Garcia lifted his chin. “I won’t apologize for obeying my president’s command.”
Maddox nearly swung to punch Garcia senseless. This travesty couldn’t be undone, and how would they explain it to the people of the Republic? The dead would become martyrs to everyone who opposed the Dominion Party, the massacre a bloody stain on Irons’ presidency. Unless …Was this what he wanted? Did he do this on purpose?
His Jeep took him back to his battalion. Maddox lumbered out, striding before his waiting troops. “Stand down,” he called through the megaphone. “The battle is over. Now, help these people. Put out fires, attend to the wounded, be respectful of the dead. Mistakes were made here today, but you are not to blame. Let’s do what we can to assist them now.”
Unwilling to let his men see anything but control, Maddox wandered away to a stand of trees on a hill surveying the lake. He couldn’t look at the carnage. Here, beauty reigned—pure, untouched in a generation. Maddox wasn’t a religious man, but he recalled his upbringing in the church, how the Old Religion used to teach love and forgiveness. In a rare moment, he bowed his head and prayed.
After a few minutes, footsteps behind him alerted Maddox to another’s presence. He lifted his gaze, turned around. Before him stood Colt Irons, wearing the same haunted expression. His blue eyes were dull but resolute, his posture sagging with dismay.
They locked gazes in silence, each weighing the thoughts and intentions of the other. Maddox broke contact first, shaking his head. “Words can’t describe how hollow I feel.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Colt asserted. “We both know who caused this. The question is, how much longer do we let him?”
Chapter thirty-three
Shadows on Stone
Nelanta, Kingdom Day, two weeks later
The warm sunlight poured over Stone Mountain’s granite face, its sheer rise catching green and gold banners that rippled in the breeze. Azaleen sat at the head table, draped with a snowy linen cloth, beneath a grand tent marked with Verdancia’s tree of life sigil. Vases of fresh flowers, pitchers of cider, sweet tea, and carafes of wine greeted her esteemed guests, as did the rich aromas of roasting pork, hickory, and spice. Before them stretched a vast green field—Stone Mountain Park—strewn with picnic tables, blankets, folding chairs, and merrymakers too numerous to count. Children darted between clusters, laughter carried on the wind, vendors hawked roasted nuts and candied fruit, and games sprang up in empty spaces.
Music filled the air—fiddles and hand drums in a lively reel that set feet tapping and, for a moment, whisked every care from Azaleen’s heart. Timber pavilions, stables, restrooms, and a commemorative hall bordered the treelines that flanked the field, dancing with bright banners and fresh garlands. Smiling families lined up at serving tables laden with food: platters of smoked chicken, brisket, roasted vegetables, cornbread, and pots of beans.
Behind, a reflecting pool shimmered beneath the sheer rise of granite rock, where immense, horse-mounted figures of long-dead leaders loomed over thefestival field. Azaleen opposed the principles upon which they had been erected—slavery and oppression—yet she couldn’t deny the resilience of the artwork. The largest such carving in the world, the relief and the prehistoric rock itself, had endured war, shifting politics, and the slow weathering of time. Would anything she built last so long?
“This is great BBQ, Mom.” Caelen beamed up at her, sauce smeared across his mouth and fingers. On his other side, Eldrin looked every bit a prince in his stately, military-style shirt, long trousers, and absence of errant sauce. Lady Orielle’s wheelchair occupied the spot to Azaleen’s right, her mother seeming to enjoy the fresh air. She had confused the occasion for a long-ago festival, but nobody seemed to notice. Azaleen gave her staff the day off to celebrate with their families; it was only right to do so.
“It is indeed delicious,” she replied to Caelen, matching his bright smile.
“You pulled out all the stops,” commented Lady Evelyn Whitfield from down the table. She looked regal in her summer green dress, gold ribbons woven into her silvery updo.
“I have Sabine to thank,” Azaleen answered modestly. “She pulled everything together—and stayed on budget. I’m so glad you could come, and the new grandbaby?” She peered around to admire the tot cradled in his mother’s arms.
“Rowan Junior.” Evelyn glowed with pride. “The future of Clearwater.”
“He is adorable,” remarked Lady Marenne Calder, the old lord’s granddaughter. Azaleen studied the young woman, a few years older than Eldrin. She was sweet, innocent, attractive, and old enough to marry. She thanked her lucky stars that Marenne and Eldrin were first cousins, eliminating him from her prospect pool.
Her father, General Roderic Calder, Aren’s older brother, nodded. “A fine heir to carry on the legacy.” The Calders occupied a row of seats across from the Frosts and Whitfields, leaving two seats for Lady Cade’s party—if they ever arrived. Azaleen’s relationship with Roderic was frosty at best. Despite all the facts to the contrary, he continued to blame her for Aren’s death. She should have done more to save him. Then there was the fact that she and her father had agreed to bestow the Frost name on her sons—not Calder.
Regardless of Roderic’s sentiments, it was Lord Thorne Calder who called the shots. Robust for his seventies, he had claimed the chair directly across from Azaleen—and not by accident. Thorne Calder never sneezed without first calculating the benefits. His hair was white, his face lined, but a keen fire blazed in his russet eyes.
“A legacy is everything,” Thorne declared, his glance flicking to Eldrin and Caelen before he sipped his wine as though to seal a toast.
“Was June unable to make the trip?” Azaleen asked, directing her question to Roderic.
While he chewed a bite of food, he tossed an assessing glance at her. Marenne cheerfully replied in his stead. “Mama had to stay home with my brothers and sister because Jacob has an awful cold. She didn’t want him running around playing with the other children, making it worse.”
“Aw,” Caelen exhaled in disappointment, his shoulders slumping. He stabbed at a morsel of sweet potato. “I was hoping they were just late. I wanted Jacob to do the three-legged race with me. Eldrin’s too tall.”
“And I’m too old for kids’ races,” Eldrin quipped. “Uncle Roderic, tell me what it’s like commanding the Stonevale Citadel. Do you ever see action?”
While Eldrin listened with interest, Azaleen replied to Marenne, “Please give your mother our best, and I hope Jacob gets well soon.”
The music across the field had changed. Now,Spirit, a popular drum and bugle corps, played its rendition of a traditional song, melodies soaring over an energizing beat. Azaleen felt the vibrations down to her bones. That’s when Lady Cassandra Cade strode over, sporting a flowing teal and white garment, accented with shoulder pads and a low V-cut neckline. Her lush auburn tresses and fashion sense were as unmistakable as the jewels dangling from her ears, neck, and wrist. But she wasn’t alone. The companion on her arm was the sort who raised eyebrows and sparked whispers.
“My apologies for being late,” Cassandra offered as she and her plus-one took the empty seats.
Azaleen blinked, thinking,If Lady Cassandra can have a female date, why can’t I?Rather than admit such a notion aloud, she answered, “Think nothing of it. You’re just in time, and I’m so glad you could come.”
