“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said in a formal tone and shook Tamsin’s hand. When she turned her gaze on the high chief, her icy manner melted. “Juliette,” she gushed.
“Azaleen, dear!” Batise slid out of her chair, her arms reaching toward the queen. They embraced as if they were long-lost cousins reuniting after years. Tamsin instantly knew where these two stood. They would back each other against the men at every opportunity.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Queen Frost said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hadn’t. Fleetmaster Dawnriver is here and would have stood in for you.”
“Bah!” Batise waved it away. “I’ve never been to Olive Branch, and I don’t get many adventures anymore.”
Batise wiggled back into her chair, and Frost took the seat beside her, pouring them both glasses of water.
“Prime Minister LeCun, of Appalachia,” Dorr said as he brought in the next leader. He was an average-looking man with silver hair, glasses, and a bluish-gray suit that buttoned up the middle with a stand-up Mandarin collar.
“Welcome, Prime Minister,” Tamsin greeted, offering her hand. He merely stared at it. Withdrawing her hand, she said, “I’m Tamsin Redfern, your mediator for today.”
He sniffed and ambled to a seat, giving it a dubious look before sitting, his back remaining rigid. “I shouldn’t even be here,” he said with disdain. “The Red River Republic and Verdancia are the powers at war.”
The queen angled her chin at him. “Tell that to your robot army.” And there was that icy glare and cutting tone from her biography.
The next time the door opened, the last participant strolled in as if he owned the room and all its occupants. “OK, people, I’m here, so we can get this shindig started. President Luther Irons,” he said with a tone that suggested he needed no introduction.
“I’ll be right outside,” the mayor said, and quietly closed the door.
Irons frowned, giving Tamsin a confused look. Before she could speak, he gestured to her. “What are you?”
Forcing a polite smile, she extended a hand of greeting. “I’m Arbiter Tamsin Redfern from the Pacific Confederation, here at your request, Mr. President.”
He glanced around the circle before giving her hand a quick shake, then wiped his palm on his coattail. The tension in the room spiked. Tamsin realized she truly had her work cut out for her.
Chapter forty-seven
Fault Lines
Azaleen rose, planting her feet, every muscle taut, as she fumed. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain her composure.
“You are a rude little man,” Juliette declared, her wrinkled face drawn tight with disapproval.
“Little?” He laughed, glancing around the room. “I’m the biggest one here.” No one else laughed. All eyes fixed on the president. “What?” He lifted empty palms. “I don’t mean offense. I mean, the chief here is clearly Native, and LeCun and Frost are White. I’ve never seen someone who looks like Ms. Redfern—that’s all. Curiosity. I mean, LeCun? You understand. Do you have people like her? What do you call them?”
Azaleen wanted to punch Luther and surprise him with the power of it. She wanted to draw blood. Instead, she glared, curling her lip.
Prime Minister LeCun drew in a breath and stood, angling toward Irons while keeping his distance. “We would call her a crisis mediator. Neither the Oligarchy nor our Oracle considers the color or characteristics of one’s body to be of any significance. Our society values intelligence, knowledge, unity, and obedience. Such trivial concerns are unworthy of our notice.”
“Gee, I was just curious,” Irons said, brushing off his bluntness.
Azaleen, who couldn’t stand to look at the arrogant fool, turned her gaze to Tamsin. Her first thought was how stunningly beautiful she was, a unique blend of East Asian and African characteristics. Verdancia had plenty of citizenswho shared her look. During the past two centuries, people from all over the world immigrated to the South. They blended culturally and genetically with the Black and White populations until such mixing became the norm. She recalled reports citing that hardline conservatism was on the rise in the Red River Republic, fueled by religious interpretations and propaganda. Was Luther the perpetrator or merely a follower of the trend?
Tamsin stepped in front of her chair. “Does my ethnicity cause a problem for you, President Irons?”
“No,” he said with a shrug. “Nor does being a woman, though I feel a bit outnumbered.” His second attempt at a joke also fell flat.
Wanting to move the conversation forward, Azaleen spoke. “President Irons, why did your army invade my country, and why did you abruptly recall them?”
“Well, now, Frost, your highness, that was an unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said with an apologetic expression, opening his palms toward her.
A fresh wave of rage rushed through Azaleen. She kept her volume low but couldn’t hide the icy bite in her tone. “Unfortunate misunderstanding? Irons, your army carved a wake of destruction across Verdancia, killing tens of thousands of my people.”
“Well, now,” he answered defensively, taking a step toward her. “According to my reports, the Republic has suffered more casualties than your country.”
Her mouth fell open, heat surging through her. “Youattackedus! And not just soldiers. Your General Garcia is a heartless brute whom you unleashed on Marchland. He’s been waging war on the civilian population—old people, women, children. He blew up a hospital with over a thousand wounded noncombatants inside, plus doctors, nurses, and medical supplies we can’t replace.”