The Wandering God

37 Cold As Ice And Frost 3/3

冷若冰霜
Lěng ruò bīng shuāng
As cold as ice and frost.
(Usually said of women) To have an icy manner.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I returned to the cave with a bundle of plant fronds just before sundown.

I got on my hands and knees to crawl my way through the narrow entrance, pushing my bundle ahead of me. Sanli still sat beside the fire where I had left him. But beside him was a stack of firewood, much more than I had left him with. As well as a string of fresh caught fish.

I narrowed my eyes. "I thought I told you to stay in the cave."

"I disobeyed," said Sanli meekly. "Will you punish me?"

"Take off your shirt," I ordered.

"Oh my, what sort of punishment do you have in store?"

I grunted in annoyance. I knew Sanli's increased flirtations were only to cover his embarrassment at being injured and dependent on me, but they were fast wearing my patience thin.

I took a frond of a fern like plant that I had found after hours of searching. I tore the plant to pieces and placed them in the copper pot, along with water, and set it to boil over the fire.

"Let me see your shoulder," I said. Sanli unwrapped the bandages, and I sat beside him to look at the wounds.

The flesh around them was still red, but the color was less angry. The stitches I had made earlier held well.

"I take back what I said before. You are a good nurse," said Sanli, breath on my cheek.

I glanced at the prince's face. I had not noticed how close it was to mine, occupied as I was with his wound. He had the faint stubble of a beard forming on his lips and jaw. Not as pronounced as Kageyama, and certainly not as noticeable as Zakhar's. Closer to how Zhangyu had looked, with a beard.

Normally I preferred my men clean shaven, but the beginning of Sanli's beard lent a mature hint to his usually boyish charm that was quite roguish, and rather irresistible.

Sanli's eyes were watching my own, so green, so intense, I swallowed.

Sanli saw.

His eyes closed. He leaned toward me, lips parted, just a hint of a smirk at their corners.

I caught his chin and pushed him back before his lips could come close. "Well, you are a terrible patient," I replied.

Sanli chuckled, but sat back and let me return my attention to his shoulder.

Gently, I cleaned around the wounds with water and cloth. Then I took the copper pot from the fire, and stirred the contents till it cooled. A tangy, bitter smell rose from the pot, making my mouth water in the wrong way, and Sanli's nose wrinkle.

I had just begun to smear the steaming, dark green paste I had created over Sanli's stitches, when he asked me a question I had not expected him to ask ever.

"Why did you go to Zhangyu that night? Was it to spite my sister?" Sanli's eyes looked past me now, over my shoulder.

"We are not speaking of this, prince."

"Was it to spite me?" he persisted, tone strange.

"My, you are talkative. I lay with your nephew because he was handsome and I wanted to. That is all. Why, jealous?" I asked icily.

"I do not get jealous," said Sanli.

"Good. Because I do not like jealous men." My tone was cold, to discourage the prince from speaking further. But he seemed determined.