Azaleen studied the young woman on the floor with a heavy heart. She’d been in a meeting with Camille, drafting a letter to High Chief Batise of the AlgonCree, when the commotion started.
“What should I do with her?” Captain Luke Moreau asked, brown eyes twinkling. His crooked grin told her exactly what the leader of the Verdancia Elite Recovery Unit was thinking. She glanced about at four wincing soldiers as two more entered the front room.
“We’re sorry, Madam Queen,” her senior door guard apologized. “I don’t know how she got past us.”
Half a dozen trained soldiers—taken down in seconds by a girl from the coast.Azaleen’s lips had parted in surprise. She closed them, resuming her air of authority.
“Never mind that,” she replied to the guard, then returned her attention to Lark. The woman was all coiled strength—lean muscles like a wildcat—but her face held pain and raw vulnerability. Azaleen wanted to help—she truly did—except there was no medicine to give her, and she couldn’t let anyone find out. People might panic. Looting. Riots. A rebellion? No. It was better for Lark to believe her a heartless bitch than for the world to exploit her weak position.
It’s all right, Azaleen,she told herself.Moreau’s team is tracking a new lead. A bombed-out pre-war hospital we didn’t know about. Maybe some medicine survived.
“You’ve come far and shown great determination to help your friend,” she told the marshlander. “I admire that. I’m aware it’s been several years since the last shipment of medical supplies was sent to Saltmarsh Reach, but you know they must be carefully rationed. A team of the brightest minds is working on recreating pre-war medications, vaccines, and developing new ones. They report some progress on a shot to prevent harmful reactions to contact with radioactively mutated plants and animals.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Queen Frost,” Lark said, voice thick with longing. “But Tommy needs treatment now. Today. Before he dies.”
This was not the first time a citizen had come and begged for medicine, and each time it ripped a piece of Azaleen’s heart. She had thought it no longer affected her until she witnessed the lengths Lark had gone to, seen the anguish on her face.
“I can pay.” Lark dug into her pockets, yanking out notes, gold coins, and a pocket watch. She held it up. “It was my grandfather’s. Real silver. Keeps accurate time. No battery.” She popped open the cover, revealing its face. “See the fine craftsmanship? It’s an heirloom. And all this money. Surely, it’s enough.”
Azaleen threw up the old rampart—steeling her heart, locking it down. Life was hard. People died. It’s not like she was immune to personal loss. Wouldn’t she have given all to save her brother? Her father? Her mother’s health? Yes, she would fight for her sons, sacrifice everything for them. Though she was queen, Azaleen couldn’t produce a cure from dust. She took a bracing breath.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sutter. Right now, all medicine is reserved for the army. Even my family can’t get it.” It was true. The last of the old Alzheimer’s pills were gone, and Verdancia’s researchers hadn’t yet reproduced the formula.
Conviction drained from Lark’s eyes. Tears welled in its place. “Haven’t you ever loved anyone? Just one bottle of antibiotics, a few syringes of penicillin. I’m not asking for much. I’m certain if it were your son, you’d find a way.”
Azaleen bristled. She had loved—once, long ago, before politics and duty took everything. After decades of loss, she reserved her remaining ounces of love for her precious sons and frail mother. Caring and being unable to help was more than exhausting—it was torture. As queen, she had all Verdancia to administer, to protect, to heal—a delicate balancing act. She couldn’t let this poor woman’s plight throw her emotions off kilter. Azaleen looked at Captain Moreau.
“There might be a solution,” he offered, glancing at Azaleen. “One that works for everyone. I saw you fight, Ms. Sutter. Impressive. I lead an elite military team, similar to the Old World’s Rangers or Green Berets. We’re a member down, and I’ve been seeking a replacement. We all have unique skills, and yours are …” He looked her over, rubbing a hand to his chin. “Unique. If you joined my team, you’d essentially be in the military, fulfilling the requirement to gain access to prized commodities not currently available to ordinary citizens. What do you think?”
Azaleen watched Lark as she slowly pushed up from the floor, stretching a centimeter or two taller than herself. She wore rugged adventure clothes riddled with holes and stains, as if Lark were their fourth owner. And something else.
“What’s that smell?” Azaleen wrinkled her nose.
“Sorry. Bear grease. It keeps the bugs off.”
Azaleen took a step back. “We’ll find you something better,” she said, then added, “Captain Moreau’s offer—prime, wouldn’t you say?”
Lark chewed her bottom lip, brows scrunched. “If I say yes, do I get the medicine now?”
Luke stepped in, saving Azaleen from another lie. “One mission first,” he promised. Of course, that was only true if the mission turned up the medical supplies they hoped to find deep in a borderland region.
“It’ll be dicey,” the captain continued. “I won’t lie about that. Scouts reported a target in the borderlands between Verdancia and Appalachia. We could encounter warg, mutants, wildlings, and other dangers. But the payoff could be worth the risk. Not the terrain to send a large force, but our group of five, six—with you—is just right for the job.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Lark said. “I go on one mission. We retrieve the goods. Then I get medicine for Tommy—and I choose later whether I stay on. That’s the deal?”
Azaleen exchanged a look with Luke. He waited. She nodded. Meeting Lark’s gaze again, she answered, “Yes.” Maybe there’d be no viable drugs at the site, but there might be. She couldn’t tell the woman the truth, and she didn’t want to send her away with nothing. Hope was better than nothing. Besides, she could prove a valuable asset to the Recovery Unit. Whether the mission was a bust or Azaleen turned her away empty-handed now, Lark would go home hating her as a cruel monarch, uncaring that her people suffered, not knowing that nothing was farther from the truth.
“OK, then.” Lark wiped a hand down her face, nodding. “I’ll do it. I’ll go on the mission.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you in Captain Moreau’s capable hands. Best of luck to you, Ms. Sutter.”
Lark dipped in a clumsy curtsy, then gave up halfway through. “Thank you.”
Azaleen slipped out the back of the Capitol, crossed the quiet street, and entered her home. She eased into Orielle’s room. “How is she?” she whispered to Sarah, who was changing her sheets. The morning hadn’t started well, and Azaleen had worried about her mother since leaving for work.
“Better,” Sarah replied, glancing at the elderly woman, who sat rocking, eyes fixed on the window. Azaleen patted Sarah’s shoulder in appreciation and crossed the room to her mother.
“Beautiful after the rain, isn’t it, Mama?” She rested her hands gently on Orielle’s frail shoulders and kissed her cheek. A delicate shawl crocheted in a diamond tear pattern draped her shoulders. Sarah had brushed her silvery hair and pinned it in a neat bun.
