Dragon's Fire Consort
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10
Recovery was slow and painful.
Zhang Mei spent three days mostly unconscious, her body fighting the lingering effects of whatever poison Zhao had used. When she finally woke with a clear head, she found Xiu sitting beside her cot, red-eyed from crying.
“My lady! You’re awake! The physicians said—they weren’t sure—” The girl dissolved into tears.
“I’m fine,” Zhang Mei lied. Everything hurt. But she was alive, which was more than seven officers could say.
“Prince Liang has been asking about you. Every hour. He’s been—” Xiu hesitated. “He’s been worried.”
That was oddly touching. “How is he?”
“Recovering. Stronger than you—he was up and working yesterday. But he looks terrible. Won’t rest properly.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Liang would push through exhaustion and pain because that’s what commanders did.
Zhang Mei forced herself to sit up. The world spun but steadied. “Help me dress. I need to see him.”
“The physicians said—”
“I don’t care what the physicians said.”
Xiu knew better than to argue. She helped Zhang Mei into practical clothing—no elaborate hanfu, just simple layers that didn’t require contortions to put on. Every movement was agony, but Zhang Mei had learned to function through pain.
She found Liang in the command tent, bent over maps with the newly promoted officers. He looked up when she entered, and relief flashed across his face before he schooled it to professional neutrality.
“Captain. You should be resting.”
“So should you.” She moved to the table, studying the maps. “Status?”
General Zhao—she was getting used to thinking of him by his new rank—answered. “The Xiongnu have retreated beyond the northern pass. We’ve secured the entire border region. No further engagements expected unless we pursue.”
“Do we pursue?”
Liang shook his head. “Not with our forces depleted. We’ve accomplished the mission—secured the border, scattered the raiders, established Qin control. Pushing further would be overextending.”
Smart. Victory was knowing when to stop.
“What about the capital?” she asked. “Have they received word?”
“Three days ago. Official reports of our victory, casualties, and—” Liang’s expression hardened. “The poisoning incident.”
“How did you report it?”
“As an unfortunate tragedy. Wine tainted by accident or enemy sabotage. No specific accusations.” He met her eyes. “But I made sure to note that the wine was a gift from Crown Prince Zhao, delivered with his personal seal and recommendation that it be shared at the officer’s feast.”
Clever. Not an accusation, just facts. Let others draw conclusions.
“His response?”
“Deep regret and concern. He’s launched an investigation into his supply chain, promises to identify whoever was responsible for the ‘contamination.’” Liang’s voice was acid. “Very concerned. Very apologetic. Very determined to find the culprits.”
Who would conveniently be low-level servants or officials. People who couldn’t defend themselves. Scapegoats.
“At least it’s on record,” Zhang Mei said. “If he tries again, the pattern becomes obvious.”
“If we survive him trying again.”
Fair point.
The meeting continued for another hour—logistics for the march back to Xianyang, plans for garrison forces to maintain border security, recommendations for soldiers who’d distinguished themselves in battle. Zhang Mei contributed where she could, but exhaustion was pulling at her.
Finally, Liang dismissed the officers. When they were alone, he turned to her.
“You look like death.”
“You’re not much better.”
He smiled faintly. “We should both be resting.”
“Probably.” She sat down heavily, her legs giving out. “But there’s too much to do.”
“There’s always too much to do.” He poured tea—his hands were steadier than hers now—and brought her a cup. “Drink. Physician’s orders. Something about replenishing fluids and vital essences.”
The tea was bitter but warm. She drank gratefully.
“Mei.” He used her given name, which he only did when they were alone. “We almost died. Actually almost died, not in battle where it makes sense, but from poison at a feast. That shouldn’t—” He stopped, frustrated. “You shouldn’t have to live like this. Constantly watching for threats from people who are supposed to be allies.”
“Neither should you. But we do.”
“You have a choice. You’re not bound to this. To me. To any of it.”
She looked at him—genuinely looked. The exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried, the isolation of being a prince everyone wanted dead or discredited. The loneliness of command.
“I made my choice,” she said quietly. “When I made you that vow. To be your blade. Your partner. That didn’t come with an expiration date.”
“Even if it kills you?”
“Even then.” She set down the tea. “Besides, where would I go? I’m stranded here. This is my life now. Might as well make it count.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For staying. For being...” He trailed off, searching for words. “For being the one person in this entire damn empire I can trust completely.”
The weight of that statement settled between them. Trust wasn’t given lightly in the Qin court. It was earned through blood and survival and proving yourself over and over.
They’d earned it.
“Partners,” she said.
“Partners,” he agreed.
The march back to Xianyang took two weeks. Slower than the outbound journey because they were transporting wounded, but steady. The troops were victorious, confident, proven.
They were also angry about the poisoning. Word had spread through the ranks—wine from the Crown Prince, officers dead, barely avoided disaster. The soldiers weren’t stupid. They knew what it meant.
Loyalty to Liang solidified in ways that couldn’t be bought or commanded. They’d followed him into battle and survived. They’d watched him rally them while poisoned and dying. They’d seen him win against impossible odds.
That kind of loyalty was worth more than gold.
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