Chapter 10 Lark and the Ice Queen
Chapter ten
Lark and the Ice Queen
Azaleen studied the young woman on the floor with a heavy heart. She’d been in a meeting with Camille, drafting a letter to High Chief Batise of the AlgonCree, when the commotion started.
“What should I do with her?” Captain Luke Moreau asked, brown eyes twinkling. His crooked grin told her exactly what the leader of the Verdancia Elite Recovery Unit was thinking. She glanced about at four wincing soldiers as two more entered the front room.
“We’re sorry, Madam Queen,” her senior door guard apologized. “I don’t know how she got past us.”
Half a dozen trained soldiers—taken down in seconds by a girl from the coast. Azaleen’s lips had parted in surprise. She closed them, resuming her air of authority.
“Never mind that,” she replied to the guard, then returned her attention to Lark.
The woman was all coiled strength—lean muscles like a wildcat—but her face held pain and raw vulnerability.
Azaleen wanted to help—she truly did—except there was no medicine to give her, and she couldn’t let anyone find out.
People might panic. Looting. Riots. A rebellion?
No. It was better for Lark to believe her a heartless bitch than for the world to exploit her weak position.
It’s all right, Azaleen, she told herself. Moreau’s team is tracking a new lead. A bombed-out pre-war hospital we didn’t know about. Maybe some medicine survived.
“You’ve come far and shown great determination to help your friend,” she told the marshlander.
“I admire that. I’m aware it’s been several years since the last shipment of medical supplies was sent to Saltmarsh Reach, but you know they must be carefully rationed.
A team of the brightest minds is working on recreating pre-war medications, vaccines, and developing new ones.
They report some progress on a shot to prevent harmful reactions to contact with radioactively mutated plants and animals. ”
“I appreciate your efforts, Queen Frost,” Lark said, voice thick with longing. “But Tommy needs treatment now. Today. Before he dies.”
This was not the first time a citizen had come and begged for medicine, and each time it ripped a piece of Azaleen’s heart. She had thought it no longer affected her until she witnessed the lengths Lark had gone to, seen the anguish on her face.
“I can pay.” Lark dug into her pockets, yanking out notes, gold coins, and a pocket watch.
She held it up. “It was my grandfather’s.
Real silver. Keeps accurate time. No battery.
” She popped open the cover, revealing its face.
“See the fine craftsmanship? It’s an heirloom.
And all this money. Surely, it’s enough. ”
Azaleen threw up the old rampart—steeling her heart, locking it down.
Life was hard. People died. It’s not like she was immune to personal loss.
Wouldn’t she have given all to save her brother?
Her father? Her mother’s health? Yes, she would fight for her sons, sacrifice everything for them.
Though she was queen, Azaleen couldn’t produce a cure from dust. She took a bracing breath.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sutter. Right now, all medicine is reserved for the army. Even my family can’t get it.” It was true. The last of the old Alzheimer’s pills were gone, and Verdancia’s researchers hadn’t yet reproduced the formula.
Conviction drained from Lark’s eyes. Tears welled in its place. “Haven’t you ever loved anyone? Just one bottle of antibiotics, a few syringes of penicillin. I’m not asking for much. I’m certain if it were your son, you’d find a way.”
Azaleen bristled. She had loved—once, long ago, before politics and duty took everything.
After decades of loss, she reserved her remaining ounces of love for her precious sons and frail mother.
Caring and being unable to help was more than exhausting—it was torture.
As queen, she had all Verdancia to administer, to protect, to heal—a delicate balancing act.
She couldn’t let this poor woman’s plight throw her emotions off kilter. Azaleen looked at Captain Moreau.
“There might be a solution,” he offered, glancing at Azaleen.
“One that works for everyone. I saw you fight, Ms. Sutter. Impressive. I lead an elite military team, similar to the Old World’s Rangers or Green Berets.
We’re a member down, and I’ve been seeking a replacement.
We all have unique skills, and yours are …
” He looked her over, rubbing a hand to his chin.
