“What kind of gift?” Azaleen hoped it was something they had.
“They prize personal engagement above monetary value,” Camille explained. “Something that took time and skill to produce, but also personal with meaning and history behind it.”
Azaleen rubbed her thumb and forefinger together as she pondered. “You said the current high chief is a woman?”
“Yes, Chief Juliette Batise,” Camille supplied. “She’s around your mother’s age, only by all accounts a strong, vital woman, revered for her wisdom and generosity.”
“Then they value age and wisdom,” Azaleen mused, “not merely money and military.”
“My predecessor visited there ten years ago,” Camille answered. “His reports I’ve read state they have a prosperous society, and, while they circulate old coins and bills as accepted currency, a person’s wealth isn’t measured in dollars, but rather in reputation. Those who give away the most are considered the richest, while citizens who cling to their possessions are viewed as poor.”
“What an interesting concept,” Azaleen murmured, intrigued. “You know, my mother Orielle might not know what day or decade it is—or even who I am—but her fingers remember how to crochet. She has made some of the most beautiful blankets, wraps, shawls, and scarves. Each has a story behind it. Perhaps one of them would make a suitable gift.”
“I suspect Chief Batise would approve, especially if we share the story behind the craft.”
“Sabine, could you—”
“Queen Frost!” A capitol guard burst into the doorway, excitement etched on his face. “The balloon you sent just landed outside.”
Azaleen’s heart leaped as she eagerly sprang from her seat, unable to mask her joy and relief. “Captain Moreau?” Sabine and Camille stood as well. Though it was a sign of respect, she assumed they were as anxious as she to see what had been recovered.
“No, Your Excellency. I didn’t see him. But that woman from Saltmarsh, the one who—you know.” He grimaced, shifting his weight to one foot, examining the polish on his other boot in avoidance. “Mopped the floor with us. She’s here with the supplies.”
“Very well. Don’t just stand there—gather some helpers and bring everything into the basement. I’ll be there directly.”
“Right away, Your Excellency.” The young man snapped a salute and rushed away.
Sabine gave Azaleen a pitying expression, eyes soft, brows slanted. They exchanged a glance, and, without a word, Azaleen felt her assistant and friend’s compassion. She dreaded this moment. Suddenly, all the politics, the threats of war from within and without, vanished, as if blown away by a consuming whirlwind. A lump formed in her throat, her chest like lead.
“Ladies, if you will excuse me,” she said in a regal tone. “I must see to this matter, and I pray to all the gods what I find is worth the price. Damn slow research doctors,” she muttered as an afterthought. More delays. The kingdom overflowed with acne cream, expired bottles of acetaminophen, and generic Viagra, but lifesaving drugs were impossible to find. Every city, town, and hamlet in the kingdom had been begging for them. Until now, all the queen had to give them were excuses.
Azaleen walked to the nearest restroom and closed the door. She studied her face in the mirror.When did that line get there?She dabbed on a fragrance from the jar, used the toilet, then washed and lotioned her hands, and brushed her hair. A cyclone of nerves and mixed feelings churned in her stomach. In the end, there was nothing she could have done anyway.
Lark heaved crates from the balloon, excited to bring the enormous hall of drugs and supplies to the queen. There had been standing room only for her and the operator with all the boxes, crates, oxygen tanks, and other equipment. Luke said she should go since she needed to rush the antibiotics back to the Reach for Tommy, and they would follow with their Jeep and motorcycles. She’d hurriedly hugged them all goodbye and climbed into the jammed basket. It was her first time to ride in one. She quickly learned not to look over the edge at the ground below. It was frightening how high they were, and looking down made her dizzy. Asking a million questions about how it worked and how many trips theoperator had made in the contraption had calmed her nerves—a little. Now that her feet were on solid ground, Lark’s excitement level skyrocketed.
“This is the last one,” Lark chimed as she and the guard, whose eye she recalled blackening, laid a trunk at Queen Frost’s feet. The woman’s gorgeous face appeared to have been carved in ice—passive and cold.
Lark smiled at her regardless. “That was quite the adventure. Captain Moreau will tell you about it, but we got what you asked for.” She posed with her foot on a smaller box and stretched out an ungloved hand. “The antibiotics you promised?”
She found Frost even more striking than the first time they’d met—her shiny, platinum hair spilling around mint green-clad shoulders, her ample curves pressing against the fabric. And those intense blue eyes, so filled with mystery and royal command. Lark thought even the mad warg would have turned tail and fled if they’d been exposed to the queen’s presence. But was she a woman of her word, or merely a power-wielding fraud?
“Thank you, Ms. Sutter, for upholding your end of our bargain.” Her voice held a captivating quality under its austere sheen, bidding Lark to fantasize about the woman beneath the crown. That would have to wait. Save Tommy first.
Lark smiled bashfully, shrugging one shoulder. She was suddenly aware of her dirty clothes and rank body odor, having come straight from the field. When Queen Frost didn’t move to place something in her hand, she lowered it, confusion blanketing her expression.
“I received a letter by pigeon from Saltmarsh Reach early this morning,” she stated, void of emotion. “I regret to inform you that your friend Tommy passed away last evening. Your grandmother did everything possible to save him, but—”
“No!” Lark staggered forward. The black-eyed guard stepped between her and the queen. “You, no, that can’t be.” Horror and shock cut through her like a razor.
“I’m very sorry, Lark.” If there was a hint of genuine remorse in the queen, Lark was too devastated to notice.
Frost signaled the guard to step aside.
Lark’s hands curled into fists. Tears fell. Her cheeks reddened. Then she jabbed a finger toward Frost. “You! You could have prevented this! If you’d given me the antibiotics instead of sending me on this mission, Tommy would be alive—and you’d still have your precious cargo.”
When she lunged, the guard grabbed her arm, grip tight. Lark could have easily tossed him off. After the fights she’d just been in, he was to her like a toddler. She didn’t.
“I understand your anger and grief,” Frost began. Lark cut her off, glaring as if to drive a hole clear through her.
