Chapter 22 Selective Truth #2
“Quite well, Mr. President.” Jace straightened, adopting an air of importance.
“Working in shifts around the clock has allowed us to double our production. The belts only stop turning on Sundays, so our workers can attend church services and the maintenance crews can attend to any upgrades or repairs. We have a new shipment ready to send to the front on your order.”
“Do it,” Luther said with a proud nod. “Now, on to other business. Beatrice, are any underground resistance factions still propagating the outlandish story about me sending the Army to murder unarmed protesters in Chickasaw?”
Jace’s breath caught in his throat at his father’s words.
This was the incident that led to General Crane’s execution and Colt’s banishment.
Both had sworn the protest was peaceful—until the military arrived.
No weapons. No violence except what Garcia’s troops rained down on them.
Women and children killed. Colt was as annoying as hell, but he never lied about anything.
And yet here was his father calling it an outlandish story.
Jace felt torn between his brother and his dad.
Needles pricked his gut. One of them had lied …
or believed a lie. Colt was there. Dad wasn’t.
He glanced around the table. Graves would say or do anything to advance her position; Quell and Vexler, the same.
Venz was lost in his own little world; it fell out of Ren’s purview, and Reagan was generally out of the loop.
They moved on to other subjects—rationing, propaganda, crowd control, the water crisis. One thing Jace was sure of: they had to win quickly, or people would starve.
Amaretta Irons had just returned from making a public appearance at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new theater opening in Dominion when her husband swaggered into their apartment. She never liked living in the Iron Keep but tried to give it all the elegance and comfort of a proper home.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. Amaretta knew that tone. He was irritated about something.
“The opening ceremony for the new Lakeshore Theater. Remember? It was on the calendar.” Setting her hat aside, Amaretta unpinned her hair. Luther dropped into his favorite chair and threw his feet on the coffee table. He shot her an annoyed look.
“Oh, yeah. I don’t see the point of opening a theater when we have a war to win. Where are the people’s priorities?”
Amaretta opened the window and clicked on a fan.
The keep and a few other buildings had electric generators but not an air-cooling system.
Being the presidential family came with privileges.
“Luther, you know more than most that the people need entertainment, something to think about other than their loved ones’ lives being at risk in Verdancia.
” She slowly crossed the room’s lush carpet, her airy, flowered skirt brushing her calves.
Her husband hmphed, his frown cutting deep.
Settling on the sofa near him, Amaretta gathered her hope. “Any word on how Colt fares in the southwest?”
Dragging his shoes from the table, Luther carelessly knocked some pamphlets and a book to the floor.
Planting his feet, he stared at her in irritation.
“Why should I? Colt’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.
Kid thinks he can run the country better than me?
Let’s see how he does with outlaws and ne’er-do-wells.
You should be proud of Jace,” he said, relaxing at last. “He sat beside me today—did well. You know, he’s doubled production at the factory. ”
“Of course I’m proud of Jace,” she responded, straightening her skirt, avoiding eye contact. “I’m very glad to see him mature and take on more responsibility. Despite Colt angering you, I still love him just as much as I do Jace.”
“Is that so?” He lifted his brows, wrinkling his forehead under his characteristic sweep of ginger-gold hair.
“I want to know how the Verdancians knew we were coming. A trap laid for the ground troops? And the AlgonCree Navy rushing to their rescue? When did Queen Frost have time to secure an ally? This was supposed to be a blitz, a surprise attack.”
Amaretta turned a blank look to her husband and blinked. “I’m sure they have scouts and communication networks, as we do.”
Luther’s expression turned curious. “I thought the Frostlands only had canoes, but one report claims they arrived in twenty-first-century warships that had survived the Reckoning—I mean, the War of Founding.”
With the names of cities, forts, and even the Great and Dreadful War changing regularly, Amaretta imagined it was hard for anyone to keep track—even the man responsible for many of the new names.
“Perhaps they were at sea when the bombs fell,” she suggested.
“Spies,” he growled, twisting his head back and forth as if to relieve a pain. He met her gaze with fire. “It better not be Colt, or you’ll have a funeral to plan. I will not abide a real traitor in the family.”
“Calm yourself, Luther.” She laid a hand on his arm, smiling. “Discussing hypotheticals with Maddox was one thing, but our son would never conspire with the enemy. You know that.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “When is dinner? It’s been a long day. Oh, and, by the way, I’m giving a speech tomorrow. You’ll be at my side, smiling, looking beautiful. I swear, half the crowd only shows up to see you.”
Standing, Amaretta leaned over and kissed his cheek. “The steward said dinner at six-thirty. Long days go hand in hand with the presidency, darling. I’ll stand with you for the speech, as always. Now, I must change clothes while you relax. Shall I ask Jace to join us?”
“Sure.”
Amaretta retired to the bedroom, closed the door, and leaned heavily onto her dresser.
Sunlight streamed through the south-facing windows as she peered into the mirror, staring into her own blue eyes—Colt’s eyes too.
He hasn’t a clue it was me who warned Queen Frost. He can never know.
If it came down to Colt’s life, she’d confess in a heartbeat. She was a mother first, after all.