“I’m allowed to. Whether I choose to, depends on the question.”
“Does the government, Lord Whitfield, or Queen Frost, tell you what to publish in your newspaper?”
Henry pursed his lips, wiping his fingers with a cloth napkin, his gaze fixed at a point on the far wall. “There are some rules in place, and my paper could be shut down if I violate them. For example, we are only allowed to report as news, substantiated facts. We can’t just say, ‘Lord Whitfield painted graffiti all over Clemson Stadium’ without evidence or witnesses. We aren’t allowed to fabricate stories just to sell papers. There are libel laws. Newspapers can have an opinion column, as long as it constitutes no more than ten percent of the edition’s content, and it must be labeled ‘Opinion.’ But does someone else write our script, tell us what stories we can or can’t print? No. While we don’t have an elected government here, the constitution protects freedom of speech, freedom of religion, as well as many personal freedoms.”
“Like who you marry?” Nathan had to be sure. It seemed too wonderful to be real.
“Especially who you marry,” Viola answered.
“So, the queen isn’t all-powerful? There’s a—what did you call it? Constitution?” Nathan wasn’t well educated—only six years of school before he’d had to work full time. But he’d learned a lot about how the Oligarchy operated in Appalachia. People there didn’t get a vote either.
“Oh, she’s powerful, all right,” Henry answered. “But even she must abide by the law. That’s the way the founders set it up. The constitution was written to ensure fairness and personal liberties while giving one individual authority to conduct most kingdom business in a timely, efficient manner. If a monarch behaves badly, the lords can cast a vote of no confidence and force him or her to step down.”
“Interesting.”
“I know you must have many questions, but I have to get to work, and you need to go wait for VERT to come collect you.” Henry pushed up fromthe table, brushing a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “Thanks, lovie. Breakfast was delicious.”
Nathan also stood. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Dawson. I’m sure your God is pleased by your display of hospitality.” She beamed at him in response.
The trollies were nothing like those in Clover Hollow. A team of four horses pulled a long, open-sided car on wheels with benches fixed in rows. The iron-rimmed wheels rattled over old brick streets as the horses snorted and jingled their harness bells. There were dozens of them, moving in all directions with no tracks.Even the trollies are free here, he thought in awe.
Chapter twenty-seven
Between Faith and Fear
Lark bounced in the back of the Jeep on another bumpy ride to a city she’d never seen—this time without cooing pigeons to mind. Captain Luke and Harlan led the way on their motorcycles. They left the main highway for a narrow, windy road through farming and fishing country, making the two-hundred-kilometer trip take longer. Skye said it was because a bridge was out. Crossing a still-standing, crumbling bridge, Clearwater came into view—a busy port crowded with flatboats and barges to the right, and rising behind it a monstrous, oval concrete structure with a battered flag waving an orange paw print.
“What’s that?” she asked. Lark had never seen a structure so immense before, its top rail jutting above the trees.
“Clearwater Arena,” Diego replied. “Used to be Memorial Stadium, and where this town is, used to be a university. Their sports mascot was a tiger. Folks around here still remember. Lord Whitfield, the one who sent for us?”
Lark glanced at Diego long enough to nod before returning her gaze with interest to the vista across the river. Church steeples pierced the sky, buildings jumbled in color, and hydropower wheels churned along the shoreline, the wide river hugging the aptly namedcity.
“His father was the Clemson Tigers’ last football coach, led them to the national championship victory. Old Forest Whitfield was a legend, one the people gladly followed. He brought order to the region after the ruin, then passed the torch to Rowan, who declared his loyalty to King Frost during the formation of Verdancia. Whitfield and his formidable wife remain Queen Frost’s staunchest supporters.”
They drove under a long banner reading, “Welcome to Clearwater. Tigers never die.” The Jeep rattled over brick streets, weaving between horse-drawn trollies, bicycles, scooters, and pedestrians. She spotted a truck or two parked beside businesses or factories. A fueling station’s sign announced, “Best Ethanol in Clearwater.” Houses sported wide front porches with gardens and chicken coops in the back. Grain silos and warehouses loomed near the port, with corrugated tin cafes and ramshackle wooden shops circling midtown. But at the hub towered the old stadium. They passed a stately library and several well-preserved heritage houses before pulling to a stop in front ofThe Tiger Tributeprinting house.
“He’s supposed to be here,” Skye said. “Wait and keep your eyes peeled.” She hopped out of the driver’s seat, following Luke into the brick building.
Wes stood, stretched, and questioned, “If tigers never die, how come I’ve never seen one when I come here?”
Diego rolled his eyes before stabbing Wes with a sarcastic expression. “You know that means the Fighting Tigers’ spirit, you mud-mired rust-brain.”
Wes chuckled and lit a homeroll.
It seemed to Lark that Clearwater thrived on its past glory and present grit—a place where culture and community had survived the worst, now reaching for the best.Resilience.
“Wow!” A trio of blond-haired children bounced over to touch the battle-worn, rust-spotted Jeep with the reverence they might a holy book, their small hands leaving smudges.
“Is this a real Jeep?” the oldest asked.
“Can we ride in it?” the youngest added, eyes wide with awe.
“Yes, and no,” Diego answered. “But you can touch it.”
“Children!” scolded a slender woman with wheaten hair and a short plaid skirt as she rushed to grab the smallest one’s hand. She offered Diego an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that. They get so excited when we come in from the farm once a month. I think this is their first time seeing a real Jeep.”
“No problem, ma’am,” Wes answered with a gallant smile and bow before sitting back down.
