Chapter 28 The Weight of Tenderness
Chapter twenty-eight
The Weight of Tenderness
Lark was happy to be back—to see Azaleen—but the queen was buried in meetings and vital decisions. She was grateful she didn’t have to make them. When Luke was ushered in to give the official report, Skye tapped Lark on the shoulder.
“Let’s go shower and change clothes, get a decent meal.”
“Sounds good to me. Lead the way,” Lark said, smiling. She wanted to look her best when she saw Azaleen.
Skye took Lark to collect her duffel bag, then to her aunt’s house.
It was a comfortable brick home four blocks from the Capitol—with hot running water.
Lark basked in the steam, scrubbing off mud, blood, and sweat.
Wiping fog from the mirror, she inspected herself, then brushed her teeth and hair.
She frowned at her reflection, her deep tan, and the white line of an old scar on her chin.
Her brows were too thick, her lips too thin, her nose slightly crooked.
At least her ears didn’t stick out. Fingering her hair, she decided it was at an awkward stage of growth. Another cut?
Exiting the bathroom in clean jeans and a simple shirt, she said, “The water’s still hot. Do you think I need a trim? My hair’s down to my ears and getting a little heavy on top.”
Skye gave her a quick glance, passing her with a fresh towel over her arm. “It’s fine, but I’ll cut it again if you want. How does Azaleen like it?”
“I think she seemed fond of it when you first cut it,” Lark answered. “She likes brushing her fingers through.” Then she caught Skye’s arm. “Say a word, and you’re a dead woman.”
Skye laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.” Lark got her quick shape-up trim.
After a satisfying meal, Skye headed off to visit her parents across town, and Lark had nothing to do but wait.
She wandered the streets for a while. They were emptier than she remembered from her first visit.
The few people she passed hurried along, heads down, shoulders hunched.
Playgrounds were no longer full of laughing children.
Everyone’s frightened, she realized. Lark wanted to reassure them all, to somehow make the invaders go away.
If she could, she’d sneak into the Republic’s capital, put a knife to Luther Irons’ throat, and demand he pull his army out of Verdancia or else.
She was worried about her father, too. Gramma, Leif, and Bryn were safe for now.
But if the Iron Army advance continued …
Finding herself in the circle looping between the Capitol Building and Azaleen’s house, she stopped and stared up at the statue of Thalen Frost. Azaleen rules in his shadow, she thought.
Every day she must walk past a tribute to her dead brother, one her detractors likely wished stood in her place.
“Thalen would lead our troops to victory,” they might say.
It can’t be easy, yet she does it with such grace and confidence.
“That’s my Uncle Thalen,” said a cheerful voice behind her. “I never met him, but everyone says Eldrin looks just like him.”
Lark’s smile blossomed as she turned to Caelen. He squinted up at her through an afternoon sunbeam, a backpack over one shoulder.
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered. “They say I look like my dad. I remember him a little. Eldrin and I were supposed to have a sister, but she came too soon and was dead. Mom called it a miscarriage, but we don’t really talk about it.”
“I imagine it would be sad for your mom to talk about.” Lark’s heart was pricked. There was so much she still didn’t know about Azaleen, and the more she learned, the more heartache surfaced. Such a strong woman, she thought, and found her love deepening.
“Yeah.” Caelen shifted his posture, his bookbag dropping to the ground. “Hey, you missed our recital last night. Everyone clapped and clapped. They said my piece embodied the mood of the nation.” He wrinkled his nose, lips twitching. “I think everyone’s sad about the war.”
Lark wrapped her fingers around his bag’s strap and thumbed it over her shoulder. “I would have loved to hear you and Eldrin play, but I didn’t get back from Stonevale until this morning. Yeah, I think you’re right about people being sad. You don’t look sad.”
Caelen’s eyes gleamed at her. “I’m happy because you rescued Uncle Roderic. I knew you would. You’re like Spiderman.”
