Page 26 of Dynasty of the Wicked (The Wicked Princess #1)

26

Feng Mian and Zhi Ruo ran outside the tent just as a ball of green fire was lobbed through the air and struck one of the tents several feet away. The blast knocked them both off their feet, sending them crashing onto the ground in a heap. Smoke filled the air, intermingled with shouts and screams. Fire roared all around them. She struggled to her knees, staring around in horror. Tents were ablaze, soldiers ran with their swords drawn, and the air was heavy with dark magic and deathly coldness.

Feng Mian rose to his feet, dragging her up with one arm. “I need to get you somewhere safe.”

“No.” Zhi Ruo clutched his arm as another blast of greenish fire destroyed another section of the camp. “I’m not leaving you! I can fight, too.”

He seemed to weigh his options, his brow heavy with worry. “Princess, something’s not right. Their magic was never this—” He pushed her to the ground as another wave of death-like magic wafted over the air, a hissing scream following in its wake. “This strong .”

The snow seeped into the back of her cloak and dress and the smell of burning flesh and charcoal filled her nostrils with an ashy taste. Her body trembled as she picked herself up.

“I still want to fight,” she said.

“But—”

“We don’t have time to argue. Just accept my help.” Zhi Ruo gritted her teeth and stared off at the distance. They were at one end of the camp, and the fighting seemed to be focused on the opposite end; which force was attacking them this brazenly? The green fire reminded her of Wyer, but … but he was dead.

Feng Mian let out a frustrated growl. “Fine. Please, just stick with me, then.”

They had taken a few steps toward the fighting, when Zhi Ruo froze and tugged at his hand. “The dragon! We can’t leave him behind?—”

“He’ll be fine?—”

“No.” Ash and greenish flames danced all around them, only solidifying her fears. She could imagine him, all alone, chained, while his tent went up in bursts of fire. He wouldn’t be able to fight back, or do anything. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“Chanming won’t allow that?—”

“Chanming also doesn’t want him dead.” She released his hand and headed back to the tent before he could protest.

Zhi Ruo shoved through the tent flap to find the dragon already on his feet, his claws out and his mouth curled back. When he saw her, his hands lowered, but he remained as alert as he was before. She rushed over to him without thinking, but he didn’t strike her like he did with Lanying, not even when she picked up the heavy chains and tried to yank them off his small wrists.

“Zhi Ruo,” Feng Mian said impatiently. “We have to go.”

“I know.” She tried pouring her magic into the chains to make them break, but she couldn’t think straight. Her heart raced and her fingers shook violently. “Come on,” she begged, wishing for her magic to crack the chains in half.

Feng Mian reached her in the next second and grabbed one of the dragon’s arms. The dragon hissed, lurched forward and sank his teeth into his forearm. Feng Mian cursed out loud, blood dripping down his arm, and grabbed one of the manacles. It cracked and shattered into a dozen pieces, which clanked onto the ground. Still, the dragon didn’t release his arm; if anything, he seemed to bite harder, a growl reverberating in his chest.

“Stop! He’s trying to help!” Zhi Ruo shouted as she tried yanking the dragon off him.

Feng Mian grabbed the second manacle and did the same, his face twisted in pain. “This is why I don’t trust the bastard,” he hissed, tossing the broken chains onto the ground. “You can let me go now.”

The dragon pulled back. Blood dribbled down his chin and coated his sharp teeth. He glared at Feng Mian.

Zhi Ruo snatched the dragon’s wrist. “We have to go,” she begged, hoping, praying , that he didn’t lash out at them both and cause any more damage. She hadn’t thought this would be the result of freeing him. She hadn’t thought that Feng Mian would be hurt because she wanted to free him—if she had been able to break his chains, if she could control her magic, then … then …

She banished that thought. She didn’t have time to spiral into doubts about her abilities.

Another explosion shook the ground, this time closer than before. Zhi Ruo’s ears rang from it, and her heart jumped to her throat. Feng Mian’s expression clouded, and he grabbed Zhi Ruo’s other hand, tugging her toward the entrance.

“Don’t stray too far from me,” he said, shoving through the tent. A cold, wintry gust blew over them. It carried the smell of bitter smoke. “If the dragon runs, let him. It’s not worth chasing him down. Just focus on staying alive.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He turned to her sharply, snow catching on his brows. “If I’m captured, or if I die, you need to get the hell out of here. Find safety somewhere, anywhere. Just survive, Zhi Ruo.”

