“They’ll care when Irons turns his manifest destiny on them,” Azaleen muttered, leaning back in her seat. “Secretary Sutherland? How bankrupt are we?”
She shrugged, a hopeless expression on her usually sharp face. “Does it matter? We must defend the nation regardless of the budget. Losing agricultural assets is no help.”
“General, let’s hold off on stripping Nelanta of our only defense until we receive more updates from Calder. Sabine.” Azaleen caught her attention. Her chief of staff had been taking notes.
“Yes, Madam Queen?”
Azaleen exhaled a heavy breath. She hadn’t wanted to do this, but she saw no alternative. “Draft a letter to Lord Whitfield in Clearwater requesting he deploy his regiments to reinforce Stonevale.”
“Request?” she specified, a question in her eyes.
“He already answered my call to reinforce Stonevale once,” she replied. “Emptying his garrison will leave Clearwater undefended. It doesn’t seem right to issue an order so extreme.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sabine said. “I’m sure he will comply.”
A knock sounded at the door. A Capitol guardsman opened it. The staff member in the hall said, “Captain Moreau and VERT have returned.”
A weight lifted from Azaleen’s shoulders.I’m not alone.
“Show Captain Moreau in,” she said, “and …” She hesitated, wanting to send a message to Lark.I’ll find her, or she’ll find me. “Tell the team I said, ‘Well done.’”
Chapter twenty-eight
The Weight of Tenderness
Lark was happy to be back—to see Azaleen—but the queen was buried in meetings and vital decisions. She was grateful she didn’t have to make them. When Luke was ushered in to give the official report, Skye tapped Lark on the shoulder.
“Let’s go shower and change clothes, get a decent meal.”
“Sounds good to me. Lead the way,” Lark said, smiling. She wanted to look her best when she saw Azaleen.
Skye took Lark to collect her duffel bag, then to her aunt’s house. It was a comfortable brick home four blocks from the Capitol—with hot running water. Lark basked in the steam, scrubbing off mud, blood, and sweat. Wiping fog from the mirror, she inspected herself, then brushed her teeth and hair. She frowned at her reflection, her deep tan, and the white line of an old scar on her chin. Her brows were too thick, her lips too thin, her nose slightly crooked. At least her ears didn’t stick out. Fingering her hair, she decided it was at an awkward stage of growth. Another cut?
Exiting the bathroom in clean jeans and a simple shirt, she said, “The water’s still hot. Do you think I need a trim? My hair’s down to my ears and getting a little heavy on top.”
Skye gave her a quick glance, passing her with a fresh towel over her arm. “It’s fine, but I’ll cut it again if you want. How does Azaleen like it?”
“I think she seemed fond of it when you first cut it,” Lark answered. “She likes brushing her fingers through.” Then she caught Skye’s arm. “Say a word, and you’re a dead woman.”
Skye laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.” Lark got her quick shape-up trim.
After a satisfying meal, Skye headed off to visit her parents across town, and Lark had nothing to do but wait. She wandered the streets for a while. They were emptier than she remembered from her first visit. The few people she passed hurried along, heads down, shoulders hunched. Playgrounds were no longer full of laughing children.
Everyone’s frightened, she realized. Lark wanted to reassure them all, to somehow make the invaders go away. If she could, she’d sneak into the Republic’s capital, put a knife to Luther Irons’ throat, and demand he pull his army out of Verdancia or else. She was worried about her father, too. Gramma, Leif, and Bryn were safe for now. But if the Iron Army advance continued …
Finding herself in the circle looping between the Capitol Building and Azaleen’s house, she stopped and stared up at the statue of Thalen Frost.Azaleen rules in his shadow,she thought.Every day she must walk past a tribute to her dead brother, one her detractors likely wished stood in her place. “Thalen would lead our troops to victory,” they might say. It can’t be easy, yet she does it with such grace and confidence.
“That’s my Uncle Thalen,” said a cheerful voice behind her. “I never met him, but everyone says Eldrin looks just like him.”
Lark’s smile blossomed as she turned to Caelen. He squinted up at her through an afternoon sunbeam, a backpack over one shoulder.
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered. “They say I look like my dad. I remember him a little. Eldrin and I were supposed to have a sister, but she came too soon and was dead. Mom called it a miscarriage, but we don’t really talk about it.”
“I imagine it would be sad for your mom to talk about.” Lark’s heart was pricked. There was so much she still didn’t know about Azaleen, and the more she learned, the more heartache surfaced.Such a strong woman, she thought, and found her love deepening.
“Yeah.” Caelen shifted his posture, his bookbag dropping to the ground. “Hey, you missed our recital last night. Everyone clapped and clapped. They said my piece embodied the mood of the nation.” He wrinkled his nose, lips twitching. “I think everyone’s sad about the war.”