Chapter 45 Convergence
Chapter forty-five
Convergence
In the air over Verdancia, the next day
Azaleen wore her warmest winter coat, a tam pulled low over her braided hair, and gloves on her hands. Everyone dressed for the cold, despite leaving Nelanta in the heat. The balloon operator had explained that to reach their destination quickly, they would have to ride high-altitude currents.
Letters had gone back and forth for two days, finalizing the arrangements.
An arbiter was coming from Pacifica, and Prime Minister LeCun agreed to be there to apologize for the “unfortunate incident.” The only leader Azaleen hadn’t heard from was Juliette Batise.
Fleetmaster Dawnriver volunteered to ride along and represent AlgonCree in case the high chief couldn’t make it.
Azaleen would love to see the wise old woman again, but half hoped she’d remain in Aurora.
Traveling such a distance so quickly might prove difficult for the elder.
Despite promises and assurances, Azaleen didn’t trust Irons. Though they’d never met, she knew him through his actions. She didn’t trust LeCun because she didn’t know him. He and his isolationist country remained shrouded in myth and mystery. A robot army. Just thinking about it made her jaw tick.
Mayor Micah Dorr of Olive Branch had proven accommodating. Because Verdancia traded with him via riverboat—cotton, textiles, and citrus for their honey, wheat, hard cheese, and wool—and he had no horse in the race, Azaleen trusted him more. This Redfern person from Pacifica was the real wildcard.
“I didn’t know it could be this cold,” Lark said, teeth chattering as she snuggled nearer on the bench.
A blanket stretched across their laps, Camille tucked in on Azaleen’s other side.
The large basket carried twelve travelers: the operator, the queen, Ambassador Navarro, the six members of VERT, Fleetmaster Dawnriver, General Stark, and her son, Eldrin.
Caelen wasn’t happy, but Lark promised to take him on an overnight hunting trip with a camp-out in the woods after they returned.
With Eldrin’s seventeenth birthday just weeks away, it was time.
The only way to prepare him for future leadership was to include him in situations like this—even if it was dangerous.
Sabine had put up a heated argument as to why she should be at Azaleen’s side, but the queen stood firm. “Someone must run the government while I’m gone, and I trust nobody more than you to do so correctly.”
With tearful resignation, Sabine ordered Azaleen to come home safely. She then charged Lark with seeing it done.
The wind whistled in Azaleen’s ears. She tugged her cap tighter.
Wes stood by the pilot, discussing the mechanics of balloon operation, while Captain Moreau and the general peered through clouds with binoculars as if they might actually glimpse the ground.
They had all been encouraged to spread out along the basket for balance and to walk around only if necessary.
Azaleen agreed with Lark. It was entirely too cold.
“How long did he say it would take to get there?” Camille asked as she pressed closer, hugging herself.
“He said, if he can keep finding high altitude currents moving north and west, we could make it by tonight,” Azaleen said. “If we hit some lulls, or he has trouble finding the streams, tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be an icicle,” Camille muttered, her words almost lost to the howling wind.
At least sitting low in the basket, most of it whipped over their heads instead of into their faces.
The light shifted abruptly as they slipped through a break in the clouds, bright for a heartbeat before the gray swallowed them again.
Azaleen glanced across the way at Eldrin, bundled in three layers beneath his coat.
Diego was showing him one of the many firearms he’d brought.
She never wanted a military life for her son, but, recently, he’d been talking more about his uncle Roderic and asking questions about her brother Thalen, whose monument stood in the circle outside their home.
There were so many paths to leadership he could choose from, some better than the warrior’s: the philosopher, the administrator, the sage.
But the choice would be his, not hers. A knot tightened in her chest every time she imagined Eldrin slain in battle, as her big brother had been.
The balloon’s altitude shifts were sometimes quick, making Azaleen feel as if the ground had dropped away beneath her or she’d been yanked upward, her stomach rising into her throat.
