Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(75)

A muscle twitched in Karn’s jaw, but he said nothing.

“Given that, and given the delay in treatment, I’m not optimistic.”

“Listen to me.” Karn leaned in close. “You say you’re a healer, but I know you’re a mage, from somewhere to the north of us. Maybe you’re working for the king, and maybe you’re working for the witch in the north, and maybe you’re working for somebody else entirely. Maybe you’re a miraculous healer, and maybe this girl is as good as dead. But what you need to understand is that if she dies, it doesn’t matter whether the king recommended you or not, it will be our fault, and we will both pay the price.”

“I never expected anything less from His Majesty,” Ash said. “I’m one of only two people in the empire who might possibly save her life. I’ll do my best, whether you’re watching me or not, but I might get some helpful information if you stay out here. It’s up to you, but I’m going to need all the help I can get.”





26


THE WOLF HEALER


So the wolf healer is supposed to be the kind one, Jenna thought, still staring at the wall. The one she might confide in, after holding out stubbornly all this time. They played their roles flawlessly, bad lieutenant and good healer. Then they both went out the door to conspire together.

Perhaps the boy was chosen for his looks. He was tall and well built, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and large hands, like a young predator coming of age. He wore the same brown clothing as the other healer, but he filled it differently.

He had a long, solemn face, his coppery skin framing deep blue-green eyes that spoke of a mongrel ancestry. His hair was an odd muddy brown, though, which didn’t fit with his reddish eyebrows and the bit of stubble on his face.

He was a mage. An aura of power framed him, a diffusion of light more brilliant than Karn’s. That and the silver collar told her that he served the monster king. The gifted were never turned to healing, not in Arden. He’s probably just another blackbird, someone with a talent for ferreting secrets out of the weak and gullible.

When she glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye, she saw wolves: gray wolves with razored teeth and brilliant eyes, loping across the blue-shadowed snow. His feral scent reminded Jenna of the witch wind that blew down from the Spirit Mountains during the cold moon.

That must mean he’s a killer, she thought. He’s ruthless. That’s all.

She heard the door open, then two sets of footsteps crossing the room.

“Roll over, Jenna,” Karn said brusquely, “so I can unlock your hands.”

That surprised her enough that she rolled onto her back to look up at him. He reached across and unlocked the manacles from her wrists, allowing them to clang back against the wall. He stood staring down at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something, then left again, closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, the wolf pulled up a stool next to her bed and set a bag on the floor by his feet, making himself at home. “Lieutenant Karn is going to bring some hot water and soap so I can clean out your wound.”

She saw no point in objecting, knowing it would do no good.

“Is it all right if I call you Jenna?” he asked.

“If I can call you Wolf,” she said.

He scowled, gritting his teeth. “Could you please call me Adam?”

“All right,” she said. “I will try and think of you as a wolf called Adam.”

“So, Jenna,” Adam Wolf said, like he just had to try it out. “What exactly happened to you?”

“Why do you care?”

He seemed stuck for a moment. “You’re a person,” he said finally.

“Well, this person wants you to go away.”

“I can’t do that,” he said. He paused, and when she didn’t have a comeback, leaned forward again. “Tell me about the dagger. It seems to be magecraft. Where did you get it?”

“Tell me about your collar,” she said, pretending to look up at the ceiling, but watching him out of the corner of her eye. “That’s magecraft, too. Does the king have a leash for you as well?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” the healer muttered, scowling.

“So we have a bond, you and I, both being leashed by the king, and now I’ll reveal all my secrets. Is that the idea?”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening as anger rose from him like mist. The wolf was like a tapestry—the surface he presented was calm, tightly woven, but underlain by dark threads of violence. “I don’t need to know all your secrets,” he said. “Just the ones that will help me do my job.”

“For a healer,” she said, still pushing, “you have a very dark soul.”

He flinched back, as if he’d been caught in a lie, and rubbed the back of his neck. “One of my teachers once told me that healers stand astride the line between life and death. Maybe that’s why.” He paused, and when she didn’t respond, said, “Why are you the king’s prisoner?”

“They seem to think I blew up some stuff. And set fire to some stuff. And maybe gave away some secrets.” She didn’t mean to admit to anything unless she was forced to.

“Why did you stab yourself with your own dagger?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”