“Unique. If you joined my team, you’d essentially be in the military, fulfilling the requirement to gain access to prized commodities not currently available to ordinary citizens. What do you think?”
Azaleen watched Lark as she slowly pushed up from the floor, stretching a centimeter or two taller than herself. She wore rugged adventure clothes riddled with holes and stains, as if Lark were their fourth owner. And something else.
“What’s that smell?” Azaleen wrinkled her nose.
“Sorry. Bear grease. It keeps the bugs off.”
Azaleen took a step back. “We’ll find you something better,” she said, then added, “Captain Moreau’s offer—prime, wouldn’t you say?”
Lark chewed her bottom lip, brows scrunched. “If I say yes, do I get the medicine now?”
Luke stepped in, saving Azaleen from another lie. “One mission first,” he promised. Of course, that was only true if the mission turned up the medical supplies they hoped to find deep in a borderland region.
“It’ll be dicey,” the captain continued.
“I won’t lie about that. Scouts reported a target in the borderlands between Verdancia and Appalachia.
We could encounter warg, mutants, wildlings, and other dangers.
But the payoff could be worth the risk. Not the terrain to send a large force, but our group of five, six—with you—is just right for the job. ”
“So, let me get this straight,” Lark said. “I go on one mission. We retrieve the goods. Then I get medicine for Tommy—and I choose later whether I stay on. That’s the deal?”
Azaleen exchanged a look with Luke. He waited.
She nodded. Meeting Lark’s gaze again, she answered, “Yes.” Maybe there’d be no viable drugs at the site, but there might be.
She couldn’t tell the woman the truth, and she didn’t want to send her away with nothing.
Hope was better than nothing. Besides, she could prove a valuable asset to the Recovery Unit.
Whether the mission was a bust or Azaleen turned her away empty-handed now, Lark would go home hating her as a cruel monarch, uncaring that her people suffered, not knowing that nothing was farther from the truth.
“OK, then.” Lark wiped a hand down her face, nodding. “I’ll do it. I’ll go on the mission.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you in Captain Moreau’s capable hands. Best of luck to you, Ms. Sutter.”
Lark dipped in a clumsy curtsy, then gave up halfway through. “Thank you.”
Azaleen slipped out the back of the Capitol, crossed the quiet street, and entered her home. She eased into Orielle’s room. “How is she?” she whispered to Sarah, who was changing her sheets. The morning hadn’t started well, and Azaleen had worried about her mother since leaving for work.
“Better,” Sarah replied, glancing at the elderly woman, who sat rocking, eyes fixed on the window. Azaleen patted Sarah’s shoulder in appreciation and crossed the room to her mother.
“Beautiful after the rain, isn’t it, Mama?” She rested her hands gently on Orielle’s frail shoulders and kissed her cheek. A delicate shawl crocheted in a diamond tear pattern draped her shoulders. Sarah had brushed her silvery hair and pinned it in a neat bun.
“Who’s there?” Orielle asked, lost eyes peering up at Azaleen.
“It’s me, Mama,” she answered with a loving smile.
“No, no.” Confusion flickered across her face. “I don’t have any children. They’re all gone. Just me … and that redbird over yonder.” She pointed a shaky finger at the cardinal perched on a concrete birdbath, streaked dark with age.
Azaleen’s heart sank. Some days, they could talk—reminisce about her and Thalen’s childhood, laugh about Edric’s courtship. Today wasn’t one of those days.
“Mama.” The word barely left her lips—a dry trickle in the heat of August. She couldn’t stay. Better to face Luther Irons himself—alone, surrounded by howling enemies in an Iron Realm arena—than sit through this slow heartbreak.
“Let’s talk weapons.” Luke Moreau leaned his elbows on the table, keen gaze fixed on Lark.
She had said goodbye to Leif and Milena, sending them home with the promise that help would arrive soon.
She didn’t dare hope. Even if that manipulative queen came through, it could already be too late.
