Lark’s eyes danced at the absurdity of the fashionable queen asking her for wardrobe advice. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Go with green today for the patriotic vibe. You’ve got this, Azaleen. You always do. And I’ll be right downstairs awaiting our next assignment.” She brushed Azaleen’s lips. “Last night … thank you.”
Azaleen let out an amazed laugh. “No, my heart—thankyou.”
Azaleen waited for Camille and General Stark before opening the tube from Dominion, wary of what she might find inside. She was surprised that Irons stillkept pigeons that homed to Nelanta, considering how long it had been since she’d received any correspondence from his government.
Camille settled into the seat nearest Azaleen, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand. “Sabine said the note is from Irons?” Her tone carried the same astonishment.
“Apparently.” Azaleen twirled the tube between her palms.
The general entered, and Sabine locked the door. He grimaced before taking a seat. “I hate being the last one to a meeting.”
“It’s all right,” Azaleen said. “I live across the street, so, if I were the last to arrive, someone might think I was shirking my duty. This entire debacle has altered all our lives. And now this.” She passed the tube to Stark. “I just can’t.”
Several lamps supplemented the pale light streaming through the window. It was an inviting space—eggshell walls, lacy drapes, comfortable seating, smiling family photos—though piles of books and papers cluttered the desk. Sabine quietly slid into the chair on Azaleen’s other side and folded her hands in her lap.
“President Irons, aye?” The general opened the fancy metal tube with the Red River Republic seal embossed on its side and poured out a folded piece of stationery. Opening it, he took a deep breath and read, “Dear Queen Frost, I have decided peace is in everyone’s best interest. Together, we must get to the bottom of the Oligarchy’s intrusion and other pressing dangers. Please accept my sincere apologies for our army’s premature actions and agree to meet in person at a mutually acceptable, neutral location. We should engage in talks and sign a treaty to end hostilities between our two great nations. Please respond ASAP. Sincerely, President Luther Irons.”
Azaleen leaned back in her chair and passed her gaze from one shocked face to the next. For a moment, nobody said a word, merely stared, mouths agape.
Camille broke the silence. “This is what I asked for before they invaded. Why does he wait months, start a pointless war, and then respond by calling for an armistice?”
“So he can look like the one calling for peace?” Sabine asked incredulously.
Stark shook his head, passing the letter back to Azaleen. “There’s more going on here. Nobody starts a war of aggression on ideology and abandons it while he’s winning. Maybe Appalachia has invaded the Republic while all his troops were on our soil. He does reference their interference, and it would give him a reason to seek peace with us.”
“Plus, that total fiasco at Stonevale,” Camille added.
Rage surged through Azaleen, threatening to override her typical royal reserve. She clenched her jaw and squeezed the armrests of her chair, her glare focused like a laser. “The nerve of that man,” she seethed in a voice far too quiet for her indignation. “The absolute, unmitigated gall.”
Erupting from her chair, Azaleen discarded decorum in an emotional outburst she felt entitled to. After all, there was only her inner circle here to witness it. “He cuts off trade, then diplomatic communication. Then, unprovoked, with no warning or formal declaration of war, he attacks our ports and military bases, chasing people from their homes, killing thousands, causing mayhem and destruction everywhere. It will take our economy years to recover after only a few weeks of war, which he will no doubt treat as a trifle. And the human cost? Some families might never recover.”
Pacing, she raked shaky fingers through her hair. “And now—when it suits him—he sends us this rustin’ peace proposal? I’ve had it with his games! I’m willing to go to that meeting just so I can give him a piece of my mind.”
General Stark rose, reaching a hand to steady her. “I know it’s infuriating. I’d like to punch him in the jaw and pummel him ‘til he can’t get up, but we must consider all angles of this seriously. What if it’s a ploy? A trap to lure you away and assassinate you?”
Azaleen gritted her teeth and waved the idea away. “A few more weeks and his army would be on my doorstep. Easy enough to kill me then. No, he wants something from us. I’m sure of it. Something he can’t get with a simple military victory.”
“Maybe he’s facing pressure at home,” Camille suggested. “The Republic’s citizens could be up in arms about the war. This much I know about Luther Irons: he’d do anything to stay in power. If polls indicate his invasion wasunpopular enough to cost his party this fall’s election, he’d be suing for peace. He would want reporters and photographers there to commemorate the treaty signing for all the voters to see.”
Azaleen’s feet stopped moving. She sighed, rubbed her chin, and glanced at Camille. “You could be right. I wish I had a way to contact Whisper, our spy in Dominion. They’d tell us what’s really going on. I say that we get to pick the meeting spot, and I insist that someone from Appalachia’s oligarchy be present as well.”
“What about High Chief Batise?” Sabine asked. “They are our allies.”
“Yes,” Camille agreed. “Protocol would require us to at least loop her in on the plans, give her the option of sending a representative to the summit meeting.”
Azaleen nodded and leaned on the edge of her jumbled desk. “General, grab that map and bring it over here, please. We need to pick a neutral place that’s safe enough to gather and not too far away.”
Without comment, he did as she asked while Azaleen moved history and warfare books and stacked papers, clearing a portion of the desktop. Stark laid out the map, and Camille and Sabine gathered around it with them.
“Coppertown checked out,” Stark said.
“Yes,” Camille agreed. “I’ve already begun a dialogue with them regarding a trade agreement.”
Azaleen pursed her lips. The release of anger must have been good for her, as she no longer felt the knot in her stomach. Though she’d been raised not to harbor hatred or bitterness toward anyone, she really couldn’t stand the pompous, erratic excuse for a president.What kind of world leader behaves that way?She shook away the thought.
“It’s too far to be practical for Irons or us,” she said. “Convenient for Appalachia and AlgonCree, but if time is truly of the essence …”
“I would suggest a town in the Pacific Federation,” Camille said, “maybe even with a neutral mediator present to keep us all from killing each other. But, again, too far away.”