She frowned, not understanding his words. Nevertheless, the man came forward and gently lifted up her head. Cool water touched her parched lips, and she drank greedily. He was patient, keeping her head supported while she swallowed. And then, when the cup was empty, he gently set her back down on the finest pillow she had ever used.
This was definitely not her father nor was it her home. It took her some time to remember. In truth, the temptation to slip back into oblivion pulled at her, but she fought it. To sleep was to miss opportunities.
Her grandmother had taught her that. Indeed, her grandmother had taught her everything of value, including how to appear subservient while doing what was needed to create the life she wanted. At her father’s home, that had meant quietly memorizing everything about making medicines. She’d learnedhis recipes and her grandmother’s potions. And now she used that knowledge to survive.
But to do that, she had to fight the haze in her mind.
Her memories came back slowly. They’d broken her feet the night before she was to be given to the white ruler. That had been smart of them. She would have escaped the moment the ship docked otherwise. But with broken feet, she had no choice but to submit. She was dressed, carried, and presented to the English king only to have him reject her. She’d been given to a lesser man. He was the one who sat beside her now. And while she looked at him, she remembered the way he had burst into her room. His fists had seemed like hammers, slamming Weed and Pervert out of the way. And then when she thought Lao Gu would finally kill her, this white man had defended her with such force that an opportunity had appeared before her.
He was definitely not a “lesser man.”
Still, she understood that he was not the king. He didn’t look like someone Heaven favored. His face was rugged, not smooth, with angles that were not refined. The length of his earlobes was stingy, though the distance between nose and upper lip suggested favor in his middle years. As for his hands, his fingers were blunt. Indeed, he appeared to have broken two of them sometime in his youth.
And yet she found him appealing nonetheless.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
Damn him for speaking slowly. If he had rushed his words, she wouldn’t be able to catch his foreign sounds. But he spoke clearly and gently, forcing her to work as she ferreted out his meaning.
He asked after her health. It was not a question she wanted to answer.
She already knew she was dying.
She could feel it in her fever, in the burning pain of her feet, and the swollen heaviness of her legs. But she could be wrong, she reasoned. It was possible she was just ill from a fever that had little to do with broken bones.
That was a false hope, but one she clung to even as she slowly maneuvered herself upright. He helped her, his hands large on her back. Such strength he had. Not in muscles, but in qi. Her captors had been physically strong, but their inner soul was weak. Not this man. His energy flowed like a golden river beneath her back. It pulsed with the life of a good man.
She dipped into it as much as she could, leaning back against his strength as he adjusted her pillows. She could not steal his energy. That was the work of a vampire, and she was not such a creature. Instead, she let it flow across her skin and in time, her own qi responded, giving her the wherewithal to finally look at her injury.
She pulled back the covers and peered at her feet.
It was bad.
Her feet were swollen to the size of melons and though there were no red streaks coming up from the infection, she knew they were there, just beneath the skin. She must have made a sound of distress because he squeezed her hand.
“Stay strong. You must fight for your life.”
What did this rich foreigner know of fighting for anything?
She winced. That was the pain talking, even in her head. She was being surly. She’d spent her childhood learning about medicines for the sick, carrying tea packets to the ill, and offering hope to the dying. Now she was the one who needed medicine, and she was terrified.
She looked into the white man’s eyes and tried to tell him what to do. She knew there was only one chance for her, and the sooner she took the medicine the better. But how would she explain it to him?
“I—” Her throat was very dry. “I—”
He gave her water, and she drank more. It was clean water, much fresher than anything she’d had on board.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Can I get you some food? Broth?” He mimed drinking soup.
She shook her head. “Need medicine.”
He nodded as his gaze ticked toward her feet. It was a slight flick of his eyes, but it told her that he knew the source of her illness.
“No one will hurt you here,” he said.
Her lips curved in gratitude. Safety was something rare in her life. She felt it now as it shivered into her body through his chi.
