Behind Closed Doors
Nelanta, the next morning
Lark followed Luke and the rest of the team into the lobby, making sure to wipe her boots on the mat. Urgency sent them straight to the Capitol without time to shower or change clothes. Glancing up at the high ceiling and impressive curved staircase, Lark recalled the first time she’d entered the room—uninvited, battling her way in, vaulting walls, and flipping past security. The front guard must have remembered her, as he gave the team a wide berth. It still felt unreal to be standing in such a grand house, the one where matters of national importance were decided.
“Captain Moreau.” A clerk made haste to meet them amid the buzz in the hall. “Queen Frost said for y’all to report to the war room as soon as you arrived.”
“Thank you,” Luke answered. “I know the way.”
He removed his cap and tucked it into his belt. Lark and the others followed his example, Lark finger-combing the wave of hair sticking up from her fade. She had hoped to look better the next time she saw Azaleen. A surge of nerves fluttered in her stomach at the thought. They hadn’t spoken since that glorious night spent together, and Lark was uncertain how the queen felt.Does she have regrets? Does she still want me?
Squaring her shoulders, Lark ascended the stairs behind Luke and Skye, directing her thoughts toward rescuing the general.The mission comes first.
Chief of Staff Fontaine opened the door, and the team stepped in, lining a paneled wall opposite a row of windows. While fresh air circulated, it couldn’t wash away the tension clinging to the massive, carved table map, nor the strain weighing on each advisor.
“The news isn’t all bad,” said General Stark. “Major Williams confirmed that over half of Fort Calder’s troops have regrouped twenty kilometers east of the battleground. They might have lost their artillery, but Major McKinley and half the cavalry made it to the rendezvous. He estimates ten thousand Republic casualties—fifteen percent of the invasion force—and they haven’t even reached a target yet.”
“Still, General Calder’s loss marks a tremendous blow to morale,” said an older Black woman in a colorful kaftan with beads and a locket around her neck. Lark only knew the general and Ambassador Navarro.
“I understand that.” Another woman, this one White with glasses, a sharp tone, and a strict gray suit, glared at the free-styling Black woman. “But we have no money for a ransom, if that’s what President Irons is after. The treasury is empty, Rosalind, a fact you never seem to accept. We are so overextended that we can’t make the military payroll until we collect export revenue from next month’s cotton harvest.”
“That is, if we’ve regained control of Fort Hammond by then,” grumbled a lanky Black man in a cowboy hat, a boot propped over his knee.
Azaleen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. A servant entered with a tray of fruit water. “Your Excellency,” he said, offering it to her. She lifted a glass and motioned for everyone else to take a drink.
“I have all confidence in Fleetmaster Dawnriver.”
Pride swelled in Lark’s chest at Azaleen’s voice of authority, quelling all objections.
“The AlgonCree Navy will drive the Republic from our waters in due time. As long as our soldiers are well-fed and hailed with the respect they deserve, they won’t abandon their duty. We’ve all had to wait for pay before. Verdancianpatriots aren’t mercenaries for hire. They’re made of tougher stuff. What concerns me most is our shortage of ammunition. Majors Williams and McKinley can’t wage more attacks until their supply of bullets is replaced. Secretary Shaw? Vera?”
“There are the crates we retrieved from that vault last week.” The tall, dark man shifted his foot to the floor.
Secretary Shaw, I presume,Lark reasoned. She sipped her drink—peach water.Refreshing.
“Have them sent to Fort Calder’s troops in the field,” the queen commanded, “with an experienced escort. Avoid choke points.”
He nodded.
“The only ammunition crates remaining in Nelanta are on reserve for the five thousand national guardsmen and are our last line of defense,” said General Stark. “But we can be creative, isn’t that right, Captain Moreau?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied with a smart nod.
“So far, we still hold all our positions except those on the Gulf Coast,” Azaleen stated. “We are still on solid ground. Everyone, do your jobs. Come up with ideas. Think outside the box. General, Secretary Shaw, if you’ll stay for my meeting with VERT, the rest of you may go.”
Chairs shuffled amid indistinct murmurs in distressed tones. Ambassador Navarro stopped to hug Skye and give Lark a friendly nod of acknowledgment before she left.
“Come,” Azaleen called.
Lark walked closer, the others joining in a semicircle around the queen’s chair. “Desmond,” she said to Secretary Shaw, “meet Wes Walker. Walker, this is Secretary of Procurement Shaw. He recently recovered some electronics and high-tech gadgets from a vault, and nobody around here knows what to do with them. He’ll show them to you. Make them work.”
“Yes, Madam Queen.” Wes and Shaw left together.
“Harlan, go see your family,” instructed Azaleen. “The team must depart as soon as the general and Luke devise a plan.”
“Thank you.” He bowed, pivoted, and exited the chamber.
“Diego, Skye, go see the quartermaster for whatever you expect you’ll need on this rescue mission. Then fuel up your vehicles and get some rest.”