Chapter 4
Chapter four
Beneath the Frost
Brooding over the missing secretary, the Iron Menace, and the interruption of her council session, Azaleen walked briskly across the street to her residence, Sabine close at her side for company.
“I’ll vet him thoroughly,” Sabine vowed, “along with the short list I’d already made.”
“He has a rogue’s arrogance,” the queen grumbled. Her shoulders ached. Her temples throbbed. A bath might help.
“And a rogue’s charm,” Sabine added, half-teasing. “Azaleen, dear,” she addressed once the door to the world had closed. “I’ve noticed your mood of late, and there’s no shame in needing some release. I can arrange a discreet evening for you with a partner sworn to secrecy.”
“What are you suggesting?” Azaleen rounded on Sabine, her face flushed with embarrassment. “That I use somebody like a prostitute?”
“Not at all,” Sabine swore as they moved deeper into the Frost family home.
Clean lines and artistic flourishes whispered of old elegance, now tempered by survival.
While not as enormous and opulent as the building that served as the fledgling nation’s capital, the architecture was similar, characterized by red brick, white columns, a grand staircase, tall windows, balconies, and fireplaces.
The city had a safe water supply—at last—and pumping stations powered by windmills assured water reached homes and businesses.
They did not guarantee steady pressure, but the toilets, bathtubs, and sinks worked most of the time.
A delicious aroma floated in through an open window from the outdoor kitchen, filling Azaleen with a sense of home.
“Azaleen, do you know how many admirers you have, people who would be honored to assist you, relieve a small amount of tension that the demands of your office thrust upon you?” Sabine stopped, peering at her with compassion.
“I can count at least a dozen who I’ve already vetted, who’ve pre-signed nondisclosure agreements, both men and women eager to please you. ”
Azaleen leaned against an ivory-colored wall, taking in a deep breath.
She rubbed her neck, moving it slowly from side to side.
“That might be, but I can’t afford the risk.
Maybe a masseuse. It’s more important for you to research Desmond Shaw and compare his qualifications to the other candidates.
Foolish Pickett! I still can’t believe it. ”
“Mom!”
Two excited boys burst through the front door, each with a backpack and a cheerful grin.
“Caelen, Eldrin.” Allowing a smile, Azaleen greeted her sons with hugs. Eldrin, the sixteen-year-old tow-headed boy as tall as she was, rolled his eyes and groaned, but didn’t push her away. Younger sweet Caelen, blooming with light brown curls, kissed her cheek.
“Look what I made, Mom!” he exclaimed. Taking a step back, he pulled a fine-looking hand axe from his belt.
“We made them in crafting today. We took old, rusty hatchet heads and soaked them in acid. Our instructor showed us how to use the flywheel lathe that we pumped with a foot to turn a planed chunk of wood into this nice handle. We sanded them, coated them with varnish, and, when they dried, we secured the heads and sharpened them on a big wheel. Look!” He thrust the top end of the weapon/tool into Azaleen’s face, forcing her to retreat a step.
“First, we glued the heads on, then we hammered in a nail with this metal disk to ensure it won’t come off.
See?” He made a few chopping motions to demonstrate.
“And your teacher wasn’t concerned about students cutting their legs off?” She quirked a brow at her enthusiastic boy.
He shook his head and laughed. “Silly, Mom. Of course not.”
“Why don’t you go show it to Nana, only no demonstrations, please?”
“Yeah!” Caelen dropped his backpack and raced into Nana’s first-floor room, Sabine following in case Azaleen’s mother was having a bad day.
“And what did you do at school today?” Azaleen asked Eldrin.
“All the usual stuff,” he shrugged. “We’re reading Moby Dick. Some of the words are hard, old-timey-like, but it gave me the idea that Verdancia needs some big, tall-masted ships like the Pequod.”
“General Stark and I have discussed plans to build a shipyard,” she replied, resting an arm around Eldrin’s shoulder. She walked with him toward the back door, knowing in two seconds he’d be asking for food. “But it’s a process and will take a while to complete. How do you like the book?”
“It’s exciting, Captain Ahab chasing the whale and all. Mom, have you ever seen a sperm whale?” His bright blue eyes and fair face mirrored her own.
“No, sweetie. I’ve never seen a whale at all,” Azaleen admitted. “I’ve seen pictures, though.”
“Do you think they’re really giant, like Moby Dick?”
“Maybe.” Azaleen wondered how the creatures of the oceans fared, if whales still existed.
When she had been a little girl, dead, deformed fish, missing eyes or scales, washed up on the beaches, leaving behind a sour, unforgettable stench.
In recent years, fishers brought in catches that were safe to eat.
But what of the deep-sea creatures? Azaleen didn’t know.
“You do realize that book isn’t about ships and whales, but about the danger of obsession, don’t you?”
Eldrin shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
With a laugh, Azaleen patted her son’s shoulder and steered him through the open doorway onto the back porch. “Good afternoon, Maggie. Is something ready for this bottomless pit to devour?”
The mixed-race woman, younger than herself, laughed. “Indeed. Come, Prince Eldrin. Let’s fix you a plate.” Magnolia Dawes wiped her hands on her apron and offered a half-curtsy.
“Me too!” called Caelen as he raced around the corner, nearly knocking his mom over.
“You’ve raised fine boys, Your Excellency,” Maggie praised. “I see their father in them more every day.”
Azaleen’s smile thinned, but she nodded as she recalled the successive line of male deaths in her family.
Her brother, Captain Thalen Frost, had been the first, only twenty-two.
That’s when Dad insisted she wed a proper husband from an important family—just in time to ward off a feud with the Calders of Highcrest Hall.
Grandfather Wynn Frost was next to go. Despite the political nature of their marriage, Azaleen was sad when Aren Calder died in the subsequent outbreak of the plague that also claimed her father’s life.
He didn’t get a monument like her war-hero brother Thalen.
Who wants to remember a plague? Suddenly, there she was—a widowed mother of two being crowned queen amid the tragedy of loss.
She’d never had a chance to mourn either of them.
“I’d better start interviewing Shaw’s references before it gets dark,” Sabine said as she joined Azaleen in the doorway, rousting her from her thoughts.
Two peach trees in the backyard were laden with tiny green balls, the beginnings of a bumper crop, as Silas had predicted.
Flowers and tomato vines bloomed, bees buzzing happily around them.
“Yes, thank you,” she said by way of dismissal. “Give my best to Jimmy and the girls.”
While her sons piled food onto plates, Azaleen closed her eyes, breathing it in—peace, peaches, and her sons—even if just for an instant.
Opening her eyes, she glanced up to admire her view of the historic Stone Mountain.
It had endured many wars, countless changes in humanity—the injustice of slavery, the birth and death of the Confederacy, the rise of the New South, the fulfillment of Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, the horrors of annihilation—yet still it stood, proud and immovable.
How many more centuries would it witness?
Would her society rise or fall? She realized the answer rested on every decision she made.
From Root, Resilience.