“Come on, Caelen,” Eldrin called impatiently from their front porch. “We have soccer practice in an hour, and I don’t want you complaining about being hungry.”
“Spiderman?” Lark questioned. She angled toward the Frost home, her attention still on Caelen. He fell in line beside her.
“He’s an old comic book superhero. Grandpa Frost kept some comics in a box, and we get to read them sometimes,” he explained. “Spiderman could climb straight up walls like you, and he was a good guy. But he wasn’t real, and you are.”
When they reached the porch, Lark handed Caelen’s bag to him. “I’m real, but I’m no superhero.”
Caelen shrugged. “Close enough. Hey, do you want a sandwich? It’s OK if you come in because you’re Mom’s friend.”
Love, pride, and warmth swelled in Lark’s heart. For Azaleen’s son to accept her—admire her—meant more than she could process. But she didn’t want people to see her walking into the queen’s house, and she wasn’t sure how Eldrin would react.
“Thank you, Prince Caelen, but I just ate a little while ago,” she answered. “Maybe sometime I could hear you play your song. I need to hang outside the Capitol to see what my next assignment is.”
“Right,” he bubbled bashfully. “Someone else might need saving. And you don’t have to call me prince. My brother, Eldrin, is the real prince.”
“You are both real princes,” Lark said, tapping him on the nose, “and don’t you forget it.”
Turning away, she wandered back to the circle and Azaleen’s big brother’s statue.
She thought about her father in Marchland, her little brother, sister, and Gramma in Saltmarsh Reach, and her mother, who had passed into the Universe’s embrace.
He’s not really dead, she thought, looking up at the figure, just not in his physical body anymore.
She wandered the circle, taking notice of the birds, flowers, squirrels, and an orange cat who clearly believed she owned the walkway.
The war hadn’t affected them. Nature wasn’t worried at all.
Maybe it should be, she thought, considering the stories she had heard of the Iron Realm.
But who knew if they were true? General Garcia’s advance—destroying all in his path—was no rumor.
At the sound of Azaleen’s voice, Lark spun, her pulse racing.
The queen descended the front steps beside a striking woman with long black hair, her skin the color of rich tea.
Sabine Fontaine, her chief of staff, Lark recalled.
They altered course, strolling toward her.
Lark swallowed a lump in her throat and straightened into parade rest.
Azaleen flicked a flirtatious glance her way, subduing a smile. “Sabine, you remember Lark Sutter,” she said easily.
Sabine extended a hand, and Lark shook it. “Yes, my queen. Who could forget how she burst into our lives?”
Lark felt her cheeks warm and dropped her gaze to her boots. She’d cleaned most of the mud off, but they would never shine.
“Actually, I have a few questions for our intrepid ranger,” Azaleen said. “Give my love to Ted and the kids, and Sabine—do try to get a good night’s sleep.” She brushed her friend’s fingers, dismissing her with a nod. The look they exchanged told Lark that Sabine knew something lay between them.
She’s Azaleen’s trusted friend. She must have someone to talk to, and I’m glad for it. Lark offered her a small wave.
“Precious.” Sabine turned around, laughing. “Try to sleep yourself.”
Azaleen’s brilliant blue eyes fixed on Lark’s, her lips curving. “Loitering in the circle, are we?”
“Well, not just that,” Lark replied, stuffing her hands into her jeans. “I showered, ate, walked around, had an enjoyable chat with Caelen.”
“Oh?” Azaleen glanced around.
“He’s probably off to soccer practice with Eldrin by now.” Lark cocked her head, brows arched. “Are you familiar with a character called Spiderman?”
Azaleen relaxed and let out an easy laugh. “He told you about Grandpa’s comic book collection, did he?”
“He said I was like Spiderman. Is that a good thing?”
Turning toward her house, Azaleen brushed Lark’s arm. It was a simple gesture—incidental even—but they were outside where people could see. A tingle raced up her arm and cascaded through Lark’s entire body.
