The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(57)

Nok wanted to pat his boot, where his knife was sheathed.

“Boy!” the soldier called again, stepping closer. “We’re looking for the healer.”

“Nok,” Adé hissed through clenched teeth, panic rising in her voice. “Say something.”

“Might be he’s mute,” he heard another of the men say.

“Do you speak, boy?” the lead soldier demanded. He was near enough now that Nok could see his eyes. Brown, nearly black, like his own. Unlike him, the soldier had a beard. It was growing in patchy. “A farmer told us a healer lived up this ridge. Our friend here needs some help.”

There was a sixth in their party. Injured. The man’s leg was wrapped in soiled makeshift bandages. He rode double with another soldier, leaning against him for support.

“One more brave casualty fallen in service of the great empire and its bloody fire pit,” jeered one of the men, a hulking wall of muscle with long mustaches and fast, mean eyes. Nok despised him on sight.

“Omair’s an apothecarist,” he told the first soldier. He willed himself not to look over his shoulder, where Lu had been moments earlier.

“Well, does this Omair know how to treat a wound?”

No good came from imperial soldiers, but no good ever came from refusing them, either. What would happen if the next villager they came across directed them back to Omair’s and they discovered he had lied?

“Come inside,” he heard himself say.

The lead soldier instructed the others to help the injured man down from his mount. While they busied themselves, Nok turned to Adé, her arm still clutched in his own. His pulse quickened as their eyes met—she was here because of him. If anything happened to her—

“Go,” he hissed, pushing her out the door. “Ride fast. Don’t look back.”

Her eyes were wide in fear. “Nok, what about you?” she whispered.

“It’ll be all right,” he told her, but the shaking in his voice did little to instill confidence. “They don’t know she’s here. Everything will be all right.”

“Nok, I—”

“I promise. We’ll see each other again soon.”

The lead soldier and two others were approaching, carrying the injured man between them. “Please,” Nok said, pushing Adé lightly away. “For me. Just go.”

He saw her look back just once, before she mounted her borrowed mare and disappeared over the side of the ridge, leaving him alone. Good, he thought. Whatever happened here, she would be safe.

“Omair?” he called back into the house. “Some soldiers need your help.” He hoped they couldn’t hear the strain in his voice.

“Of course. Come in, come in!” came Omair’s immediate response. Nok hesitated, but only for a moment.

He ducked reflexively in the low doorway as they entered. The lead soldier followed his example, but the other three were not paying attention and the tallest of them bashed his head. His helmet took the brunt of the blow, but he cursed loudly anyway.

Crowded into the small dwelling with four big men, Nok was momentarily overwhelmed by their stink—stale mud and unwashed bodies. Out of the corner of his eye he scanned the room, but aside from Omair, it was empty.

“Welcome, good soldiers,” he said, giving a little bow. “What brings four of the empire’s fine warriors to our home?”

The lead soldier bowed brusquely. “I am Captain Sohn of the Bei Province imperial infantry. We are pursuing a fugitive in the area, but Soldier Lim here suffered a deep cut in his calf and we’re concerned about infection.”

“A fugitive?” Omair’s eyes widened. “He must be quite dangerous to warrant such an elite search party. Should we be worried?”

“We’re looking for a girl, actually,” Captain Sohn said shortly. “A princess. Tall, pretty. Have you not heard of the emperor’s death? Princess Lu is wanted for his murder.”

“Oh my.” Omair clutched a hand to his chest. “We’ve heard nothing. News travels slowly out here. My, my. We live in very dark times.”

The lead soldier ignored the comment and merely said in clipped tones, “Please see to Soldier Lim’s injuries. My apologies for the inconvenience. The heavens will reward you for your service to the empire.”

Meaning, we won’t be paying you for your work, Nok translated in his head.

Omair just smiled. “Injury and illness keep no one’s schedule. A healer must keep everyone’s.”

Captain Sohn appraised the cramped quarters. “I’ll wait outside with the rest of my men. Soldier Wailun, stay here with Lim,” he told the largest of the men—the one with the mustache and mean eyes, Nok noted with dismay.

Sohn and the other soldier departed. As Nok filled a kettle with fresh water, Omair patted a cushioned chair by the lit fireplace. “Why don’t you bring—Soldier Lim, was it? yes?—over here.”

The bigger man, Soldier Wailun, crossed the room in two strides and unceremoniously dumped his injured companion into the chair.

“Ay!” yelped Soldier Lim, catching himself on one of the chair’s carved arms. “My leg!”

“Suck it up,” sneered the larger man, hoisting himself atop the kitchen table. He used one massive arm to plow a clearing in the clutter of herbs and jars, then reclined as though he were on a bed. He punctuated the movement with a guttural groan of relief so loud and vulgar it reminded Nok of the time he’d seen the swollen belly of a long-dead raccoon burst, sputtering forth stinking gas and bits of gut.