Chapter one
Between Fire and Sea
Off the coast of New Charleston, Verdancia, aboard the sailboat Halcyon
Amissile screamed overhead, exploding in the water dangerously close to their vessel. Queen Azaleen Frost clutched the rail as the boat rocked hard from the impact. Steeling her jaw, she glanced back at the enemy corvette battleship that fired it. Either they would gain enough speed to exceed its range, or this would be the end. She was glad for the strong arms that held her tight and the woman who pressed in behind her.
Azaleen had spent countless years with her heart safely locked away in a gilded chest, unwilling to expose herself to more grief. Yet, at the same time, her love for Verdancia and its citizens had grown beyond what she could imagine. She had believed her dedication to duty meant sacrificing her personal life. If this was to be her end, she was deeply grateful to Lark for breaking open that chest and freeing the passion trapped inside.
The crew at the stern shouted and scrambled, tugging ropes as if any of it mattered. Azaleen’s mind drifted back to her childhood, sitting on Grandpa Wynn Frost’s knee, a bright smile shining from his weathered face, as he gave away rations and supplies to neighbors, friends, and anyone in need. Sheremembered his stories of life before the Ruin, and the wonders he imagined the future might bring.
One would think mankind had learned its lesson after nearly bringing itself to extinction—but no. The realization weighed on her with sadness.
The bow pitched, the craft lurched, and Lark squeezed her tighter. “Look!” she cried into Azaleen’s ear.
She jerked her attention to the front as they fled a superior foe. Through the salty spray, she beheld their salvation—the AlgonCree Navy. Hope surged, lighting her eyes and flooding her with relief. In her excitement, Azaleen kissed Lark on the lips. What she wouldn’t have given to linger there, in Lark’s protective embrace, kissing her, holding her, expressing the feelings she’d only begun to explore. This was not the time.
Twisting over her shoulder, she boomed to the cockpit. “The promised ships are here! We’re saved!”
Another shell splashed into the sea, ten meters shy of their rudder. The crew cheered and waved, hugging each other in celebration while a flotilla of frigates, destroyers, and converted freighters, no doubt carrying Marines, raced toward them. A gray, steel vessel launched a rocket that soared high over theHalcyon, a white streak across the sky in its wake. Azaleen turned back, watching it strike a forward turret on the corvette. Another cheer from the team, and Lark’s lips touched her ear.
“It’s going to be all right, Azaleen. Your negotiations prevailed, and our allies kept their word.”
“We’ve only cleared the first hurdle. There’s a long, dangerous road ahead. Thank you for making me feel safe.”And loved, she thought, but she kept the words to herself. It was way too soon, and the situation too unstable.
“It’s my privilege, my queen.”
Azaleen gazed at Lark, her self-proclaimed personal protector. Not so long ago, her tawny, angular face had borne a grieving, accusing glare instead of an assuring smile. Now, her honey-colored eyes sparkled with promise, her short hair blown into a wedge by the wind. Azaleen longed to run her fingersthrough those soft strands and brush across their fade. The world might say Lark possessed a common look; Azaleen found her beautiful beyond description.
Cannon booms echoed overhead and behind them as the skipper pulled in the sail to slip between the powerful ships that had come to their aid.
Captain Luke Moreau, leader of her escort—the Verdancian Elite Recon Team—hurried to the bow to join them. His hair, nearly a match for Lark’s, was wet and windblown, smelling of salt and sweat. Grabbing the forestay for balance, he beamed at them.
“God is on our side—or at least the AlgonCree are. And perfect timing, too.”
“Yes, Captain,” Azaleen replied, meeting his earthy eyes. She’d come to rely on Luke these past weeks, renewing the trust she’d placed in him and VERT. “Thank all the gods and angels—and Fleetmaster Dawnriver.”
She recalled their brief introduction as they hastened to leave Aurora after receiving word of Luther Irons’ invasion. A quiet man who wore authority like a casual cloak, his braided silver-streaked hair and weathered face told a story of decades at sea. Yet his penetrating eyes gleamed sharp, alert, and nothing about him read as “old.”
Sailors saluted from the sleek decks towering on either side of theHalcyon.Luke and Lark snapped their hands up in return, while Azaleen offered the “queen’s wave.”
“Tell Skipper Pike to turn into Bulls Bay,” she instructed Captain Moreau with a glance to the west: nothing there but a destroyer’s hull. “We’ll move through the inland waters to New Charleston and check on the residents. Hopefully, Colonel Ashby is alive and well, and casualties are few.”
Azaleen swallowed the lump that rose in her throat at the thought of civilian casualties. Even now, smoke rose from fires, either on the base or in the city. Once it was safe, she would walk through the streets to strengthen morale.
“Yes, Your Excellency.” He inclined his head, flicked a wink at Lark, pivoted, and scampered back to the cockpit. Before Azaleen could question Lark about Luke’s furtive wink, Diplomacy Secretary Camille Navarro took his place.
“Thank heavens!” Looking as haggard as Azaleen felt, Camille sagged against her shoulder, wrapping her arms around her in an exhausted affirmation of life. “You stood firm, as I knew you would. And thanks to you too, Lark, for keeping our queen from being thrown overboard. I know I almost was.” With a light laugh, her arms fell away. The elegant woman, a few years Azaleen’s junior, was decidedly not dressed for battle. Seeing her brunette tresses disheveled and her wet dress smudged made her laugh.
“And I’m glad to see you in one piece as well. Once we’re settled, please extend our gratitude and hospitality to Fleetmaster Dawnriver. Schedule a time for me to meet with him, but first, Captain Moreau and I must seek out Colonel Ashby and assess the damage.”
“Of course,” she replied, retreating a step as a blush rose in her tan cheeks.
“Queen Frost?” Skye, Camille’s niece and the lieutenant under Luke in VERT, bounded around the sail to join them at the bow.
Azaleen shifted to meet her gaze with a query in her own.
“I presume you’ll want to take as many prisoners alive as possible, and they’ll need to be questioned.”