“We managed to save over two dozen folks who’d been trapped in building collapses,” Skye reported. She downed half her water in a gulp.
Diego shrugged, folding his hands on the table. “Unfortunately, we recovered as many dead as well.”
Waiters arrived with large trays and set plates before them. “The house special, shrimp and grits?” he asked her.
Lark nodded. “Thank you.”
“And your bread and salad.” He set down a small plate and a bowl overflowing with greenery. All the dishes were white glazed ceramic—a far cry from dented tin or gouged wooden plates. Glancing down, Lark frowned at the array of two forks, three spoons, and a butter knife. She looked at Skye, who picked up the smaller fork and plunged it into her salad. Assuming she knew which was for what, Lark copied her actions.
“How was your meeting with the fleetmaster?” Camille asked. She dipped the larger, short-handled spoon into her steaming soup bowl. Lark didn’t have soup—safe to ignore that one.
“Quite informative,” Azaleen answered.
Realizing she was slipping into that dreamy look she always wore whenever she beheld the queen, Lark quickly returned her attention to her meal. It was tasty enough to rival Gramma’s cooking.
Forks clinked, and someone coughed. Azaleen continued. “His crew suffered only a few injuries and no deaths. The harbor garrison sank several of the enemy’s smaller escort boats and damaged one of the larger ones. The AlgonCree Navy crippled the corvette and sank the rest. He estimates they took four hundred prisoners, and enemy casualties must be over a thousand. We may never know the exact number. It’s likely many jumped ship and swam down the coast to take refuge in the marshes. Dawnriver reported a couple of dozen officers, including two captains of the Iron Navy, were taken into custody. I plan to conduct an interrogation tomorrow.”
Lark’s throat tightened. The thought of Azaleen in the same room with their enemies turned her stomach. So did the knowledge that the queen was known to employ severe tactics when necessary.
“You?” Luke questioned, his fork full of potatoes not reaching his mouth. “Allow me,” he began.
Azaleen halted him with a piercing stare. “You’ll be on your way south,” she instructed. “Lark is going home to see her family and take a few more days to rest.” She shifted her gaze to Lark, making her the center of attention. It thrust a hot prickle of awareness through her, and she quickly resumed eating. Azaleen had already informed her of this course of action, but this was the first time the others had heard of the order.
“I need all of you to patrol the coastline and inlets,” Azaleen continued in her voice of authority. “Yes, survivors from the Iron Navy must be found and captured, but I also require reconnaissance reports from Fort Jasper, Fort Hammond, and Gulf fishing towns. We don’t know if New Charleston was their first target or if they left soldiers and ships behind after capturing others. Take a crateful of pigeons with you and send updates to the capital. Colonel Ashby has promised vehicles and fuel.”
Luke nodded. “A sound course, Madam Queen. What do we do with enemy soldiers when we find them?”
“I’ll request a patrol of Marines from Fort Stilwell to set out with you. They can manage prisoners and transport them back here. At some point, General Stark can arrange a prisoner exchange, as they’re likely to capture some of our troops as well. Secretary Navarro and I will soon return to Nelanta for an emergency cabinet meeting.”
“Who will provide your security?” Harlan, his curly blond hair clean and combed, looked up from his empty plate.
“Colonel Ashby will assign a team. We’ll be fine. There’s no reason to suspect any Republic invaders are this far east.”
“‘Cept them that was on those ships, beggin’ your pardon,” mentioned Jonas Pike. The skipper was the only elder at the table—a voice that couldn’t be ignored.
Azaleen inclined her head. “You are correct, of course. However, I’m sure our New Charleston Marines are more than a match for a handful of defeated Iron Realm sailors.”
The waiter stopped to refill the queen’s glass. She offered him a look of appreciation. “Thank you, and please convey my pleasure to the chef. Everything is delicious.”
The slender waiter, hair thinning on top, smiled, a rosy hue rising in his ivory cheeks. “I shall, Your Excellency, though he’ll be impossible to live with after receiving such high praise.”
The conversation drifted to lighter topics—the quality of the hotel, the food, the weather—a welcome reprieve from constant talk of war and destruction.
They all stood when Azaleen excused herself to retire, the rest following her from the dining room. Wes, Harlan, and Skipper Pike headed outside while Lark and the others returned to their rooms, as it was 21:00 already. Lark followed Skye into the lodging they’d been assigned. She tingled all over, her mind projecting a rush of possibilities.Will I be up to her standards? Will she find my scars repulsive? Has she ever even been with a woman?How will I please her? What if she changes her mind, decides it’s all a mistake?She rubbed her sweaty palms together as she sat on the edge of her bed to pull off her shoes.
Lark glanced at the door. Azaleen’s room was one down and across the hall. The manager had given the queen and the ambassador private rooms, while everyone else had to double up. She didn’t mind sharing with Skye; she only worried about waking her when she slipped out later.
Skye had been rattling on about something; Lark’s nerves blocked it out as they wrestled with her resolve. When Skye stepped into the bathroom, she quickly slid under the covers, hiding the fact that she was still dressed. Lark’s chest pounded like a randy bull battering her ribs from the inside out.
When her roommate returned in a T-shirt and undies, she crawled into the other twin bed and blew out the candle. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“Huh?” Lark blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the pale moonlight streaming through their open window. The cooler night air felt refreshing, and the hotel screens kept the bugs out. “I was trying to listen. I’m just exhausted.”
“It’s been a long day.” Skye rolled on her side, facing Lark. She’d unbound her long, brunette hair and brushed it before coming to bed. “Are you in pain?”
Lark peered toward her through the dark, touched that Skye would ask. But over the past several months, they had become more than comrades in arms; they’d become close friends.
“No, but thanks for asking. I guess tomorrow I’ll introduce you to my family. My brother will be excited to meet real special forces soldiers, and he’ll beg to join up, but he’s too young.”