The War of Queens

Chapter 27

Angelique

 When Angelique woke the morning after the feast, she was not feeling well – and even if she had, she would have stayed where she was, in her skins under the veil of her tent. Once the sun had risen so high that she could no longer cover her eyes from it, she sat in the opening of the tent, sipping hot tea with her furs around her.

 She found she did not like the cold. Elizabeth had somehow adapted to it much more easily, but Angelique hated it. She also hated the fact that everybody they met seemed to be scared of her and she hated the fact that she missed the ashmen. At least a few of them were there, with their rowdy humour and lack of manners.

 Nobody seemed to notice her absence. Elizabeth was speaking with Jamie and a group of the strange, dark-skinned northerners. Ishmael was there, too, and it was a surprise to her when he broke out of it and walked over to her.

 “How are you?” he asked once he was close to her.

 She looked into her cup. The steam made her eyes water, but it was a nice contrast to the cold. “I’m sick,” she answered.

 From the corner of her eye, she saw how he sat down. “I don’t like these people,” he stated, eyeing the group surrounding Elizabeth. “I don’t think they’re good for her.”

 “I agree.” She was as surprised as he was by that fact, but a fact it was. There was something about this people that she did not trust, no matter how kind they were. “I think we should leave as soon as possible.”

 “Hatif is dying,” Ishmael said thoughtfully, “but I wonder if that’ll matter. Jamie wants us to stay, learn how to survive in the cold. Apparently, the way to Etheron is longer than we suspected.”

 Angelique nodded. “He has learned patience.”

 She was about to speak more when Jamil appeared from the snow house where Hatif had been laid to recovery. For a few moments, he stood still except for his head, which moved restlessly in search. When his eyes met with Angelique’s, he stilled for a moment before setting to running. By the time he reached her, his breathing was quick and deep.

 “Hatif draws his last,” he said. His voice was strangely official, as if he were reporting a sighting. In his eyes, she saw the fear and sadness, but the raiders never let it show any further than that.

 “Take me to him,” she ordered.

 The small, rounded room beneath the snow and ice was warmer than anyone could have guessed. Beneath the flickering light of seven candles, Hatif lay, drenched in his own sweat. His dark hair clung to his glistening, golden forehead. The crone sat by him, unmoving and apparently uncaring.

 Angelique stood still, staring at the scene. “Get the Queen,” she ordered, and then moved forward to sit by the warrior. His hand was shaking and moving relentlessly, as if searching for something. She wrapped it around hers and felt it still.

 “Where am I?” he asked, his voice rough and scarred. “Am I home?”

 Her thumb caressed circles into his damp skin. “Yes,” she whispered. “You’re going home.”

 His gaze landed on her, but his eyes were far away. She sensed he did not see her in that moment, but someone else, someone far behind him. It made her chest sting that she could never know who that was. Then his head turned back, eyes turned to the ceiling, to heaven. A smile spread on his lips and his eyes fell closed.

 By the time Elizabeth arrived, his breathing had stopped and his pulse had vanished from his wrist. For some reason, she still kept searching for it, not letting go of his hand before someone made to take his body. Shakan’s raiders were burned beneath the open sky.