and guard working that night was questioned. The Chancellor focused on the kitchen staff, while the Sheriff remained in the dining room with the King. Two Constables I hadn’t seen enter ushered the staff away from the scene to be questioned.

The mournful tolling of a bell high above the Palace brought the King’s head up.

“So soon?” he asked no one in particular.

Sheriff Wien, a tall man with brackish hair and a stern jaw, kneeled beside his King. “Tradition, Majesty. Nothing more. Your people will want to mourn with you.”

King Melric nodded.

I could see his eyes. They stared but did not see.

When the King remained quiet, Sheriff Wien stood and turned to me. “Lady Healer, may we speak?”

I curtsied, unsure of the proper etiquette when standing before a noble, a King, and a fallen Queen. “Of course, my lord. Should we go—”

He motioned to the table. “Here will do. The King should hear what you have to say.”

I thought that might’ve been the cruelest thing I’d ever heard. The King was a husband. At least, he had been a husband. Now, he sat slumped on the floor, little more than a shell of himself, refusing to release his wife’s hand. How could anyone think to demand statecraft of him then?

That was the moment the enormity of the situation sank in.

In my first audience, it was impossible to ignore the awe of standing before the royal couple, of striding the marbled halls where men and women of history lived and crafted the future. Then, in a few brief hours, in the private residence of a husband and wife, I came to see my rulers as people, not merely symbols of greatness. I began, if only a little, to forget the crowns that rested so heavily on their brows, and thought of them as a kind, warm couple who welcomed me into their home.

As the High Sheriff of the Kingdom of Spires, in his black cloak adorned with golden braid, sat across the table and stared, I felt as tiny and insignificant as any commoner to kneel at the foot of the throne.

“You were dining with the King and Queen this evening?” Sheriff Wien’s voice was firm but not unkind.

I nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“And you saw the Queen fall?”

I nodded again.

“You tried to revive her?”

“I used my magic, more than I ever have, but . . . nothing worked.” I bit back a sob. “She was dead before I could help her. I tried. Truly, I did.”

The Sheriff surprised me by reaching across the table and taking my hand. His grip was gentle, and when I looked up, his eyes were soft. “We know you did, my lady.”