Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) by Jacinta Jade (best new books to read txt) 📕

the barely conscious male that he was about to be treated, Siray nevertheless kept a careful watch on the female while she gripped the male’s hand to offer some small measure of comfort.

Having prepared her kit, the healer withdrew a bottle and began spraying its smelly contents over the male’s wounds.

He gave an agonised cry that drifted off into rapid panting, his hand squeezing Siray’s painfully.

Siray, in turn, looked sharply at the healer.

‘Antiseptic,’ the healer informed her in a curt voice before she pulled out another small bottle, the liquid inside tinged blue.

That’s what the smell is, Siray realised. Jamroot tar—it was a natural disinfectant, although it had an acrid odour. She knew from experience. And she also thought she knew what was in the other bottle, going by its colour.

As the healer sprayed the contents of the second bottle onto the male’s back, his low moan of relief confirmed Siray’s guess. The bottle contained the liquid form of a herb simply known as ‘numbing plant’.

When the healer promptly leaned forwards to poke one of the few spots on the male’s back that hadn’t been torn to ribbons, Siray almost grabbed at the female’s hand, sure that the male would roar with pain.

But when he remained silent, she froze, her hand half outreached for the healer’s, as she remembered another fact—that numbing plant worked miraculously fast.

The healer shot Siray a contemptuous look as she put the bottle down and reached into her pack once more, bringing out a stack of healing strips that she began layering over the gashes in the male’s back. Then, when she was done, she pulled out a third bottle—this one filled with a clear liquid—and sprayed it over the entirety of the male’s back, the moisture rapidly drying into a shiny layer over the healing strips.

Curious, Siray reached out a finger and tentatively touched the tip of one nail to the newly added coating. It was firm and gave just a little beneath her touch.

The healer began packing her supplies back into her bag and then pulled out a tiny vial of something, which she thrust across as Siray. ‘Give him this—it’ll get him back on his feet.’ Her tone clearly indicated that she thought the male should already have been so. ‘The flexban will protect him from any infection and allow the strips to do their work over the course of the day.’ With that, the healer was up and moving on to the next patient, her face still hard and unsympathetic as she continued to work.

The whole treatment had taken only moments, and as Siray looked around, she saw the rest of the other healers rapidly carrying out the same procedure with the other captives who had received multiple lashings.

It seemed like the Faction did care for the condition of the captives, after all—to a point. But Siray doubted the concern stemmed from any consideration for their actual welfare, as the healer had made obvious.

Squeezing her free hand into a fist, Siray realised she still held the small vial of liquid the healer had given her, and she turned to the semiconscious male, releasing her other hand from his grip. Although she was hesitant to give him something that the Faction had provided, even if it had come from a healer who was supposed to adhere to a strict professional code, she unscrewed the top with both hands and lifted the male’s chin up to drink.

It took a careful moment of supporting the male’s head and urging him to drink as she all but poured the contents of the vial down his throat. Then she dropped the vial and let him lie back against the ground, watching carefully for any reaction.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Within moments, the male was blinking and raising his head from the sand. Then, with a deep breath, he pressed his hands against the ground near his sides, and pushed himself upright and onto his feet—his movements easy, although slightly stiff.

But no pain registered on his face.

Siray stared up at him dumbly from where she was still kneeling on the sand, the empty vial on the ground beside her.

A hand reached down from her blind spot to pick it up and Siray twisted, squinting to see who stood beside her, sniffing at the empty vial. ‘Morning’s friend,’ came Baindan’s even voice. Another sniff. ‘Yuck—a highly concentrated variant. Would have tasted disgusting.’

Siray turned back to consider the upright male who had just moments before been lying cut open before her on the sand. ‘Doesn’t seem to be bothering him.’ She stood, dusting sand off her hands, but dried blood still covered them. She went to try to wipe off her hands on her pants but saw that her clothes were also coated in blood.

‘He’ll be bouncing around here like a pondif in mating season,’ Baindan quipped, watching the other male walk away, although his voice was flat and humourless.

Siray nodded. All the seriously injured would be. Not that they would feel any of their injuries the rest of the day, especially as the healing strips would be knitting them back together.

When all the captives, now numbering sixty in total, were standing, Herrin ordered them into formation, a couple of rows now with gaps, and had them begin fitness drills.

‘When you fail to carry out an order correctly,’ roared the trainer at the spread-out captives, ‘you impact everyone in your unit and in your company.’

Siray focused on her breathing as she dropped onto all fours, lowered herself to the sandy ground, then exploded back up to her feet. Over and over. The movement pulled on her torn back muscles, making her movements jerky. The healers hadn’t bothered to offer Siray and the other runners any healing strips, and she hadn’t been foolish enough to ask. They were able to function and carry out the exercises that Herrin was ordering them to do—that was apparently enough.

Yet every movement required two efforts—one to make it and one to stop herself from grunting