Her throat closed up. She didn’t want to ask why he was speaking so ominously. Shouldn’t he be more confident that they would win this battle? Or was this too strange for him—having the Kadians attack so boldly, or having someone to protect? She didn’t have time to think about it, because a Kadian soldier jumped down from the sky, landing a few feet away from them with a sickening crunch of his feet.

Zhi Ruo turned sharply at the smell of death and decay clinging onto the warrior. He was a head taller than her, his armor tarnished with ink and blood, and his skin a ghastly pallid color. Giant scars ran over his face, and his entire lower half was shrouded in wispy shadows. His eyes were a piercing, unnatural arctic blue. So bright, so cold, and so very death-like.

He opened his mouth and screamed—shrill and terrifying—and ran toward them on broken feet. Feng Mian raised his hand and a burst of shadows ripped from his flesh, swallowing the man whole.

“W-What’s wrong with him?” she shouted.

“He’s—” Feng Mian started.

The man escaped from the shadows, his sword aimed at Zhi Ruo. She didn’t have time to react. The dragon jumped in front of her and opened his mouth. She placed her hands on his shoulders, ready to pull him back into safety, but he roared, loud and high-pitched. Bluish-red flames shot from his mouth, incinerating the eerie soldier in seconds. She was nearly blown back by the impact.

The dragon closed his mouth, tendrils of smoke slipping between his teeth.

Feng Mian’s eyes widened. “How?—”

The dragon’s ears twitched and he spun around, just in time for another Kadian soldier to launch at them from the sky. This one was shrouded in grisly shades, the black tendrils wrapped around his body like a second skin. Giant, shadowed wings sprouted from his back, and the only color visible was from his grayish face. His eyes, too, were a shocking pale blue.

Feng Mian drew his sword as the soldier slammed his black blade toward them. The clash of steel against steel clamored in the air. He fought him off, slicing the man’s hand off, but it did nothing to deter him, not even as bright blood gushed onto the snow and his severed limb plopped onto the ground. Not an ounce of emotion flickered on his face.

Zhi Ruo’s stomach clenched. Something was wrong. Her numb arm, which had been injured by the ghoul days ago, tingled. These soldiers … they felt too similar to the ghouls, she realized with a start.

Feng Mian lopped the head off the soldier’s body. The man crumbled to the ground, his shadowy wings and black armor disappearing to reveal his Kadian uniform, which was drenched in old blood.

“Are they … ghouls?” Zhi Ruo whispered.

“Half-ghouls.” He was breathing heavily, his sword dripping with blood. “They’re between life and death. They’re more powerful than when they were alive.”

“Why— How ?” She had so many questions.

“When a person with powerful magic, a powerful will, and a greater soul dies violently, they become ghouls. It’s only when they have a strong reason to stay alive that their souls fight it, and they become half-ghouls. They become violent, mindless beasts. Ghouls feed off human souls, but half-ghouls … They are far worse, because you don’t know what they are fighting for. Why they wish to stay alive.”

She turned to the corpse on the ground. A shiver ran down her spine. Why were these Kadian half-ghouls attacking their camp? And how was it possible for so many of them to turn into half-ghouls? “Is their last wish … to kill us all?”

“I don’t know.” A grim expression overtook his features. “Let’s hope not.”

Zhi Ruo willed her magic to come forth; she could feel the darkness of it dancing beneath the surface of her skin. Maybe it was the fear that spurred her magic, or the knowledge that she was going to fight half-dead beings, but her magic came to her more readily than before.

When they reached the center of the camp, all hell seemed to break loose. Soldiers struggled against half-ghoul Kadians, and magic blasted all around them. Tents were on fire, some with bright green flames and others with typical reddish-orange ones. Smoke and death and burning flesh pervaded the air. A cacophony of screams and shouts lifted through the chaos.

“Stay close to me!” Feng Mian shouted just as a Kadian soldier launched himself at him. This one wasn’t shrouded in shadows, and he appeared to be alive by the way his dark brown eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed. Feng Mian grabbed the man’s face, and the man shuddered, his sword falling to the ground as his life was leeched off in a few seconds.