At least on the Halcyon, she had felt steady, the water right there.
If something went wrong up here, they would all plummet to certain death.
They didn’t talk much. Conditions weren’t conducive to conversation.
They drank or nibbled food they’d brought when needed, but mostly huddled together for warmth, waiting for the basket to land.
Azaleen appreciated Lark’s presence at her side while her brain ran through countless scenarios: what each leader might say and how she would respond; what proposals and solutions she might offer; what to do if it were all an elaborate plot to kidnap or kill the other heads of state.
Then a touch from Lark, the look of confidence on her face, would steady her, grounding her to a truth no adversary could shake—she was loved.
Upon landing, Lark hopped out of the basket, pack on her back, feeling more grateful than ever to walk on solid ground.
She reached for Azaleen, helping her down behind her.
Luke, Harlan, and Skye stood guard at the landing pad while Diego and Wes assisted Ambassador Navarro and unloaded the luggage and gear.
It was after midnight, the air humid and blessedly warm.
They’d spent nearly twenty hours in the balloon.
Fleetmaster Dawnriver and Ambassador Navarro had complained of nausea but managed the journey without turning too green.
They might have missed the obscure spot if not for the large bonfire serving as a signal.
On the platform, they were greeted by a broad-shouldered man in his late forties with sun-worn skin and steady, assessing eyes. His clothes were plain but well-kept, the kind worn by someone who worked as often as he governed.
“Welcome to Olive Branch,” he said, offering each of them a firm, unhurried handshake. “I’m Mayor Micah Dorr. Glad to see you made it safely. Queen Frost, I presume?”
“Yes,” Azaleen replied. “Thank you, Mayor Dorr, and thank you for agreeing to host this summit. After enjoying favorable relations with your town, I’m pleased to meet you in person.”
“I as well,” he said, and bowed. “The lodge is this way.” He motioned to a gravel road lined with pole lanterns, leading to a single-story building on the edge of town.
Lark stuck close to Azaleen, eyes sharp as she scanned the darkness for signs of danger.
Her machete hung in its sheath from her belt, her crossbow from its cord over her shoulder.
General Stark assumed the queen’s other flank, taking her arm.
Lark struggled to maintain a neutral expression.
She wanted to be the one to officially escort Azaleen, serving as her primary protector.
But, for appearances’ sake, she realized the role should fall to the general.
She would not allow feelings to distract her.
She spotted another balloon moored at the landing strip, its silk black and red. Irons, she presumed. It made sense for him to have arrived first.
Before she could ask, Azaleen inquired, “Who else has landed? Are they also staying in the same lodge house?”
“President Luther Irons and Prime Minister LeCun are here, also with parties of twelve, and I have arranged for each group to have their own quarters,” the mayor explained as he kept pace beside General Stark, his hands clasped behind his back with easy authority.
“Arbiter Tamsin Redfern and High Chief Batise with their escorts are expected tomorrow.”
“I only saw one other balloon at the platform,” Lark mentioned. She took a moment to study Mayor Dorr—an odd name, but an honest-looking, solid man, built more by labor than comfort. A calm floated about him that didn’t invite argument. She narrowed her eyes at him. Looks could be deceiving.
“Prime Minister LeCun’s party traveled overland to the river and continued the rest of the way by boat.
” Dorr smiled at them, easy and neighborly, as if they’d passed on the street every day for years.
Lark’s tension eased. “He and President Irons haven’t spoken since their arrivals, and, I must say, LeCun seemed quite put out by it all. ”
“That may be,” General Stark said, “but he has a lot of explaining to do.”
“You were wise to keep all factions separated before the talks begin,” Ambassador Navarro said. “And we need every safety protocol in place at the location selected for our negotiation.”
“Indeed,” Dorr agreed. “If Your Excellency is agreeable, I thought the conference room in our courthouse would be the best venue. It’s an interior room, easily defensible, and the structure itself is sound, with walls too thick for bullets to pierce.
