Crown of Thorns

Chapter Thirty-Six

At Camp, Again, Day 116 A.F

Fire burned, hissing and popping. Each crackling twig seemed to sooth the others, warming their weary bones. Yet each time the flame spluttered, the scent of burning flesh filled my nose; agonized screams rang in my ears. Though it had been days ago, I'd been unable to escape that dream. Sleep mercifully eluded me for all but a few disconnected moments a night.

I didn't complain about the meger fire. We were lucky to have one at all. While all the men in our company, excluding Matthew, knew how to create a small campfire, Enki's were by far the largest, though hardly impressive. Even when everyone tried to strike stones or rub sticks, there were nights we huddled in the dark and cold, shivering ourselves to sleep.

Most of the mud had dried away and flaked off our skin, but both Enki and me had utterly ruined our clothes. I doubted even a clean river had any hope of unearthing the fabric.

Tybira had been in a frenzy upon our return. She'd just about tackled me in a hug.

Enki had hung back, unwilling to be seen shirtless. When he finally made his way to camp after I relocated the bilberries and returned his shirt, Tybira snipped that I "should have lost him out there", but then went on to berate him relentlessly. The Magician stoically withstood every comment from "well, I always knew you were stupid" to "is your skull so thick that you didn't realize you could have died?"

I believed he secretly enjoyed her lecture.

Cyprian had simply patted my arm, whispering "I'm glad you're safe" in my ear.

We sat around the campfire in aimable peace, or whatever could pass for peace during the Game, finishing off the last of the bilberries. Through careful rationing, we'd managed to make them last several days. My little bush had yet to produce fruit, which Enki didn't understand. I was simply surprised it was still alive.

I yawned, exhaustion an ever present torment. No doubt Cyp was in an even worse state. He'd been in the throws of a nightmare the night before. When I'd taken his hand, he'd gripped onto my wrist as if I was keeping him from plummeting to his death.

As always, Gabriel remained on the fringes of camp. He hadn't touched the berries I'd gathered, flying off from time to time to hunt for his own food. I wasn't sure if he had any success. But whether it was due to pride or nobility, the Archangel didn't even look at our resources, not that we offered him any. Why waste scarce food on the very man we planned to assassinate whenever the opportunity presented itself?

A snapping twig elicited a flare of sparks from the fire, causing the Archangel to whip back around. In the firelight, his sallow face illuminated, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening to caverns. His wan cheeks were sunken. His typically sharp eyes seemed to have dulled.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" I inquired, hardly sure why I cared. His weakening was all the better for me.

He stretched his pointed face into a lackluster smirk. "Just a few days ago, Empress."

"And what did you eat?" I reiterated, watching the bunching of his eyebrows in confusion.

"I managed to land upon a rather plump cockroach." Gabriel looked away, picking bits of grass from his feathers. "It seems the Flood couldn't quite kill them."

A singular cockroach? I glanced at the handful of berries in my grasp. Scorning myself, I extended them. "Here."

"Ayesha!" Tybira scolded.

Gabriel shook his head stiffly, though his eyes locked onto the fruit with raptor focus. "That's kind of you, but I couldn't. Really. I... that's your food."