The dragon tightened his hold on Zhi Ruo. She glanced down to find him staring at two approaching soldiers. Neither of them appeared to be ghouls, but their swords radiated with a blinding-white heat.

Feng Mian jumped between the two soldiers and Zhi Ruo, fending them off with blasts of his own dark magic. The black veins along his skin crawled further toward the tips of his fingers. Another warrior, this one with pale blue eyes and deathly magic, approached from behind, a scream on his lips as he launched at them.

The dragon yanked Zhi Ruo to the side, away from the half-dead soldier, whose lips curved into a sinister grin as he twisted around to face her. The dragon hissed at him as the man leaped forward. She dodged to the left, while the child launched himself onto the man’s shoulders, wrapped his hands around his face, and twisted his head until the bones on his neck jutted out sickeningly.

She quickly averted her gaze from the dead body, and was nearly tackled by another ghoulish warrior. Panic seized her chest and her magic lashed out of her, whipping the half-dead corpse away from her.

More ghoul-like soldiers fell from the sky, their bodies cloaked in black and their pale blue eyes promising death. They were slowly becoming surrounded. In the corner of her vision, she could see Huo soldiers fending off the Kadians, but they were no match for the half-ghouls—only magic could kill those beings, she realized as the Huo soldiers, most of whom didn’t have magic, failed to injure the corpse-like beings.

“How are there so many half-ghouls?” Zhi Ruo shouted. The dragon ripped one of the Kadian’s throats out with his teeth. His hands, mouth, and the front of his shirt were drenched in blood.

Feng Mian yanked his sword out from one of the bodies, his chest rising and falling. More of the curse had spread. “I don’t know. Someone must have … used some sort of magic before they all died.”

She swallowed down the bile rising up her throat. His curse was nearly touching the tips of his fingers at this point. “Feng Mian, your curse?—”

“It’s fine. Just fight.”

They didn’t have time to talk, because the soldiers were on them again. Zhi Ruo’s magic hurtled out from her in her panic, devouring the half-ghouls and the living soldiers. She snatched a sword from one of the corpses and swung it at the approaching enemies. She didn’t even know how to use it properly, but she fought savagely, jamming the sharp blade into the soldiers and pulling it out without thinking. Her shadowy magic compensated for her lack of skill and experience.

By the fourth soldier she had defeated, her hands trembled and were slick with sticky blood. She wasn’t even sure if it was her blood, or theirs. Her numb arm felt number, and the injury on her other arm had reopened, making her sleeve cling to her skin.

She released a shuddered breath and raised her sword as another Kadian attacked her. He swung his sword over his head and brought it down on her, but she lurched back just in the nick of time. His blade buried into the snow, and he swung it up toward her face in one fluid motion. It would have struck her face, killing her, but Feng Mian’s shadow appeared in front of her and took the damage. She reeled back, breathing heavy.

Zhi Ruo wasn’t used to battle, and she wasn’t in that state—the state where her magic lost control and wreaked havoc on everyone. She didn’t know how to awaken that part of her.

The dragon ripped a man’s arm off, blood spraying against the snow. He was completely drenched in red, and if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was a demon—the horns, claws, and sharp teeth played the part.

Feng Mian also fought brutally, his cursed magic draining life with every stride. He fought the majority of the soldiers that came their way, but she could tell he was growing tired. The curse was spreading fast; it was already up to his chin.

A sense of panic settled deep into her bones, making her muscles quiver and her stomach to twist within itself. She swung her sword, but her arms were too leaden, and she careened to the side as one of the soldier’s blades met hers. The impact jolted up to her elbows and she nearly dropped her sword. The man—alive and with a cruel expression—grinned and kicked her. She bit back a scream, tumbling a few feet away. He launched at her, but not before the dragon roared and sent a wave of fire over him.

She tried pushing herself up to her knees, her gaze flicking over to their surroundings. The half-ghouls made up more than half of the army, and they were killing the Huo soldiers at a breakneck speed. More and more Kadians were overtaking them. The tents were blazing and burning to crisps, the half-ghouls screeched and flew in from the sky with shadowed wings, and snow began to collect on fresh corpses. She couldn’t tell if it was the wind that was howling, or the ghouls, or even the other soldiers.

They were losing.

Feng Mian, the dragon, and Zhi Ruo were able to fend against the half-ghouls rather easily, but … but only a handful of Huo soldiers had magic, and it was telling.