Frost might be drop-dead gorgeous, but she lived up to her name.
She even looked like Elsa from that children’s storybook.
Ice Queen doesn’t begin to cover it. Coercing me into this—and I’ll bet, when I get back, she’ll concoct another excuse. Lies. All lies.
“How long will this mission take?” she asked instead.
They sat in an upstairs room, away from spectators and distractions.
A mixed-race woman about Lark’s age, her long black hair snatched into a high ponytail and sporting camouflage fatigues, slouched in a chair across the table, munching on an apple.
Captain Moreau gave Lark a granite stare. “As long as it takes. Now, have you ever fired a rifle?”
“I shot old man Tucker’s shotgun once. Can’t miss with that, but it packed a kick,” she answered. She scratched a spot on her arm impatiently. “But a bow is my weapon. Won competitions and everything.”
“That so?” questioned the woman opposite her. She crunched into the apple again.
“Yeah, it’s so,” Lark snapped. She wasn’t about to sit here and take it. It’s not like she raced to Nelanta to volunteer for their stupid squad. The captain had handpicked her. She glared back at the woman.
“OK, you two.” Captain Moreau shot them disapproving glances. “Lark Sutter, Lieutenant Skye Navarro. Behave.”
Navarro shrugged. “I’m communications, hacking, stealth, and speak four languages. Comes in handy when we run into those Core Cult nutcases.”
“Hacking? What does that even mean?” Clearly unaware of the lingo, Lark gave Skye a sarcastic expression. These two were wasting time. They should be on the road to this target, not shooting the breeze. Tommy needed those antibiotics now.
“Those people to the north have computers—some, anyway. Working radios, rechargeable electronic devices,” Skye expounded like she was the expert on everything, and Lark was some hillbilly who had trouble slopping the hogs.
“Not all of them, mind you, but they’ve got more tech than we have,” she continued, “and no plans to share a lick of it.”
“Well, I’m a badass fighter with gravity-defying acrobatic skills, a crack shot with a bow, and more grit than you could dig up in a quarry.”
“Good,” the captain declared. “Let’s act like we’re all on the same team. Now, Lark, I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”
She watched him move to a trunk along the wall before shifting a glare at know-it-all Skye Navarro. Moreau set the weapon on the table in front of Lark, and she examined it while he talked.
“This is a rapid-fire crossbow developed by our weapons designers. It might be a tad heavier than your wooden bow, but it packs a punch. See this cylinder? It holds eight composite bolts. We’ve got a factory that melts down scrap and pours it into molds, so we’ve got plenty.
Still, retrieve the spent ones when you can.
Anyway, you set the bowstring like this, then aim and pull the trigger.
It fires the bolt, turns the cylinder, and readies the next one in under two seconds.
Then you’re ready to fire again. Run out?
Simply pop out the empty cylinder,” he demonstrated as he explained, “and click in a full one. Reload time, ten seconds if you have a spare handy. With this bad boy, you can fire twenty-four shots in a minute, once you’ve practiced a few times. ”
Lark took the crossbow in her hands, tested its weight, aimed it at a vase across the room. “I’d like to practice with it.” She didn’t want to appear too eager, but she couldn’t hide the gleam in her eye at the prospect of what this bow could do.
“We have guns, just have to ration the ammo,” Skye said. She tossed her apple core into a wastebasket two meters from her chair. It rolled in like water down a drain. Lark wanted to roll her eyes.
“So, how are we getting there?” Lark asked. “Horses?”
“You want to move fast, right?” the captain asked. She nodded. “We’ve got a Jeep and two dirt bikes, adapted to run on ethanol. We’ll carry fuel. Half of the trip will be over usable roads, which will help speed up the timeline. Still, it’ll take a few days.”
Skye leaned in, expression grim, bravado and brash joking aside. “We’re raiding an abandoned old hospital. Our scout said it didn’t look like anyone had found it, so we could hit a jackpot. You understand the stakes, don’t you?”
“I do.” The words grounded her. There was still a chance.