Jade Fire Gold(62)
I smell something sharp and minty. My head starts to clear. The fresh scent tingles through my nostrils and down my throat. When my vision returns, there is no one around.
Did I imagine it? No, that scent—it’s still here. My chest still hurts, but I scramble up to check on Altan.
He’s unconscious. Sweat pearls on his forehead and his face is ashen. But there is no sign of withering on his face or body. My magic killed my attacker, but it must have missed Altan somehow. How else could he have survived it? Relief surges through my body, but it’s short-lived. His left sleeve is soaked with blood.
I split the cloth where it’s torn. Ten Hells. The arrow grazed him. But the gash is bleeding and the skin around it swollen. The blackened tip of the arrow must have been laced with poison.
I rip off a chunk of cloth from the hem of my skirt and wrap his arm tightly to staunch the bleeding. Pacing frantically, I try not to look at the motionless bodies or the destruction I’ve wrought on the landscape. I need to do something. Anything. I grab the waterskin strewn on the ground and plunge it into the stream. Carefully, I lift Altan’s head and part his lips, dribbling some water into his mouth.
An eternity passes before his eyes flutter open, glazed for a moment before he focuses on my face. “Ahn? What happened?”
I’m so relieved I grab him in my arms.
“You hit your head when you fell, and I think there was poison on the arrow.” And my magic almost killed you. I hug him tighter, letting go only when I realize he’s trying to speak. “Gods, sorry, what did you say?”
“Pouch . . . Yellow thing.”
I unfasten the leather pouch tied to his belt and empty the contents into my hand. Dried flowers. And a ring.
My jade ring.
It doesn’t make sense. Didn’t he pawn it? No time for questions. I stuff it back into the pouch and gather the flowers into my palm.
“What should I do?” I ask.
“Crush and rub.”
I can barely hear him. After setting the flowers aside, I take a look at his arm. The bandage is stained through. Bleeding freely, the skin around it is an ugly deep reddish-brown. It looks bad. I have to hurry. A sweet earthy perfume fills the air as I crush the faded yellow petals and press them as gently as I can onto the gash. My stomach turns queasy as my fingers meet the warmth of his blood.
“By gods . . . rub it in,” Altan hisses.
“Fine. Hold still.”
I turn my head to avoid looking at the disgusting mess I’m making. He flinches but I don’t stop until a paste forms over the cut. I tear off another chunk of my skirt and wrap his wound again, thankful that this time, fresh blood doesn’t seep through immediately.
Unwilling to leave him unattended, I sit in silence, desperately wanting to wash the blood off my hands. A shiver goes down my spine as my eyes wander to the bodies littering the ground. I can’t see the blood on their black clothes.
But I know it’s there.
My attacker lies farther away. The image of him clutching his neck as the life drained from his eyes lurks in my mind. I remember the rush I felt as he died in front of me. That enticing thrill of power.
It felt so right, so natural. But it was wrong.
The man is dead.
You did nothing wrong. He would have killed you, whispers that wily voice in my head. I choke it off before it can say anything else.
Altan makes a pained noise, propping himself on one elbow. Moving his head gingerly, he takes in our surroundings.
“We’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” he rasps.
I laugh shakily.
“Thanks for saving my life with the língc?o . . . I guess.”
“I guess? I should’ve left you for dead,” I joke half-heartedly before remembering that I almost killed him. “Thanks for saving my life. The arrow would have struck me.”
“We should get out of here.”
“The horses are gone. We’re not going to make it out of the canyon on foot. Not with you like this.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, I’m a flying carp.”
He tries to move his injured arm, only to flop on his back with a loud groan.
“See. You’re not fine and we’re not leaving this canyon until I’m sure you’re not going to die on me.”
He grimaces at the sky. “I’m not going to die on you.”
“I’m holding you to it.” My eyes flit to the corpses again and I shudder. “Let’s look for shelter for the night. Maybe there’re some caves around. Can you walk?”
“No idea.”
I sheathe his sabers and grab his bow and our only waterskin before offering him my free hand. His knees buckle as I help him up. He must be weaker than he thinks. Or maybe that lean physique hides heavy bones. I lead us forward, ignoring the pressure of his weight.
“You’re so small,” he mumbles in a distracted, cloudy sort of way.
“I am not.” I struggle against him to rise to my full height. I’m almost as tall as him. “I’ll drag you if I have to. Besides, I took care of that bandit, didn’t I?”
My skin crawls when I hear my own words. How could I sound so callous? So dismissive?
“That man . . . something happened,” Altan mumbles. He tries to look over his shoulder. “Back there. Have to see.”