Chapter 46 The Conclave
Chapter forty-six
The Conclave
A quarter to ten, the next morning
Skye ran the brush through her long, brunette hair one more time. “Are you sure I look OK?”
Lark stood behind her, leaning against the wall with her arms and boots crossed, looking way too relaxed with her simple fade that never needed brushing.
“You look great—honestly.”
Skye fastened, then unfastened the next-to-top button on her uniform shirt. “How many buttons? I don’t want to look stiff or slutty. There doesn’t seem to be an in-between.”
Ten minutes ago, they received word that all parties had arrived.
The AlgonCree had checked into their accommodations an hour before that.
Why were they so slow delivering messages in this town?
Skye couldn’t be certain Renée was with them, but it would make sense.
Her grandmother had been encouraging her to become a diplomat, an ambassador like Aunt Camille.
Surely the high chief brought her along.
“She won’t be looking at your buttons,” Lark said. “Her focus will be on your eyes—trust me.”
“I wouldn’t mind if she notices some of my other assets too.” Skye turned around to face her friend. “How did you get Queen Frost to notice you?”
Lark shrugged, letting her arms drop. “I don’t know—get shot?”
“Oh, she had her eye on you before that,” Skye said. “Besides, I really hope no shooting breaks out. But if it does …” She began to speculate how she could throw herself in the line of fire to protect Renée Rivard, whose graceful dance movements had hooked her the first time she’d seen the woman.
Skye had enjoyed the company of men and women, had fun times with both.
They had all been temporary flings, a way to unwind, explore fresh experiences, or build friendships.
None had stuck with her, carving out a place in her thoughts like Renée had.
It was silly. They only spent a few days together, lived thousands of kilometers apart, and had hardly anything in common.
Or maybe they did. Skye just wanted the opportunity to find out.
“Stop it!” Lark snapped. “Getting shot is the worst way to grab someone’s attention. Besides, I’m pretty sure she noticed you. Now, hurry up, or there’ll be no time to say hello before the summit starts. We’ll be on duty then, staring down the Iron Guard and whoever LeCun brought with him.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nerves twisted in Skye’s stomach. “Come with me? Aunt Camille is assisting Queen Frost, prepping her for the meeting. You’ll still get to see her before they get locked in for who knows how long.”
Lark pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll walk down the street to their inn, but then I’m coming right back here. They will not head out to the courthouse without me at Azaleen’s side.”
Skye let out a breath and squared her shoulders. “Right. Thanks. Let’s go.”
In daylight, the town bloomed with variety—colors, textures, styles.
They passed an open-air market, with vendors selling from carts under canopies, much like in Nelanta.
It lacked the distressed look of Saltmarsh Reach or the sophistication of Clearwater, projecting a character all its own.
Music drifted from the open door of a coffee and tea shop.
Skye made a mental note to pick up a jar of Olive Branch honey before they left.
“Here we are,” Lark said. “Horseshoe Tavern and Inn.”
“Come in with me,” Skye insisted. “What if she didn’t come?”
Lark had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Five more minutes.”
“Thank you.” They walked through the entry together.
A clerk glanced up. “You’re early for lunch,” he said.
“I’m looking for a member of the AlgonCree party,” Skye said, assuming an officer’s authority. “Ms. Renée Revard, dark hair, twenty years old, slender, about my height.”
The clerk glanced up across the lobby. “Like her?”
Skye spun, her breath catching in her throat.
Renée glided into the large, open room, anchored by seats centered around a dormant stone hearth.
“We’ll take care of that later,” she said to Laurent Kewatin, their keeper of treaties, whom Skye recognized from their time in Aurora.
“Make sure Kookomis is briefed with the new information.”
“Indeed.” Kewatin struck off down the hall. Renée lifted her gaze, and their eyes met across the room. Skye had yet to breathe.
A warm smile widened across Renée’s beautiful face, lighting her eyes. They moved together, not rushed, not a mad dash, but a steady rhythm of feet certain of their path.
“You came,” Skye said. She didn’t know whether to hug her or give her space. What might have changed in the past month? She had felt a connection between them in Aurora. She felt it again now, prickling her senses, teasing her emotions.
Renée reached for her. Skye met her hands, their fingers entwining like braided cords. At her touch, a quiet spark ran up her arm, settling somewhere deep.
“I knew I would see you here,” Renée answered with a warm smile. “I prayed for your safety, and I knew Queen Frost would be guarded by her elite team.”
