“I know.” Camille withdrew her arms, giving Azaleen space. “I was right there, as shocked as you were, and terrified. I’ve never seen a human move as fast as Lark did, flying across that platform, faster than an arrow. Glad for it too. Certainly, we’re upset she was shot, but, if she hadn’t been, it would have been you. As devastated as we all feel, losing you is unthinkable.”
Is it?Azaleen wondered. If a bullet had pierced her chest, burst open her heart, or struck her in the head, her troubles would all be over. No more decisions. No more failures. Then again, there were her children. She recalled Eldrin’s parting words. “You’d better come back safely. I’m not ready to be king.” And Caelen? She couldn’t break his heart like that. Still.It should have been me.
All eyes turned to the soft-footed entrance of the high chief. Her son walked with her, Steward Kewatin following.
“Dear Queen Frost, I am so sorry about your security woman’s grave injuries. You are all owed an explanation.”
Azaleen blinked. She needed to know who was behind this attack, and it seemed as though the high chief had some answers. Steven assisted her to a chair. Renée ceased her meditations, sitting forward in anticipation. Camille’s hand covered Azaleen’s on her chair’s armrest.
“Not everyone in AlgonCree agrees with the decisions of leadership,” she stated. “We have dissenters and rebels like everyone else, although they are seldom this violent in their approach.”
So, not Irons,Azaleen presumed, focusing her attention on Batise.
“A faction calling itself the Thunder Alliance has been a minority voice in the region for decades. Their only clear objective is to oppose whatever the Council of Chiefs decides upon.” Batise looked her age under these hospital lights—or maybe her face reflected weary remorse.
“Then they didn’t want the treaty to go forward,” Azaleen said.
Batise lowered her chin, hands folded in her lap. Steven answered for her. “We arrested six of the attackers from the plaza today. Two others were killed in the shootout, with a third awaiting his turn for the operating room. They all swear no other members of the Thunder Alliance were involved in the assassination attempt.” His frown deepened. “That doesn’t mean they didn’t know and failed to report the conspiracy. Our officers interrogated the six independently, and they gave similar responses—except for one who refused to speak. Queen Frost and High Chief Batise were both prime targets. They believed that by removing the two leaders, the agreement between nations would fall apart, that the Verdancians would blame Batise’s government and go away angry.”
“They last resorted to violence twelve years ago,” Batise added, “when we established a trade agreement with the independent city-state, Coppertown. They aren’t all members of Indigenous nations unhappy with Black and White equality. I think they’re bound by general discontent and fear of change. This crime will not go unpunished, Queen Frost. Now, we shall pray for your friend.”
“Azaleen,” she said absently. “If we are to be family now, you may forgo formality.”
Batise’s expression softened. “Juliette.”
Chapter forty-three
Heartbeats
Two hours later, the chief surgeon came out, mask pulled down, revealing a neutral expression. Steward of Healing Noel Starblanket’s confidence carried the authority of both tradition and necessity. Neither tall nor small, neither distinctly male nor female, the doctor wore long braids threaded with beads, a reminder of their people’s balance of body and spirit. Their age was as indeterminate as their gender.
Azaleen stood, followed by everyone in the waiting room, with hopeful gazes fixed on the doctor.
“We removed three bullets from Ms. Sutter’s body, two producing minor wounds. The third was tricky, as it perforated her right lung, lodging in a back rib bone. We’ve controlled the bleeding and inserted a chest tube to drain excess air and blood, relieve pressure, and allow the lung to re-expand. She has stitches in her side, hip, and chest at the three entry points. She must be quite the acrobat.”
“Three?” Azaleen’s stomach jutted into her throat.
Dr. Starblanket gave her a reassuring smile. “Right now, she needs rest and a sterile environment to guard against infection. My nursing staff will be watching her for signs of pneumonia, which is our greatest concern at this point. All in all, Ms. Sutter was lucky. She won’t be running marathons soon, but we expect a full recovery.”
A collective sigh of relief filtered through the room. Luke smiled, slapping Harlan’s shoulder. Diego and Wes elbowed each other, grins as wide as rivers. Skye and Renée hugged one another. Juliette gave Starblanket a nod of approval. “Thank you, Doctor. I knew we could count on you.”
“When can I see her?” Azaleen teetered on pins and needles, still struggling under the weight of her emotions. She believed Starblanket’s report, yet she couldn’t relax until she’d seen Lark alive with her own eyes and expressed her gratitude.
They cocked their head at her. “When you’ve scrubbed yourself in a shower and put on clean clothes. Then come back, and my nurses will fit you with a sterile gown, cap, and booties, and disinfect your hands. You don’t want my expertise to go to waste by infecting her with a germ, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Azaleen suddenly felt silly. What must everyone think of her fuss? For once, she didn’t care. Excusing herself, the queen went to the inn to follow the doctor’s orders.
When she returned, they had moved Lark to a private room. The nurse outfitted Azaleen with a blue-green gown to tie over her clean clothes, booties for her feet, and a cloth cap to bundle her hair into. After watching her scrub with antibacterial soap, she allowed the queen into the room.
A monitor hummed beside the bed, lights soft. A plastic tube trailed from the side of Lark’s chest while an IV line plugged into her arm. The powerful woman lying in the bed looked small, a sight that pierced Azaleen like a barb. “If you stay too long, I’ll come run you off,” warned the stern-looking nurse. Then she left them alone, closing the door behind her.
Azaleen quivered. Lark opened her eyes. Her lips quirked, a pleased expression brightening her pallid face. The queen crossed the room, lowered herself on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the equipment. “Hey, you.”
Alive. Awake. She’ll be all right. Thank all the gods and angels—she’ll be all right.A joyful, hopeful feeling budded within her belly, expanding to encompass her entire awareness. Azaleen smiled—honest, radiant, warming her from within.
“You came.”
Lark’s eyelids drooped, but a gleam of delight snuck through.Pain meds, Azaleen presumed.
