She glanced at the Verdancian banner waving above the platform, then back to the crowd.
“From Root, Resilience. Our forebears rebuilt this land from ash and ruin. They did not do so for us to surrender it now. We are not a frightened people hiding behind walls. We understand that freedom is never granted—it is earned, and it must be defended. Our brave men and women in uniform fight to protect you even now, and they have dealt the enemy blows they did not expect. For the strength of Verdancia has never been steel or stone. It has always been the courage of her people.”
Azaleen paused while the assembly burst into applause, pride radiating from their faces, though many remained tense and wary.
“Neither Luther Irons nor any would-be usurper will shake our resolve. If they believe we will bow and cower, they are mistaken. If they believe we will flee in terror, they are mistaken. If they believe we will bargain away our liberty, they are mistaken. Let them come with iron and fire. We will answer with courage and unity.”
A louder, longer ovation followed. Azaleen smiled and waited for the cheers to fade.
“I know many of you are afraid. That is not weakness; it is love. Love for your children. Love for your homes. Love for the lives you have built. We did not seek war. But neither will we abandon justice, liberty, or one another.
“While our warriors defend us from the invaders, we are preparing every measure necessary to keep you safe. Your leaders will not desert you.Iwill not abandon you to be enslaved, your rights stripped away, your forests burned for industry’s fires, your homes taken and lived in by strangers. Let it be said in the years to come that Verdancia did not falter when it was tested. I will stand. Will you stand with me?”
Cheers erupted from the masses—hands clapping, heads nodding, light shining from uplifted faces. Azaleen beamed back at them, arms open as if she could embrace the whole nation.
“I knew you would. This is who our fathers and mothers were. This is who we are. Hold hope in your hearts. Offer prayers, each in your own way. Stand together. From the root of those who survived the end of the world grew a mighty oak, its trunk strong and branches wide. From Root, Resilience.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Azaleen let the motto settle over the crowd. Then she shouted, “Long live Verdancia!”
As Azaleen left the podium, a brass band began to play. People cheered, and hundreds lined up to bow, shake hands, or receive a blessing from their queen. General Stark and a security crew encircled her in case an enemy had stolen onto the parade grounds. Sabine remained at her side, also greeting and reassuring the citizens in the receiving line.
Although she had pressing matters to attend to and expected a pigeon from Lark, Azaleen could not rush this. The people needed to see her standing confident and strong, even as the fear of losing threatened to consume her every thought and decision. Within two hours, the crowd had dispersed, their mood having shifted from frightened to determined.
General Stark spoke into her ear. “You didn’t mention the robots.”
“No, I didn’t,” she whispered back. That was all the explanation she need give. Surely Stark didn’t want a terrified mass evacuation on his hands—not today, at least.
A horse-drawn carriage conveyed them back to the Capitol, where a staff member met them in the front hall.
“Madam Queen,” he said, bowing. “A pigeon arrived with this.” He passed her the tube.
“Thank you.” She stepped farther into the hall, beneath the long, curved staircase, near the grandfather clock, leaving room for the rest of her entourage to enter.
Stark was close on her heels, eager to hear the news. Azaleen understood he’d rather be out in the thick of it, leading troops on the ground, but she needed him here at the hub helping her make military decisions affecting all their troops. And she needed him alive.
Unrolling the paper, she read in a hush. “Robots are real. 1,000? Marching for Stonevale. Laser weapons. No human operators. XX —Lark.”
Stark furrowed his brow. “XX?”
Azaleen suppressed a smile and shook her head. “Nothing. But this is disturbing. No human operators. Is that even possible?”
Stark’s bushy brows shot up. “I didn’t even think a robot army was possible, so who knows?”
“I presume the team sent a message to Highcrest Hall as well,” Azaleen said as she passed through the arched opening into what was once the grand house’s living room. Sabine joined them, giving Azaleen anxious looks.
“Sabine, draft a copy of this and send it to Lord Calder just in case,” she directed, “except for the XX.”
Sabine pressed her lips into a thin line while her dark eyes danced toward Azaleen. “Yes, my queen. Right away.”
Vera clipped across the tile floor in heels, chin jutted high to make the most of her short stature, as Sabine left. “I have just received promising news. A trading vessel from the West African Coalition docked in New Charleston early this morning. Tea and coffee have arrived, and we earned a trade profit from the corn, cotton, and textiles in the warehouses not damaged in the attack. So, somebody gets paid this month.”
“Allocate it to the military payroll,” Azaleen said. “We aren’t suffering lack here.”
Vera stiffened. “Speak for yourself. I have grandchildren to think about.”
“Thanks,” Reuben said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Vera, let’s go ahead and lift the tax on tea and coffee now that supplies are no longer stretched thin,” Azaleen said.