It has two doors—one leading to the main hallway and the other to a service hallway with restrooms and an exterior emergency exit. ”
“That sounds satisfactory,” Azaleen said.
Lark had been studying the town, though details were lost in the dark.
Many of the stores and businesses appeared unchanged since before the Ruin.
Others reminded her of Saltmarsh Reach, built from whatever salvaged materials were handy.
A windmill whirred overhead near a tall water tower.
Smoke from a smith’s forge lingered in the damp air.
No hum of generators. No jeeps or trucks parked on the street.
No wires hanging overhead. It was a peaceful quiet, with only the crickets, frogs, and katydids surrounding them as they walked.
They stopped on the front porch of a wood-framed building bearing a sign that read, “The Pit Stop.” Inside, several lamps were lit. A full-figured Black woman with a scarf over her head and an apron tied at her waist opened the door.
“Y’all, come on in and make yourselves at home,” she said with a broad grin. “Biscuits and eggs are at seven. Coffee’s on anytime. I’m over yonder in room one. Just knock if you need anything. There are nine other rooms, so some of yous will have to double up. I hope that ain’t an inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” Azaleen replied. “Thank you very much for your hospitality.”
“Well, I’ll be!” the woman exclaimed. “A genuine queen thankin’ me? Can’t wait to tell the ladies at the salon about this. Now, you’ve had a long, tirin’ trip, so go grab some shuteye. I’ll have those biscuits and eggs ready.”
“Madam Queen, General,” Mayor Dorr said. “All of you, enjoy your stay, and don’t worry about a thing. While you’re in Olive Branch, this ground stays neutral. That’s the only way this works. I’ll send word once everyone has arrived.”
“Thank you, Mayor,” Stark said, shaking his hand again. He turned to the VERT soldiers. “Who wants first watch?”
Lark tensed, her pulse quickening. She wanted to stay with Azaleen in her room, never leaving her side all night—well, what remained of it.
“I will,” Harlan volunteered. He slid the bolt on the lodge door and propped himself in the nearest chair, long rifle across his lap.
“Prince Eldrin, why don’t you share a room with me?” Luke said. Eldrin nodded without looking to his mother first.
“Queen Frost, it would make the most sense for us to share a room,” suggested Skye’s aunt.
Lark scowled. It would make more sense for you and Skye to share a room, she thought.
Azaleen turned to Lark, catching her gaze. Love and regret mingled in her eyes. Lark nodded. “That’s a good idea,” she said, pushing her own desire aside. “I don’t like the idea of the queen being alone.”
“Well, if you two have decided, there’s no point in me arguing,” Azaleen said, tongue in cheek.
“Take room number three,” Luke directed as he came back down the hall. “It’s in the safest location. I’ll be in two with Eldrin when I’m not patrolling the hallway.”
“I guess that leaves you and me, roomie.” Skye strolled up behind Lark and clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“Right.” Lark and Skye strode down to number six.
Skye turned the key in the lock. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lark said as she dropped her gear inside the room—all but her machete, crossbow, and bolts. “I’ll be on the other side of her door all night. I trust Luke, Diego, and the others, but another layer of security never hurts.”
“But what about sleep?” Skye peered at her with concern.
“Who can sleep?”
“I hear you.” Skye sat on the bed, her focus still on Lark. “High Chief Batise is coming. Do you think Renée will be with her? Will she remember me?”
Skye’s worried expression teased a smile from Lark, despite her tension. “I’m sure she remembers you. You’re kind of hard to forget—all bossy and snarky. Easy on the eyes to boot.”
Skye laughed and shook her head. “Watch it, plebe. Go on. Stand guard over your lover. I’ll just lie here by myself, tossing and turning.”
Lark snickered. “I love you too.” Closing the door behind her, Lark took position outside room number three, alert to every sound and movement. She’d napped on the balloon ride anyway.