Skye relaxed, delighted by Renée’s words, expression, and touch. Yes—the eyes. Lark was right … and probably gone by now.
With a chuckle, she said, “You must have some pull with the Creator, because I’ve had some pretty close calls since I last saw you.”
Her eyes dancing and smile widening, Renée dropped Skye’s hands and inched nearer, draping her arms around her neck.
“We pray differently than others. We do not ask, plead, or hope for what we want. Instead, we offer thanks to Creator that the desire is already ours, has already come to pass. Therefore, I could be confident you remained safe.”
“Wow.” Skye blinked, drawing her arms around Renée’s waist. “That’s some kind of faith.”
“It is the proper order. One does not put the cart before the horse, as they say.” She brushed light kisses on Skye’s cheeks and took a step back, gazing into her eyes once more.
A euphoric fog filled Skye’s brain, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand. Isn’t it normal to be thankful for things after you’ve received them?”
Renée’s lips twitched, her nut-brown eyes sparkling with delight. “Normal doesn’t mean correct. The cart is our desire. The horse provides the energy to bring it to us. Therefore, the horse—our vibration of appreciation and thankfulness—must come first, or the cart will never arrive.”
“Huh.” It made an odd kind of sense, though Skye had never heard such a philosophy before. Suddenly, she wanted to know more about how Renée’s people lived, what they believed.
“I have to walk with my grandmother to the courthouse.” Her arms fell away.
Skye felt as if a stone had dropped into her stomach, snatching her joy. Her countenance fell. “Oh, yeah, of course. I didn’t mean to—”
Renée leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. “We will have time later. I promise. Just concentrate on keeping us all safe and pray the leaders don’t kill each other locked in that room.”
Her smile and joy returning, Skye nodded and inched away. “I will. I promise,” she added with a flirtatious grin. “And I look forward to spending whatever time I can with you.”
Renée tossed her hair and winked. “I take it Lark is well?”
“A full recovery.”
“Good. Now, duty calls, Lieutenant. I’ll see you at the courthouse.”
“See you.” Skye left feeling like she might actually float down the street. What kind of spell had that shawl-and-jingle dancer cast on her? Whatever it was, it felt wonderful.
The courthouse’s main hall appeared to belong to a different century, with marble floors, rounded walls, and a lofty domed roof. They had not been allowed to bring weapons inside, which Lark took as an advantage. She figured she was better in a bare-knuckle fight than most in the building.
With the rest of their party talking softly among themselves, Lark faced Azaleen at a respectable proximity and took her hands, their eyes locking. “I’ll be right here,” she said.
“I know.”
Azaleen maintained her cool, regal demeanor, looking every bit a queen in the same dress, sash, and belt she’d worn for the AlgonCree treaty ceremony. Someone had managed to get all the bloodstains out.
“Play nice with our neighbors,” Azaleen said, “and I’ll try to do the same.”
“None of them can touch you,” Lark murmured and gave her hands a squeeze. Then, with a crooked smile, she added, “Well, maybe the old chief, but she’s on our side.”
Azaleen leaned close, pressing her cheek to Lark’s, and whispered, “I wish you could be with me in there.” Then she straightened, releasing Lark’s hands.
“I will be,” Lark replied, touching two fingers to her heart.
Rough laughter echoed across the rotunda.
She glanced over at a man with fancy strawberry-blond hair wearing a western-style charcoal suit, white shirt, and red ascot tie.
He was surrounded by a group of that-a-boy types, several soldiers in familiar Iron Army gray, and one severe-looking blonde woman.
If her bun were any tighter, her powdery pale face might crack.
Luther Irons and his cronies.
An equal distance away stood a dignified, quiet group of studious-looking men and women, uniform in their dress and grooming.
Five guards in stormy sage uniforms, with matte graphite body armor and visored helmets, formed an impenetrable shield around the more delicate-looking figures in their center. The Appalachians.
“Queen Frost?” Mayor Dorr’s distinctive voice drew Lark’s attention back to Azaleen. Her insides drew tight as a bowstring. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to the conference room.”
“Mom?” Eldrin stepped between Lark and Azaleen. “I mean, Madam Queen.” He bowed from the waist, taking her hand like a young gentleman. “Don’t give them any undeserved ground.”
Azaleen beamed proudly at him. “Don’t worry about that, son. Keep an eye on things out here, will you? I love you.” Her eyes swept from Eldrin to Lark before she turned, letting Mayor Dorr escort her away.
