Page 35 of Dynasty of the Wicked

“Let me see your wound.” Her lips pursed together. “Theymight not care, butIdo.”

His voice came out in a harsh rasp. “Why?”

“Because—” The words died on her tongue. She wanted to tell him that they were married now, even if it was a magical bond,or that they had kissed and it must have meant something, but even that sounded stupid. They didn’t know each other, and she didn’t know this side of him.

“Because I do,” she finally settled with, touching his blood-stiffened sleeve. “Now put your ego elsewhere and let me see your wound.”

He frowned, but didn’t push her away as she slowly rolled up the sleeve to examine his bicep. His large body tensed as the bloody material stuck to his flesh. Ugly veins of black slithered all the way up his arm, pulsing angrily, but she tried to ignore the curse as she pushed the material of his sleeve up to his shoulder. His face was white as snow and his uninjured hand gripped the bar of the cage so tightly his knuckles were bloodless.

The stab wound was deep and ugly, the gash oozing with fresh blood every time he moved, while most of it was crusted over the separated flesh. Zhi Ruo’s stomach tightened at the sight.

“You need stitches,” she whispered, her hands trembling.

“That’s not going to happen.” Feng Mian leaned his head against the bars with athwunk. He breathed out deeply and sweat dotted his pale forehead. “Just leave me?—”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Zhi Ruo rose to her feet and went toward the entrance of the cage.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting help.” She banged against the bars, creating a rattling noise. “Hey! You Kadian soldiers! I know you’re out there guarding us!”

Feng Mian hissed something to her, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. She kept shouting until a guard poked his head through the flap of the tent, his brows pulled together in anger. It was the young guard from yesterday, the one who had helped the old man.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“We need medical supplies.” Zhi Ruo stood her ground and stared at the man levelly. She tried to make her voice as authoritative as possible. “He needs his arm checked out.”

The soldier laughed. “Good luck with?—”

“If he dies, you’ll have no valuable prisoner other than me.” She motioned to Feng Mian, who had gone still. “He’s the son of a famous and notable general in the Huo army. Do you really think you’ll get another valuable prisoner like that? If he dies, you lose that. He needs medical attention.”

The soldier hesitated and she could see he was considering it, so she continued, “He needs to be treated now. If he keeps bleeding or if he gets an infection, then hewilldie. You understand, right? You would lose a prisoner?—”

“All right, all right.” The man shoved the flap of the tent closed, and Zhi Ruo waited with bated breath. A few minutes later, the soldier returned with a pitcher and a basket of supplies. He thrust the pitcher through the bars, the water sloshing over the rim and spilling on her feet. He tilted the basket sideways and pushed that through as well.

“The physician is busy with other people,” the man said, shooting a hard look at Feng Mian. He was no doubt busy stitching up the soldiers Feng Mian had beaten up during the spectacle. “Take this and stop bothering me.”

Zhi Ruo scrambled to grab the pitcher and the supplies as the soldier cursed at her and stormed out.

She kneeled in front of Feng Mian, carefully placed the pitcher on the floor and rummaged through the supplies. There was a wad of bandages, a rag, some thread and needle, and a yellowish, earthy-smelling powder with flecks of crushed, dried leaves mixed together in a wooden bowl.

“What is this?” She felt the powder between her fingers. “Powdered herbs, maybe?”

Feng Mian nose crinkled. “Smells like shit.”

“It doesn’t.” Zhi Ruo sniffed the earthy, bitter powder, and frowned at it. Most of the medicinal salves in the Huo empire were thick and oil-based, not powdery. Or at least, not that she was aware of. But the plant-life in Huo was completely different than in Kadios, whose lands were more mountainous and drier. “It smells like medicine.”

“Am I supposed to eat it? Mix it with water or …?”

“I think”— She sniffed it again—“it’s supposed to be mixed with water to create a salve.”

“Youthink? That doesn’t inspire much confidence.”

Zhi Ruo poured water onto the rough rag and, without warning, pressed it against his arm. Feng Mian jolted in pain, a string of curses escaping his mouth as she slowly cleaned the wound. The night air enveloped them in a cool embrace as she ran the now-pink cloth over the wound again. Reddish water dripped onto the floor of the cage and Feng Mian’s face was pinched together in pain.

“Stop being so angry at me,” Zhi Ruo said, cleaning the wound carefully. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

He gritted his teeth together, turning away.

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