Page 37 of A Healer's Wrath

“Tasha.” Elric’s voice held a note of warning.

Isoldå merely quirked a brow and crossed her arms.

Tasha’s eyes narrowed. “She is Queen at what, sixteen or seventeen winters? And if you cannot feel the waves of her power like a boulder dropped into the Well, your magical senses are numb. She could already match two, perhaps three, of us. If we give her time to grow—”

“She can only grow if we teach her, else she fumbles in t’ dark,” Isoldå said.

“Isn’t Danai still with her?” Chandler asked.

Tasha nodded and locked eyes with Isoldå. “Johann sent him . . . to teach her.”

Isoldå’s mouth opened, then closed.

“What do you propose?” Chandler barked. “You do have a plan?”

“Of course, I do,” Tasha snapped. “We strike first, before she can rise to power. We cripple her so she may never threaten us in the first place. She cares little for herself, for riches or glory, but those she loves are everything to her. We use them to break her spirit—or to bend it to our will, at the very least.”

“Kelså and Johann will never approve,” Elric said. Several of the others murmured in agreement.

Tasha waved a hand and extinguished the flame at their center. “Then we had better not tell them.”

Chapter twenty

Irina

Ismiled across the kitchen as Mother pulled fresh bread from the wood-burning stove. A yeasty aroma drifting through the house made my stomach growl as it had since I was a child. When Mother slathered salty butter across its golden crust, the simple loaf transformed from a household staple into a delicacy from my past.

Five years had been little enough time to grow used to life in the Palace. Melric was kind and gentle, growing to love me in ways I never knew possible. I hoped, in time, I would learn to love him in return. A year in the Palace had also opened my eyes to the lives of royals. We enjoyed extravagant wealth, ate food prepared by the finest chefs, and enjoyed the richest wines. I owned more gowns than there were days to wear them. And the jewelry . . . the moment I thought I had seen it all, Melric would place another necklace or ring in my hands.

In a way, I supposed I loved him. He was good and kind, forever seeking my opinion and counsel.

Was I in love with the King? Was that a thing of which I was even capable? I may never be sure.

One thing was certain: I was never alone.

Ten ladies awaited my pleasure. Ten. Who needed ten women to don a dress or face paint? Servants stood at every doorway waiting on the off chance the King or I might have a sudden need. I couldn't remember the last time I opened my own door.

Nobles were also ever present. They preened and fawned, like some strange flock of birds who could never impress others enough. They were necessary, I supposed. Without their support, the Crown would fall. Still, I was never sure whether to brace myself for mindless flattery or endless groveling when one approached.

Perhaps Melric’s greatest surprise to date was the day he added me to his Privy Council. Asin had never been allowed to sit at their table. No Queen had. When I tried to protest, Melric lowered his voice and cupped my cheek. “I need the brightest minds in the Kingdom advising me, and the rest are candle flames next to the sun that is my Queen.”

When my royal duties allowed, I still worked in the Medica. Melric had objected at first, but the way the people responded to their Queen laying hands on the ill was beyond anything we could have dreamed. I didn’t Heal for fame or glory, but the sparkle of the Crown grew each time I worked by Master Rist’s side.

Sparkles were funny things.

As I watched Mother fret about the kitchen, I realized something.

I miss these simple pleasures.

Who would have thought the Queen of the Spires would miss sitting in a simple kitchen baking bread with her mother? The idea almost made me laugh.

“Go get your father. Lunch is ready, Your Majesty.” Mother placed the loaf in a basket and covered it with a towel to keep it warm. She grinned down at me and made a shooing motion. “Go on, before this gets cold.”

I hopped to my feet and offered a mocking bow. “Only because you addressed me properly, Queen-Mother.”

I found my father snoring, nestled beneath two blankets in a rocking chair on the porch. His mouth was so wide open I worried flies might find a new home.

I kneeled beside him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Papa, wake up. There’s fresh bread and beef stew.”