Chapter 29 New Threat Rising
Chapter twenty-nine
New Threat Rising
The next day
Azaleen sat in the chair by the window in her office, a tattered copy of War and Peace on the tea table, a bookmark a third of the way through. She felt relaxed—and oddly contented—as she sipped tea and reviewed correspondence and her agenda with Sabine.
Sabine sat at an angle between the desktop and Azaleen. “I stacked these in the order I believe you’ll wish to open them,” she said, handing several letters and pigeon tubes to her. “The one on top is from Lord Whitfield.”
Setting her cup aside, Azaleen quickly opened the tube. “Good man. No time wasted getting back to me. I was afraid he might hem and haw. It was a big ask.”
“Whitfield is loyal, and he understands the stakes.” Sabine held her breath, as surely as Azaleen did.
Exhaling slowly, Azaleen read from the curled paper. “Clearwater can’t stand without Stonevale. My forces are on their way to back up Calder. Heaven help us all.”
Tension tugged at her shoulders. The queen ignored it. Let Luther Irons come and yank a noose around her neck—for the first time in years, Azaleen was in love.
“I knew he’d come through,” said Sabine. “Azaleen, it’s good to see you like this. I’m very happy for you.”
She smiled and picked up the next letter, this one in a sealed envelope from Cassandra Cade. “Thanks, dear, but, if we don’t solve our current dilemma, I’m afraid my romance—and my life—will quickly come to a searing end. We need ideas, options, a backup plan.”
She opened Lady Cassandra’s letter and read it aloud as well.
“Dear Queen Frost,” it began. “The Red River Republic Army has arrived, and this might be the last communication I can send before General Garcia concludes that a siege is his only recourse. While we might have disagreed on some national priorities, and you may consider me a free agent, now, with our backs against the wall, I only wish to say, I am proud to call you queen. Once I envied you; older and wiser, I now respect and admire you. The Cade family will not abandon Marchland. I will not betray you. Sending my hopes, prayers, and all the luck I can spare, Cassandra.”
“This is inspiring news,” said Sabine. “Verdancia’s three most prominent houses have all thrown their full support behind you.”
Azaleen set the letter atop her book. “What other choice do they have—surrender?” She shook her head. “Still, it’s nice to hear. I’d rather one of them propose a brilliant strategy.”
“Whitfield is sending his troops to Stonevale, and the AlgonCree Navy is moving upriver to support Marchland,” Sabine pointed out. “All might not be lost.”
“You’re a good friend, Sabine. Have I ever told you that?”
She smiled, rose blooming in her cheeks. “Many times, as you are to me.”
Azaleen moved on to the next pigeon tube. “Mayor Hawkins of Troy,” she read. “There’s Iron Army goons crawling all over. Do something.” She pursed her lips, lifting a brow. “Well, Mayor Hawkins, welcome to Verdancia.”
Sabine snickered.
As the queen lifted the next envelope, someone pounded at the door hard enough to rattle their teacups. “Queen Frost, are you in there?” It was Desmond Shaw. No point expecting proper decorum from him.
“Come in, Secretary Shaw,” she replied with irritation.
“I know, we have a meeting later, but this can’t wait.” The tall man, still wearing his hat and yesterday’s clothes, waved scraps of paper at her. “You’re not going to believe this!”
Azaleen sent runners to every cabinet member’s home and to fetch Captain Moreau.
Her stomach coiled like a spring wound too far, every nerve frayed.
It was impossible, yet three separate reports gave the news credibility.
She had no idea what it meant. Worst of all, she realized she’d have to send Lark away again, into an extremely volatile situation none of them had faced before.
She sent the Capitol staff away, dispensing with pleasantries like tea and pastries, and ordered the guards to wait outside the war room. When the door closed, puzzled faces all around—Silas Beaudean and Reuben Stark, unshaven—she strode to the map table and slapped down a new marker.
“Shaw, tell them,” she instructed, clutching the edge of the wood to keep from shaking. She gritted her teeth, still not knowing what to believe.
“I have associates up in the borderlands,” he began. “We keep in touch, do each other favors now and then. I woke up to three pigeons arriving with three individual reports claiming the same thing. Now that ain’t no accident.”
“The borderlands?” General Stark rose, pinning Shaw with a puzzled expression as he motioned to the pages in his hand. “What do they say?”
“Let me read them.”
All eyes were on Shaw, except for Azaleen’s. She studied the map, listening to be sure what she heard and read hadn’t been a dream.
“Des, white and silver metal soldiers without faces, marching toward Stonevale. Craziest thing I ever seen. Figured you should know.” He flipped to the next one.
“Shaw, you better get up here. These robots’ guns spit fire, not bullets.
And this one is from a fella I met when Jamila and I first crossed the border from Appalachia twenty-two years ago. ”
He held up the missive. “Des, that crazy Core Cult built a mechanical army, and it’s headed for Stonevale. Maybe a few days away. Hell, what’s the world coming to?”
“Oh my God,” gasped Camille. The others sat or stood in stunned silence for several seconds.
“Our estimates,” Azaleen said, pointing to the map, “based on where Shaw says these people live, put them here. We don’t know how many, what their purpose is, or who specifically is operating them. We don’t even really know what ‘they’ are.”
“How reliable are these sources, Desmond?” asked Beaudean. He rubbed his stubbled face, eyes still rounded.
