“And I’m Benoît Tremblay-Maskwa,” said the last man at the table, his tone both warm and exacting. “Steward of Wisdom.” He pressed slender fingers to his chest in a slight bow. He had the well-defined nose, prominent cheekbones, and strong jawline of a man of French descent. “I oversee the departments ofeducation and justice. A proper education is the strongest deterrent to crime, do you agree?”
“Indeed,” Azaleen replied. “I imagine your equitable distribution of resources plays a prominent role as well.”
Steven Batise nodded. “Quite.”
“High Chief Batise, distinguished stewards, we have come to negotiate in good faith, to offer you a valuable trade deal. I’m certain cotton, which can only grow in warmer climates, is in great demand, and we have plenty to offer. Not just raw cotton, but finished cloth for smooth, soft sheets, warm-weather clothing, and undergarments that don’t itch or chafe.”
“Yes, yes.” Batise waved her proposal aside. “We’ll get to those details later. Today, I want to get to know you and you to see me, my son, my granddaughter. You did not bring your family?”
What was this—a negotiation or a social exercise? Would they ever reach the matter of defense? Azaleen bit her tongue. She needed these people’s support and couldn’t risk offending them.
“No, honorable high chief, and I apologize if I appear impatient. My oldest son, Eldrin, wished to come, but I insisted he stay behind. Should anything go wrong on our journey, he is my heir and must be kept safe.”
“And your husband?”
Azaleen swallowed. She didn’t come here to discuss her personal life. “He passed away years ago, as I understand yours did also. It appears neither of us mustered the energy nor inclination to take a second husband.”
“Yes, but I’m old,” she answered in self-deprecating fashion, “while you are still young—younger than Steven, I’d wager.”
She glanced at Steven, who seemed content to remain a spectator in the discussion.
“The burdens of leadership consume most of my time,” Azaleen admitted, “and caring for my children and mother.”
“Then you have no helpmeet, no one to love, to love you?”
Although the grandmotherly chief’s concern felt genuine, the line of questioning made Azaleen uncomfortable. What did any of this have to do with a treaty?
“If I may speak plainly,” Azaleen said.
“Please do,” Batise encouraged. “That is why I ask the question, to see what sort of woman and leader you are. Speak plainly and truthfully, as though we were old friends.”
“I can’t hold power and allow myself to love. The two stand in direct conflict. I feel that if I don’t devote my full attention to the kingdom, I’ll fail, and I cannot fail. Millions of lives depend on me, as I know you understand. I’ve known love, borne children, and now I must put my kingdom first. It is a sacrifice I’m happy to make for the well-being of many.”
“I see.” The elderly leader folded her hands together before her on the table, her enigmatic gaze fixed on Azaleen’s. “You speak of power and what you must give up to keep it, but you misunderstand a great truth. There is but one power in all the universe, and that power is love. Indeed, without love, you have no power.”
Batise’s words slammed into Azaleen like a blacksmith’s hammer blow to her chest. Could this be true? All this time, had she been denying herself the one great power she needed most to lead? She must have looked like a deer in headlights, reeling from the revelation.
“Don’t let Kokum mess with your head.” Renée rose from her seat in the corner, sauntering toward the table, her eyes locked on the high chief. “She’s always trying to meddle in my love life too.”
“Little goose,” Batise chided, her face hardening. “Is that any way for a future ambassador to talk to her high chief?”
Rounding her grandmother’s chair, Renée laid her hands on her shoulders and brushed a kiss to each cheek. “It’s true. You’re a meddler—a very well-intentioned one, but nonetheless … All these personal questions have made our guests uncomfortable. And what have you gained?”
Juliette Batise patted Renée’s hands and peered over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “Now I see Queen Frost. Though she has much to learn, sheshows respect, and she loves her people more than her own happiness. An excellent place to start.”
Chapter forty
Betrayal
Dominion, Red River Republic, same day
Colt Irons paced outside the locked door to Justice Hall, two of Vexler’s secret police eyeing him sternly. TheWellspring Ledgerhad printed the truth about the slaughter at Chickasaw with photographs. Vexler’s stormtroopers had discovered their underground press, arrested all present, and erased every trace the paper had ever existed. General Maddox was already inside, no doubt with General Garcia testifying against him.
With an abrupt halt, he exhaled, glancing around the foyer: founders’ portraits, the national seal—crowned hammer on an anvil surrounded by flames—eagle crests, banners in red and black set against smoke-gray walls, and plaques bearing platitudes such as “Democracy Forever,” and “Power to the People.” He felt sick.
The heavy oak door creaked open. A stern bailiff addressed Colt. “Captain Irons, they’re ready for you.” Squaring his shoulders, Colt raked his fingers through his hair, lifted his chin, and entered. The bailiff wore a sidearm; Colt didn’t.
Despite the familiar trappings, the chamber barely resembled a courtroom. General Crane, looking weary and old, sat at the accused’s table beside Reverend Quell, of all people. He was no attorney, and he wouldn’t speak the truth onMaddox’s behalf. Colt continued with slow, deliberate strides, his boots striking the wooden floor under harsh, accusing lights. Colonel Vexler played the role of prosecutor with Colt’s father looming over the proceedings from the judge’s stand. Deep crevices of smoldering disgust twisted his once charismatic face into that of a despot. No press. No impartial witnesses. An icy chill slapped Colt.
