Chapter 36 Where Duty Leads
Chapter thirty-six
Where Duty Leads
Nelanta, three days after the Kingdom Day Festival
“Don’t forget your lunch,” Azaleen said, handing Caelen a repainted tin lunchbox.
“Thanks, Mom!” Caelen grinned and bounded out the door.
Eldrin, dragging his feet after the eventful weekend, turned to her. Soon he’ll be taller than me, she thought, almost sorry to see him growing up. “Why do I have to go to school? Grandfather says I should have tutors at home instead of being crammed in with commoners.”
“Your grandfather has his own ideas about things,” Azaleen explained. “But learning cooperation and how to work well with others is vital to running a kingdom. You can’t get that here with only your little brother as a collaborator. Would you really prefer to do projects with Caelen every day?”
With a huff and an eye roll, Eldrin admitted, “No,” in a decisive tone. “It’s just weird. One day I’ll be telling all my current classmates what to do.”
Azaleen’s eyes crinkled with her warm smile as she stroked the peach fuzz on Eldrin’s face.
“Not directly—most of them. Then again, some will become managers and others workers. Those who get ahead will become the bosses over the ones with less skill or ambition. The important thing is the ability to communicate. A good leader doesn’t issue orders—he or she leads by example.
You do that already on your sports team.
Now go, have a good day.” She kissed his cheek for good measure.
“Yeah, I guess. Can we have pizza for dinner?”
“Sure. I’ll tell Maggie.”
“Thanks, Mom!” and Eldrin was off at a jog, catching up to his little brother. Dark clouds threatened rain.
Azaleen closed the door, informed Maggie of the menu, and hurried upstairs to get ready for her day. The regular Monday morning cabinet meeting was first on her agenda.
She found herself in a hopeful mood after the successful weekend.
The Calders, Whitfields, and Cades hadn’t erupted into open warfare, nor had they rallied to usurp her throne.
To her relief, they all seemed to enjoy themselves.
Yesterday, she’d found unexpected pleasure worshiping at Namaste, a New Religion church.
Dedicated to remaining impartial, Azaleen attended a different church each week, as she was able.
She took her sons to expose them to various tenets and teachings, encouraging them to pay attention to commonalities and differences between the religions.
That way, they’d possess the knowledge and impressions needed to decide what they believed for themselves.
Azaleen sat near the front of the congregation—not because she coveted a seat of honor, but so everyone would notice she was there, showing respect for their faith.
As she and the boys entered, she’d spotted Lark sitting in the back.
Azaleen couldn’t fathom why her heart fluttered when she looked at her.
She’d told herself it was just nice to recognize someone she knew in the sanctuary.
However, more than once, she’d felt the uncanny sensation of being watched, and wondered if Lark’s eyes were on her.
She didn’t turn around. Her focus had to remain on the facilitator and the service. Still, it was a pleasant experience.
She plucked an umbrella from the stand and crossed the street, passing the monument to her brother that she had no choice but to observe at least twice a day—a constant reminder of the pain of his loss and the reality of why she wore the crown.
Soon, all the secretaries had joined her in the War Room, and the meeting got underway.
“I would like to begin this morning by thanking Chief of Staff Fontaine for organizing a successful Kingdom Day Celebration. It was well attended, and everything went off without a hitch. Well,” she corrected as an afterthought, “except for the stilt-walking juggler who broke his nose missing a catch.”
Sabine blushed. Silas Beaudean seconded her sentiments, saying, “It was a good day all around.”
“Madam Queen, fellow cabinet members?” Secretary Camille Navarro raised a hand, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have an urgent matter to discuss that concerns us all.”
General Stark shifted forward in his chair as all eyes turned to the diplomat. Azaleen hadn’t been briefed yet on whatever she had to say. “Yes?”
“When I arrived this morning, a despatch was on my desk from the AlgonCree. Overnight, a pigeon returned with their reply. We need to consider this proposal very carefully.”
“Of course,” Azaleen responded. “Read it.”
“It’s rather lengthy,” Camille said, concern etched on her face. “But the gist is that before they can sign a treaty, High Chief Batise wishes to look into your eyes, weigh your words, and glimpse your soul,” she stated, gazing straight at Azaleen.
“They want our queen to travel all that way—past the Core Cult and the Dead Coast—so their chief can look at her in person?” General Stark’s voice dripped with incredulity. “Preposterous!”
“I agree,” declared Rosalind Keane, eyes sharp, jaw set. “It’s too dangerous.”
“The logistics would be a nightmare,” Vera Sutherland added in a pointed tone.
Silas gestured toward the open windows. “Hurricane season is getting underway. That would create hazards for travel by boat or balloon.”
“There’s no safe passage through Appalachia,” Desmond Shaw reminded them as he fingered his hat between his hands. “Their borders remain closed, and if they caught you …” The implication hung in the air.
“Why doesn’t she come here?” Stark asked, his bushy brows drawn together in suspicion.
“We could request a compromise,” Camille suggested. “Maybe select a neutral meeting spot.”