“Mountain folk. Keep to themselves, but honest. Not the hysterical type,” he answered. “And they live pretty far apart. They wouldn’t just make this up.”
“Who could?” asked Rosalind, her dark face pale with fright. “Science fiction. Could they really have done it?”
“I think the relevant question is why,” Vera said.
Azaleen met her gaze. This hurried early meeting explained the rarity of Vera’s hair being worn down, as she probably hadn’t time to arrange her usual style. “Exactly.” Leaving the table, Azaleen paced.
“Camille, are you sure there was no response from Clover Hollow?” she asked. “Perhaps the pigeon was killed by a hawk. Could the Oligarchy be answering our call for help?”
The ambassador lifted empty palms and shook her head. “No reply.”
Stark moved to the map, leaning over to inspect the new marker. “Or,” he proposed, his mustache twitching, “have they thrown in their lot with the Republic? Maybe that’s who they’re heading to help.”
“Why?” queried Shaw. “The Republic’s military can crush us without their help.”
“Maybe,” Azaleen said, steel in her voice. “So far, they’ve demonstrated a lack of leadership and restraint. We haven’t lost yet, and we won’t as long as I draw breath. Maybe this is one of their experiments that went wrong.”
“We can conjecture all day,” Vera countered, clearly shaken by the reports. “Until we see for ourselves, there’s no way to know.”
“Precisely.” Azaleen pivoted to Luke. “Which is why, Captain Moreau, I must rely on VERT again. Make haste to find this supposed army of robots. Send detailed information fast. How many are there? What humans are with them? Are they still on track for Stonevale? What are these fire-shooting weapons? Do not—under any circumstance—engage these hostile machines. Observe. Report. Stay alive.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snapped to a sharp salute.
“Considering the terrain, the need for speed, and your nonengagement directive, I recommend that the whole team ride motorcycles. Private Sutter can carry the pigeon crate on her back. We won’t require big guns or heavy equipment, and we might need to spread out over several kilometers to avoid missing them.
Specialist Walker has radios that function at that distance. ”
“Permission granted,” General Stark answered before Azaleen could. “Take whatever you need and find out what the hell is going on up there. Mother of Ruin, what are those lunatics up to?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a pained expression creasing his weathered face.
“Be quick,” the queen charged, staring Luke in the eyes, “and be careful.”
“Understood.” With a direct about-face, he exited the war room.
Azaleen wanted to rush through the door with him, find Lark, hug and kiss her before they set off.
It’s what she longed to do with every fiber of her being.
Unfortunately, there was no time for sentiment.
They’d enjoyed a wonderful night together in her bed.
Caelen had been thrilled Lark was staying over—though she was certain he didn’t understand what that entailed.
Eldrin had merely smirked, keeping any criticism he might harbor to himself.
Will they accept her? No. No thinking about that now, Azaleen rebuked herself. One crisis at a time.
Returning her attention to her cabinet, the queen pulled her shoulders back. “Secretary Navarro, try again. Send another epistle, informing them we’re aware of the mechanical soldiers’ approach and asking whether their intent is hostile.”
“Right away.” Camille opened a notebook in her lap and pulled a pencil from her handbag.
“General Stark.” He met her gaze, one hand resting on the map table, the other on his hip. “We need a backup plan. Gather your sharpest minds and consider every unconventional angle. What do we do if Marchland, Stonevale, or both fall?”
“Yes, Madam Queen,” he said gravely. “I’ll search my war history books as well.”
“That’s the man I know and trust.” Azaleen felt one pebble lift from the mass of concerns weighing on her. “What would Alexander the Great do?”
Reuben’s countenance lit, hope returning to his eyes. “In three thousand years, he’s the only general who never lost a battle despite being often outnumbered.”
“Vera, you’re good with numbers.” Azaleen shifted to her finance secretary. “Work up the logistics for an evacuation of Nelanta if it comes to that. How long would it take, the best paths of retreat, the best places to hide? How many ships and boats do we have? How many citizens could we save?”
Even as she issued the directive, a sharp pain stabbed her gut.
Too many wouldn’t make it, and the conquerors would enslave them.
The rest would wander as refugees. High Chief Batise would let them settle in the Frostlands, she thought.
But my people have adapted to a different climate.
Life would be hard, but at least they’d be free.
No. We still stand. I trust General Longstreet, and Calder—he’d die before a white flag flew over Stonevale.
“Beaudean, make sure food gets to our soldiers. Shaw, keep searching for ammunition caches we haven’t uncovered in forty years. We need every bullet.”
He nodded, tipping his hat.
“What about me?” Rosalind asked. “My librarians report that books and artistic treasures have been locked away in vaults all across the country. Schools are still open in most towns, but—”
“They should remain open as long as it’s safe,” Azaleen said. “Maintaining routine and normalcy is essential. Schools and churches make people feel safe. If we start closing them, some are likely to panic, start looting, and resort to other desperate measures.”
The queen passed her gaze around at her cabinet—some seated, others standing, all drawn tighter than a bow.
“We will do all we can for as long as we can. What hope is there left in the world if we don’t shine its light from our Stone Mountain?
Chief Fontaine, I wish to address the people. Please arrange it.”
Lark has given me strength and hope. It’s time I do the same for Nelanta.
“Meeting adjourned.”