“Feng Mian!” she shouted as a dozen soldiers—some half-ghouls and some living—circled him in. She made way to attack him, but a chilling voice stopped her in her tracks.

“ Princess Ying Yue .”

A jolt ran up her spine and she turned slowly toward the voice. The wind ripped through her hair, freezing her down to her core. Several feet away from her, Wyer stood with a ghoulish grin spread over his grayish-colored face. His eyes, which had been a bright sapphire color, cruel and lively, had dulled to a pale, arctic blue. Giant scars rippled over his face, like something had shredded him to ribbons, and yet the scars appeared old and healed, like he hadn’t been mauled by ghouls merely a week ago.

His armor was swathed in black. Wisps of shadows ebbed from his figure, which kept being disrupted by the powerful winds blowing against them. His grin sharpened as the color drained from her face.

“My bride,” he purred, raising his dark sword in her direction. “I’ve come to claim what is mine.”

Her whole body shook with tremors and she wanted to vomit. From the corner of her sight, Feng Mian was still fighting off the dozen or so soldiers and the dragon was doing the same. She was alone in this fight, she realized with mounting horror.

Lifting her sword with numb arms, she stood her ground. “Even in death you were not satisfied,” she said, hating the tremble of fear reverberating from her chest and into her voice. “It infuriates you that you cannot steal everything you want, doesn’t it? My lands. My body. My soul. A thief will never be satisfied.”

His smile fell and he narrowed those depraved, cursed eyes at her. “I am no thief. All of this that you see …” He motioned to everything around them—the snowy hills, the burning tents, the soldiers fighting. “All of this belongs to me and my people. I will claim it through war, and you are my prize. How is it that you still don’t understand? You people are unworthy of all of this.”

“Even in death?—”

“Even in death, you are mine,” he said with a sinister grin, pointing the sword at her. “It would be best that I kill you and bring you back as my willing bride.”

She swallowed down the bile rising up her throat. “Are you saying that you brought these … these men back? That you turned them into half-ghouls?”

His grin was answer enough.

It made sense these soldiers had been turned against their will, but she had no clue how Wyer—as ordinary as he seemed—had the power to do that.

“But how?” she demanded. The sword suddenly weighed more than it had minutes ago, and she shivered in the cold.

“While we were being devoured by ghouls,” he said, circling her, “the realization came to me that I owned this army. That their very souls belonged to me when they enlisted. And that I was their leader, even in death .” His smile grew wider and the scars across his face warped with the gesture, creating ugly fissures over his pale face. “The ghouls seemed to enjoy our promise of death, so they joined with our corpses and turned us into them. And now you, my bride, Princess Ying Yue, will become mine as well. In death. Forever.”

“My name isn’t Ying Yue,” Zhi Ruo spat. “You know nothing of me.”

Wyer’s eyes narrowed. “But you are royalty. I saw your mark.”

“Did you now?” She grinned herself, hoping to anger him—it was the only way she could think to catch him off guard. To give herself a chance.

His lips pursed together and he tightened his grip on his sword. The shadows around him waved violently like black ribbons. “You … Who are you?”

“Who knows?”

He leaped toward her with a roar, and she barely stumbled away from him, eyes wide and heart racing. Her own magic flared in front of her while he turned, his sword slicing through the thickening shadows engulfing her protectively. She jumped back, breathing heavy and raising her own blade.

His sword clashed with hers and she gritted her teeth together at the impact. Her magic twirled over her arms, strengthening them, leveling herself, as he sent a torrent of attacks at her. She backed away with each strike, her elbows numbing.

Zhi Ruo swung at him, and he deflected with his own sword. His magic came to life and sprang at her. She screamed as she was flung backward, her blade ripped from her hand, and her body rolling over the packed snow and dead bodies. His shadows attacked her, scraping at her skin and scratching her face. She flailed her hands, her own darkness blazing out of her violently. But it was no use; she had no idea what she was doing.

Wyer was in front of her in seconds. He yanked her up to her feet by the collar of her dress. In one fluid motion, he ripped her sleeve with his free hand. It tore loudly as he tossed it to the ground, his pale eyes narrowing at the tattoo on her shoulder.

“You are a princess, after all,” he said with a slow grin. He lifted his sword. “Now die and join me.”