Chapter one
No Cure for Mercy
Ashland, the former North America, Kingdom of Verdancia, Capital city of Nelanta 2119 CE, 45 NE (New Era)
“Execute them.” The decree fell with practiced ease from Queen Azaleen Frost’s lips, as if she’d been reciting it since childhood. No one in the hall blinked an eye.
“Shall I make it public, Your Excellency?” inquired General Reuben Stark, Verdancia’s Secretary of Defense. He lifted bushy, grayish brows over keen, deep-set eyes, a gray moustache dominating his blocky face.
Azaleen took a beat to consider—consequences either way. She shifted in a cushioned armchair and glanced around the once-grand entryway of the 120-year-old Georgian Revival mansion in Stone Mountain’s shadow. One hand absently smoothed the sheer ice-blue kaftan over a spaghetti-strap midriff top. A breeze from the oversized windows carried the fragrance of azaleas, a welcome reprieve from the early summer heat. The silver diamond tiara ringing her palest blonde hair and the ruby ring on her left hand quietly proclaimed her as Verdancia’s ruler.
If she held the execution publicly, it would indeed serve as a deterrent. However, it would also feed her reputation as a ruthless autocrat drunk with blood and power. Three hundred thousand residents of the capital, nearly threemillion in the country, depended on her. Most were poor, uneducated, and scared. She needed their respect—not their fear.
The queen’s gaze swept the government officials, staff, and security lining the foyer, spilling onto the grand arched stairways to the left and right of center. The walls gleamed pristine white, and the woodwork shone. Dangling overhead was an exquisite crystal chandelier that hadn’t worked in Azaleen’s lifetime.
The five unscrupulous bandits who kneeled before her, sorry heads bowed, were all that remained of a gang that had attacked a convoy bound for Marchland. Marchland—the kingdom’s most critical military post, perched on bluffs above the Mother River (the Mississippi when this estate was built)—was the primary defense against the Iron Wastes to the west. That shipment contained the last of the kingdom’s medical supplies her family had hoarded before the War of Ruin and most of what they’d procured since.
The queen clenched her jaw, a wrathful vein pulsing in her neck.Why the hell did Grandfather insist on giving aid to every soul who knocked on his door? Sure, prepper supreme that he was, he’d stockpiled enough to see us through ten generations—then gave most of it away before Dad put a stop to it. And these imbeciles …
Antibiotics, insulin, morphine, life-saving drugs, all smashed. Wasted. Now, only a few bottles of Tylenol and Dramamine remained. Maybe her researchers in the bunker of the old CDC facility would come up with something. No one could know. If her enemies discovered the truth, she would appear weak. That mustn’t happen. She wanted to have these thoughtless criminals drawn and quartered, their heads mounted on pikes in the public square. Her ire thirsted for them to suffer for their greedy betrayal. But Azaleen Frost seldom got what she wished for.
“Ready the gallows. They shall have a swift death. And carry it out late at night, without announcement or spectators. The last thing the people need to witness is more death. Sabine, prepare a statement for the morning papers. Five criminal raiders were executed for crimes against the kingdom, including robbery and murder. List their names and origins. Short and to the point.”
“Yes, my queen.I’ll see to it.” If Azaleen hadn’t been so angry, she would have smiled at her childhood friend, who now served as her chief of staff.
So few I can trust,she thought. Sabine Fontaine—long black hair, angular face, thirty-eight—was more than trustworthy; she was exceptional at her job.
“General Stark, get these vermin out of my sight.” Azaleen’s nostrils flared at her sharp inhale as she grappled with a temper threatening to explode.I’ve heard rumors of outlanders stockpiling the old medicines in Skyhold, west of the Dead Coast. Maybe …
“Right away, Queen Frost. Midnight execution. No announcement, no crowds. Sergeant?” The distinguished general, a battle-hardened veteran who’d seen more action than most soldiers alive, handed the criminals over to the sergeant-at-arms to carry out Azaleen’s orders. In a robust voice, he called, “Are there any more cases to hear today?”
Verdancia was a very young nation—Azaleen was only its second ruler after her father, King Edric the Unifier, First Sovereign of Verdancia—and had yet to create a viable court system. Matters of greatest importance were brought before her to render judgment. She hated it, but it was better than having ill-prepared, easy-to-bribe men and women doing a poor job.
When nobody else came or was brought forward, she declared, “Court dismissed.” Rising from her seat, Azaleen lifted her chin, surveying the room. “Council meeting upstairs in the War Room in thirty minutes.” Turning aside to her chief of staff, the queen lowered her voice. “Sabine, where is my procurement secretary? Where’s Franklin Pickett?”
Chatting as they went, the others wandered toward the restrooms or the refreshment station, attended by well-dressed staff members. Azaleen took Sabine aside, beneath an arched staircase. Her aide seemed worried. Nervous. Her fingers twirled as she gnawed her bottom lip. Sabine looked especially pretty today, her hair twisted up off her tanned neck, exposing a delicate throat. The summer green of her dress complemented her deeper skin tone. As attractive as Sabine was, she was off limits.A friend. My chief of staff. Married. Children, even. Focus!Queen Frost hadn’t the luxury of sentiments such as love; still, she’dwelcome the exhilaration and release of sex occasionally. That point, too, was moot.
“What is it?” Azaleen’s icy tone froze any warmth she felt for her aide. “I know that look.”
“Um, well, several days ago, Secretary Pickett ventured into a red zone. Alone. By himself, and, well, nobody’s heard from him since.”
“What?” This was the last straw. If anyone should know better, it would be Pickett. He was from the capital, had an education, and warning signs were posted everywhere. “Am I surrounded by idiots? Can’t my own advisors act responsibly? I want a search party—”
“I sent one out yesterday,” Sabine answered in a hush, her eyes darting around the room.
Azaleen knew she should keep her voice down, or gossip would be racing from here to the Swamp Coast before her cabinet meeting got started. She exhaled a frustrated sigh. Teeth clenched, she hissed, “What was he doing alone in a red zone?”
“One of our scouts reported Pickett had spotted an old-timey oil well, still pumping the black stuff out of the ground. He figured it must run on solar or wind power. Azaleen, we could really use the oil, if it’s there. My father has a book with the formula to make fuel for the generators. Most haven’t run for years since the last barrels ran out.”
“Then why didn’t that infuriating man tell me? I would have ordered an armed escort. Damnation! The secretaries report tome.They donotrun off half-cocked with delusions of becoming the next savior.” She shook her head and brushed back a strand of silky platinum hair.
Agriculture Secretary Silas Beaudean let out a loud belly laugh across the hall. Ambassador Camille Navarro slapped him on the shoulder with a grin. A welcome gust blew in, lifting Azaleen’s kaftan like butterfly wings. She recalled bundling up in blankets as a small child in the bunker, waiting for the radiation to clear to safe levels. She couldn’t decide which was worse—the biting cold or the miserable heat. Don’t even mention the bugs—giant mosquitoes that can bite through leather, mutated killer hornets, glowing cockroaches the size ofdinner plates, and armies of devouring ants that could only be held at bay with fire.
“He must be replaced at once,” she stated. “Get me a list of the best candidates. Dead or alive, I can’t have a member of my cabinet disobey my direct orders.”
“I’ll draw up a short list and have it ready for you first thing in the morning.” Sabine’s loyalty and efficiency assured Azaleen that it would be handled. But first, she needed a real-time report from her department heads.
“We have time to grab a quick drink before heading upstairs,” Azaleen said to Sabine, and the two walked into what had probably been the mansion’s living room. A dark-skinned attendant in an embroidered green bolero vest and baggy short pants served drinks from behind a bar.
