“It will take time for them to march north, find a crossing spot along the river that isn’t too close to a radiated red zone.” Diego rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Then they have to go around the Memphis crater to march south.”
“So, it’s feasible that we could arrive in time if we leave now,” stated Harlan.
Azaleen glanced around the space, caught sight of a nurse. “Excuse me,” she called and waved. The nurse strode over with a curious expression.
“Yes? Did you need something?”
“I need to know how long Lark should stay hospitalized?” the queen asked in a brusque, no-nonsense manner. “When will it be safe for her to travel?”
“We could always leave her here to recover,” suggested Wes with a shrug.
The nurse pulled a chart from her station, flipped pages. “Dr. Starblanket plans to remove her chest tube tomorrow and would prefer she stay a few days for observation. Her stitches come out in two weeks. She could go back to the inn in the interim.”
“Luke, you can remove stitches, can’t you?” Azaleen half-asked, half-demanded.
While he nodded, Skye answered, “I can.”
Turning back to the nurse, Azaleen said, “So, two days after today—three total—and if there are no complications, she can leave.”
“That might be rushing things, but—”
“OK.” She cut off the nurse and pivoted to her team. “Luke, I need to meet with the high chief at once. Make that happen.”
Azaleen dropped onto the nearest bench, stripped off the sterile gown, gloves, and booties, and turned to her team, command in her bearing.
“Wes, talk to the doctor. Collect any medical supplies Lark might need on the return voyage. Diego, go find War Chief Wasaykeesic and find out how soon he can have a brigade ready to back us up. Harlan, round up the skipper and mate. Have them meet us in the inn’s lobby. And Skye.” She fixed a commanding stare on the young lieutenant. “Enlist Renée Rivard’s help. I know she’s sweet on you, and Batise dotes on her. We need to invoke the terms of the treaty immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they all answered as one before scattering to obey their assignments.
Standing alone in the hospital waiting area, Azaleen rubbed her temple, a pounding headache coming on.With all the time in the world, why’d Irons have to pick right now to invade, while I’m thousands of kilometers away? Does he know? Is that why now?
She glanced down the hallway toward Lark’s room, torn between her heart and her duty. Lark needed to rest anyway. She’d come back to check on her again in a few hours. Azaleen willed her feet to move toward the exit.I need to compose a reply to Stark, get our defenses rolling. Thank all the gods and angels for Whisper, whoever he or she is.
Chapter forty-four
Safe With Me
Aboard the Halcyon, three days later
“Goodbye!”
A large delegation from Aurora turned out to wish the Verdancians a safe voyage. Lark insisted on waving farewell to them before Azaleen ushered her down the steps, through the galley into their cabin, and ordered her to sit.
“Really, I’m feeling much better,” she insisted.
“I’m sure you are,” Azaleen clipped and pressed an incentive spirometer into her hands. “Now, take slow, deep breaths like the nurse instructed you. I’ll not have you developing pneumonia on my watch.”
Lark rolled her eyes, stuck the mouthpiece between her teeth, and sucked a little ball up the tube, holding it there while Azaleen counted to three.
“Nine more times,” the queen ordered. The boat rocked as the crew up top cast off.
Lark always knew Azaleen was bossy, but she hadn’t guessed she possessed such a protective nature. She’d been in and out of the hospital, checking every few hours and chewing out nurses if the smallest detail was off. The first night, Lark awoke to spy the queen sleeping in the visitor chair, refusing to leave herside. And she’d kissed her. It hadn’t been a dream at all, as Lark discovered whenever they’d managed private moments. Almost worth getting shot for.
Skye tromped in, her usually feisty face sagging with gloom. “Are we switching spots or something?”
“Yes.” Azaleen, sitting beside Lark on what had previously been the queen’s side, glanced to Skye, who hung in the doorway. “You and Camille can share that bed. I have to monitor Lark’s condition, as I’m the one who rushed our departure.” Lark suspected—hoped—there were other reasons for the change in sleeping situations.
Skye shook her head, trudged over, and plopped on her bench. “Not your fault—stupid Luther Irons and his raging followers. Hey, let’s take over the world. Won’t that be fun?”
