“This is where I leave you.” He removes his hand from my waist, no longer steadying me. I sway despite my best attempts to remain still. “Walk through camp. Let everybody see that you fought for Wrath—that you’re willing to bleed for Wrath.”
What?
“You’re more than just Aziel’s spoiled daughter,” Rexton continues. “Let them see it.”
I groan, grabbing Rexton’s shoulder for support. “I can’t walk.”
I hate asking for help, but I don’t have any other options. I can barely fucking stand, let alone walk across camp.
“You can,” Rexton says. “Go to the healers, get stitched up, then return to your tent. I’ll brief Raum.”
He slides the trachea out of my hand, replacing it with a bloody knife. It belongs to one of the Greeds. When did Rexton grab it?
I move to take back the trachea. It’s mine.
“I’m not keeping it,” Rexton says, pulling it out of my reach. “It’s unnerving, and you don’t need to carry it around camp. I’ll give it back to you later. You have a tub in your tent, don’t you?”
I hesitate, then nod. I’m not supposed to have one. There’s no running water out here, and bathing is considered a waste of resources. Only a select few are granted the luxury. It’s reserved for veterans, for Wraths who have fought and bled for their kingdom. Raum has one, and I suspect Rexton does, too.
Everybody else is expected to use the communal showers. The water is collected through rainfall, and it leaves me feeling dirty. It’s cold, too.
So I snuck a soaking tub into camp, and I bribe low-ranking Wraths to fill it whenever I feel exceptionally filthy. People would think less of me if they knew the lengths I went to secure myself some comfort, but I decided it’s worth the risk.
“I’ll have it filled for you,” Rexton says. There’s no judgment in his gaze. Why? He continues. “I know you’re tired, but clean your wounds thoroughly before going to sleep. It’ll help you heal. Trust me.”
I won’t do that, but I’m too exhausted to argue.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
Rexton hesitates, then shrugs. “I don’t think you’re as horrible as you want people to believe you are. Truthfully, I feel bad for you.”
I’m exactly as horrible as I want people to believe I am, and I don’t need his pity.
Rexton nudges me forward. “Go.”
I whine, then begin hobbling to the healing tent. People openly stare, and I desperately hope what Rexton said is true. Will the Wraths think I’m weak for getting injured? Rexton seems inclined to believe they won’t, but he has every reason to lie.
He has every reason to humiliate me. I can’t say I don’t deserve it after everything I’ve done and said to him.
There’s a small line of soldiers waiting outside the healing tent, but they stumble aside and gesture me through as they take notice of my current state. A wound of this size would kill most demons, but I have Aziel’s blood coursing through my veins.
I may technically be half-human, but I’m stronger than almost everybody here. I remind myself of that as I push through the tent flaps and sink into the nearest chair. Two men are on me in an instant, cutting open my shirt for better access to my chest.
Judging by their mirrored gasps, things aren’t looking good.
My face screws up as they tinker with me, poking and prodding before shoving things inside my chest and stitching together the wound. There isn’t much they can do. I know that. Demons heal quickly, and my body will heal naturally.
It just needs time. And sleep.
“Make sure Aziel—”
I interrupt. “Do you update Aziel on every Wrath who enters this tent?”
The healer snaps his mouth shut, then roughly shakes his head.
“Then you won’t do so for me.” I gesture to my half-sewn chest. “Now finish up.”
My eyes screw shut. I count to one hundred and back down again as fire licks up my chest and into my throat.