“It’s good. Only you’re much more attractive … captivating …” Her voice lowered to a murmur as they meandered around the side of the house. “Stimulating, frisky, bewitching, and thoroughly kissable. Add that the only time I truly feel at ease is when I’m with you.”
Azaleen unlatched the gate to her backyard, surrounded by a six-foot cedar privacy fence.
Lark held the gate open, her gaze tracing Azaleen’s lean lines and tempting curves, while the queen sashayed through.
She threw a coy wink over her shoulder, a blush rising in her cheeks. Lark latched the gate behind them.
“Are you sure it’s all right for me to be here? I mean, before dark and all?”
“I want you to meet my mother.” Azaleen’s tone rang with sincerity and a small measure of doubt. “She might not remember you in five minutes, but it matters to me. Every moment we have before the Iron Army arrives matters.”
They locked eyes for an instant. Lark stiffened. “I’ll get your family to safety when and if the time comes. I swear it.” Her hands curled into fists as a protective fire blazed within her.
“I know.” Azaleen walked with her in silence to the back door.
It was a lovely yard—Stone Mountain in the distance, peach and pecan trees, a bird feeder, flowers, and a small back porch with a swing and outdoor kitchen.
A mixed-race woman in an apron, between Azaleen and Lark’s ages, peered curiously through the open French doors, her expression polite but guarded.
“My queen, are we entertaining company for dinner?” she asked as she dried a pot with a hand towel.
“We are,” Azaleen replied, as if having guests was customary.
A smile widened across the housekeeper’s dusky face. “Very good, Your Excellency. I’ll prepare an extra portion.”
Azaleen led Lark through the dining and living rooms, around a corner, past a bathroom, and knocked. An older, sturdy White woman, her chestnut hair braided around her head, answered.
“My queen, she’s been having a day, but I have her settled down now,” the caregiver said, peeking around Azaleen at Lark.
“Thank you, Sarah,” she said tenderly. “Lark won’t upset her. We don’t know how much longer we have until …”
Sarah nodded in acknowledgment and held the door wide. Inside the delicate woman’s space, pastel walls and dainty lace, Azaleen’s mother lay in a bed resplendent with pillows, covered with a light linen sheet.
At first, she appeared afraid, her nervous glances flicking about, her fingers hooking and looping invisible yarn. Then her eyes lit as if she recognized Azaleen … and Lark.
“Is this the girl?” she asked with interest.
“Yes, Mama.” Azaleen took Lark’s hand and led her to the side of the bed. “This is Lark. She saved me. She makes me feel whole again.”
A wave of euphoria swept through Lark. She gazed with compassion and affection on the woman about her grandmother’s age, yet far frailer.
“I am honored to meet you, Queen Mother Frost,” Lark said, feeling entirely inadequate. Photos, figurines, a music box, a ticking clock, and dozens of curiosities all clamored for Lark’s attention, but she kept her gaze fixed on Orielle.
“Well, come closer,” she said, waving her nearer. “Let me get a look at you.”
Lark shuffled to the head of the bed, not knowing if she should sit or stand or kneel. She had no idea what to say.
“You have a kind spirit about you,” Orielle said. “Take care of my baby girl. She works too much.”
Lark’s lips curved. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.” She felt Azaleen’s warmth at her back as the queen leaned over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Mama. Sarah said you had a rough day. I hope you’ll be up to joining us for dinner.”
Orielle frowned. “I had a good day. Your father and I went out to the park and flew kites, don’t you remember? Thalen’s got caught in a tree. We couldn’t save it, though.”
A distant look clouded her face, and her fingers resumed their air crocheting. Her gaze refocused, and she asked, “Where have you been, Azaleen? Did you finish your homework? Who’s your friend?”
Lark laced her fingers through Azaleen’s and gave her hand a squeeze. Azaleen leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mama.”
They left Orielle’s bedroom, fingers intertwined, their hearts aligned.