Eldrin pivoted to Lark, raising a brow, standing as tall as possible. In a low, deep tone, he inquired, “What are your intentions toward my mother?”
Lark met his gaze, answering without hesitation. “Purely honorable, my prince.”
He moistened his lips, then nodded. “I believe you. You are not, nor will you ever be, my father. But I don’t wish my mother to be alone forever.” Then he frowned. “You’re too young for her.”
“The queen is a vibrant woman,” Lark replied.
“I don’t want to hear that,” Eldrin hissed between his teeth. Rolling his eyes at her, he strode away to stand with Luke and General Stark.
Lark’s gaze trailed Azaleen as she disappeared behind a door. She’s got this.
Tamsin had arranged comfortable armchairs brought in from other rooms in a cozy circle, far enough apart to give each leader a sense of their own space, and close enough together to promote engagement.
Instead of a large table separating factions, she had placed a small tea table draped in white beside each chair, with a pitcher of water, a glass, and a small plate of blueberry-and-honey wafers.
She reserved a seat in the circle for herself between President Irons and Queen Frost, since they had been most actively involved in the conflict.
No one else was allowed in, as the rules required all aides and soldiers to remain elsewhere. Tamsin wouldn’t allow escalation or agitation from others. She had a bell to chime should she require the neutral Olive Branch security officers to intervene.
Though the dossier provided valuable background, many details conflicted, leaving gaps for her to fill as she observed the participants. To avoid fights from breaking out in the lobby or hallway, the leaders were escorted in by Mayor Dorr one at a time. A tiny old woman arrived first.
Sweeping Tamsin with a keen gaze, she declared, “You will do,” and took her seat. Her feet didn’t touch the floor.
“Welcome, High Chief Batise,” she said amiably. “I am Tamsin Redfern, your mediator for today’s summit meeting.”
The old chief giggled, her bright eyes crinkling at the corners. Tamsin tilted her head curiously at the woman.
“I hope you brought lots of strong spirits to consume,” she said in an oddly accented English. “And ropes to tie them all down with.”
“Well, High Chief,” she replied with an amused smile. “I hope neither will be necessary.”
The door opened again, and Mayor Dorr brought in a stunning woman in the prime of her life with hair so pale it glistened like moonlight. “Queen Frost,” she greeted, and introduced herself.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said in a formal tone and shook Tamsin’s hand. When she turned her gaze on the high chief, her icy manner melted. “Juliette,” she gushed.
“Azaleen, dear!” Batise slid out of her chair, her arms reaching toward the queen. They embraced as if they were long-lost cousins reuniting after years. Tamsin instantly knew where these two stood. They would back each other against the men at every opportunity.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Queen Frost said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hadn’t. Fleetmaster Dawnriver is here and would have stood in for you.”
“Bah!” Batise waved it away. “I’ve never been to Olive Branch, and I don’t get many adventures anymore.”
Batise wiggled back into her chair, and Frost took the seat beside her, pouring them both glasses of water.
“Prime Minister LeCun, of Appalachia,” Dorr said as he brought in the next leader. He was an average-looking man with silver hair, glasses, and a bluish-gray suit that buttoned up the middle with a stand-up Mandarin collar.
“Welcome, Prime Minister,” Tamsin greeted, offering her hand. He merely stared at it. Withdrawing her hand, she said, “I’m Tamsin Redfern, your mediator for today.”
He sniffed and ambled to a seat, giving it a dubious look before sitting, his back remaining rigid. “I shouldn’t even be here,” he said with disdain. “The Red River Republic and Verdancia are the powers at war.”
The queen angled her chin at him. “Tell that to your robot army.” And there was that icy glare and cutting tone from her biography.
The next time the door opened, the last participant strolled in as if he owned the room and all its occupants. “OK, people, I’m here, so we can get this shindig started. President Luther Irons,” he said with a tone that suggested he needed no introduction.
“I’ll be right outside,” the mayor said, and quietly closed the door.
Irons frowned, giving Tamsin a confused look. Before she could speak, he gestured to her. “What are you?”
Forcing a polite smile, she extended a hand of greeting. “I’m Arbiter Tamsin Redfern from the Pacific Confederation, here at your request, Mr. President.”
He glanced around the circle before giving her hand a quick shake, then wiped his palm on his coattail. The tension in the room spiked. Tamsin realized she truly had her work cut out for her.