Azaleen glanced around the room, the massive carved map table claiming the middle ground.
Her cabinet mirrored the kingdom’s diversity.
Three men, three women; two Black, three White, one mixed-race—two if you counted Sabine—whose ages spanned three decades.
Seldom had they all agreed on anything. Yet, on this point, her cabinet stood in solidarity.
“We’ll find another way,” Rosalind asserted.
Azaleen rose, walked to the map. Peering down, she judged the distance from Verdancia to AlgonCree, the perils in between.
Her focus shifted west, to the Red River Republic.
The five thousand recruits from Clearwater had been dispatched, split between Fort Hammond, Fort Jasper, and New Charleston Point.
She drew her finger through the Gulf speculatively.
“Queen Frost cannot leave the country when our enemy mobilizes his invasion forces,” Stark avowed.
Her gaze moved up the Mother River from Fort Hammond to Marchland and beyond.
Stonevale was fortified to the northeast of Marchland, but only farmland and small villages lay between.
Too many variables. Too many weaknesses.
Not enough troops or ammunition. We need an ally.
If Verdancia is to survive, if my father and grandfather’s vision of a peaceful refuge of hope is to endure, I must secure this treaty.
While I focused on butter, Irons chose guns.
Now he has nothing to feed his people, and I haven’t enough of an army to defend mine.
Only the AlgonCree have remained receptive to peaceful relations.
The Confederacy of Pacifica is too far away and disorganized. Our only hope lies with the Frostlands.
The secretaries had continued espousing reasons for Frost to stay put, proposing alternatives to the hazardous journey. She walked to the top of the map, taking up a position at the northeast corner. Lifting her chin, Azaleen adopted a regal posture and passed her gaze among her advisors.
“I’m going.”
Secretary Beaudean stopped mid-sentence. Silence fell as shock rippled through the room.
“You can’t,” Shaw proclaimed.
“I can, I must, and I will. I appreciate your concern, but the final decision is mine. My life is trivial compared to that of our nation. High Chief Batise wishes to meet me face-to-face. I can respect that. Camille, please compose a reply telling her I am honored to accept her request and will arrange travel immediately.”
“But, my queen—” Sabine’s voice faltered. Leaving her stance by the door, she took a tentative step forward.
Azaleen stretched taller. “This is my decision. It is the only decision. Without an ally, we might postpone the inevitable, but we won’t prevail.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” General Stark declared.
The queen met his eyes. “No, Rueben. You must remain here in case the Iron Army strikes.” Regaining her commanding air, Azaleen ordered, “In my absence, General Stark will be in charge of finalizing all decisions. Sabine will be here to see to the day-to-day running of the government. All of you must continue to operate your departments as usual.”
“But Your Excellency,” Silas protested.
Azaleen raised a palm, jaw set, eyes hard. “Secretary Navarro, I won’t order it, but I’ll ask—will you accompany me?”
“Certainly,” she replied without hesitation.
“But your security.” Stark rose to his feet in objection.
“I’ll bring VERT as an escort,” Azaleen said.
“There’s a sailing craft, a cutter, that my father restored.
It’s docked in New Charleston Harbor. We took a week-long trip on it when I was young.
It’s a sound craft, and the wharf master keeps it in top condition.
Shaw, dispatch a balloon at once to scout the weather in the Atlantic.
I’d like to set sail no later than the day after tomorrow. ”
Shaw nodded. “I’ll get on it. Madam Queen, are you sure you want to do this? It’s a tremendous risk.”
“My mind is made up. I will go, take the proper gifts, and meet with the chief so she may discern my sincerity. I also must impress upon them the danger Luther Irons poses to their nation. He has publicly proclaimed his commitment to Manifest Destiny—which means eventually he’ll come for them too.
Now that this is settled, let’s move on to the other business for the week. ”
Shaw excused himself to send out the hurricane hunters, and the meeting proceeded on an uneasy note. Azaleen remained steadfast in her decision.
Afterward, she went home, visited with her mother, shared pizza with her sons, then began packing.
She would need appropriate travel clothes and something presentable for meetings with the chiefs.
Sabine had sent a message by pigeon to the wharf master at New Charleston Harbour to get the cutter ready to sail and hire a skipper.
“Mom, I should come too.” Turning from her closet to her bedroom door, Azaleen stared at Eldrin.
“There’ll be later opportunities for you to travel and meet other heads of state,” she answered.
Leaving her packing, she crossed to him, took his hands.
In a soft but resolute voice, she said, “If anything were to happen to me, you’re next in line.
That means, in dangerous situations, it’s best we be in different places.
One of us must remain in safety at all times—especially now that you’re older.
But I’ll be all right. Captain Moreau and his team are the best. I love you, Eldrin.
Watch after Caelen while I’m gone. I’ll bring you something from the Frostlands. ”
In a rare display of emotion, her teenage son wrapped his arms around her in a powerful hug. “You’d better come back safely. I’m not ready to be king.”