“Rise, friend,” Ozar said. He was tired enough that he would have been tempted to sanction anyone who interrupted him this late at night. But he trusted Shade. If the scroll master disturbed him at this hour, he had good reason.
The older man stood as laboriously as he had knelt. “You honor me with your presence, Magnificence.”
“What news do you bring?” Ozar asked.
Shade offered him a scroll. The Chamberlight sphere glinted on the parchment. “This just arrived.”
Frowning, Ozar took the scroll. “Who was the carrier?” He knew of none that would disturb a Master of Scrolls this late at night rather than waiting for a proper audience the next day.
“One of your officers who lives as a fisherman on the coast of the Blue Ocean,” Shade said. “He rode from the Misted Cliffs in less than a month.”
Ozar raised his eyebrows. What could send his spy hurtling from the western ocean to Jazid at such great speed? He pulled off the blue cord and unrolled the scroll. It was a message sent to him only, from his officer. He read it—and read it again.
“Thunder and wind,” Ozar muttered.
“Bad news?” Shade asked.
“It would seem so.”
Shade waited.
“Chamberlight died,” Ozar said. “His grandson sits on the throne.” Cobalt Escar. The Midnight Prince was now a king.
Shade seemed to sag, and Ozar suspected that if the scroll master hadn’t been in the presence of the king, he would have sat down. Ozar knew how he felt. He wanted to sit, too, after receiving this unwelcome news. Neither of them did, of course; it would have shown weakness, like a woman.
Ozar paced his study, thinking. “Do you still have the letter from Queen Vizarana in Taka Mal?”
“Yes, Your Magnificence,” Shade said.
“Good.” Ozar swung around. “I believe it is time I respond to her gracious request that I visit Taka Mal.”
Shade said nothing. They both knew Ozar had deliberately waited to respond. Let the brazen wench stew. He could guess what she wanted: to pool resources. If they worked together, they could push Misted Cliffs merchants out of their export territory; if they combined armies, they could stand against Cobalt the Dark. The latter purpose had suddenly taken on more significance. They would be less tempting to Cobalt if they presented a united front.
So far, Cobalt hadn’t given signs he intended to invade either country. Ozar had sent four hundred spearmen to Shazire during the war. Cobalt could have executed those who survived, but instead he accepted the men willing to swear him allegiance. Although he imprisoned those who refused, their captivity consisted of living on an island, and he allowed their families to join them. Nor had he executed the former royal family. He sent Zerod here, offered a truce, and apparently planned to let Zerod’s wife and son join him in the Summer Isles, where the deposed prince now lived. All in all, Cobalt’s actions didn’t indicate a man intent on hostilities.
However, he hadn’t allowed the spearmen to return home, which would have offered a better assurance. Nor had he signed any agreements beyond the truce, which had expired several months ago. Now Cobalt had ascended to the Sapphire throne. By itself, the Misted Cliffs was the most powerful country in the settled lands. Add the realms Cobalt had conquered, and it begged the question of whether he was a king or an emperor.
Ozar didn’t like it. Cobalt had earned his dark reputation. He was honor-bound not to attack Aronsdale, but his thoughts were surely turning to the rich desert lands—Jazid and Taka Mal.
“It is time Vizarana and I talk,” Ozar said. “I must do something about her. She sits on the Topaz Throne acting like a man, which she so very obviously isn’t.” Vizarana Jade was like a warrior’s sex fantasy. She was also a vexation. Having to deal with her as an equal was maddening. Only by combining forces, however, could they stand up to Cobalt. The Chamberlight king might have more men and resources, but his disparate forces had never trained together as a whole and were unfamiliar with the terrain in Taka Mal or Jazid.
“She is a handful.” Shade licked his lips. “You cannot deal with her as commander of the Taka Mal army. That takes the word ‘unseemly’ to heights beyond patience.”
“Yes, well, being conquered by Cobalt Escar would be even more unseemly.” He crossed his arms. “Is that cousin of Vizarana’s still in charge of her army?”
“Baz Quaazera. Yes.”
“Why the hell hasn’t he married the woman and locked her up?”
“Apparently she refuses.”
“He should do it anyway.”
“She has powerful backing from her army. At the moment, more backing than her cousin.”
“But not more than I do, eh?”
Alarm flashed across Shade’s face. “You would force her into marriage? Surely that would start hostilities between Jazid and Taka Mal.”
“Who said force?” Ozar rolled up the scroll from the Misted Cliffs. “She needs my army. I will offer it—on a condition.”
Shade’s eyes glinted. “She will make a beautiful bride, Your Magnificence.”
“So she will,” Ozar murmured. “So she will.”
The messenger knelt to Mel, and a chill went through her. No longer was this someone else’s darkly seductive custom; she would live this way for the rest of her life. Stonebreaker haunted her thoughts. It would be too easy to let this title corrupt her.
The man wore her father’s livery, white and purple, a welcome sight. Mel recognized him as an officer from her father’s army. She dearly missed her home, that place of light and laughter so different from this chilly world.
“Please rise,” Mel said with warmth.
The messenger stood, his dusty travel clothes out of place in the Reception Hall, almost as out of place as Mel felt in her gown.
He spoke formally. “My honor at your presence, Your Majesty.”
“You are welcome in my home,” Mel said. He was young, hardly older than her. Although he was trying to appear confident, he was obviously exhausted.
“You must rest,” Mel said. As much as she wanted to know what drove him here with such urgency, courtesy required she see to his comfort first. “Would you like food and drink? A place to relax and change?”
“Thank you. I—thank you.” He seemed barely able to stay on his feet. “If I could just sit for a moment?”
“Yes. Of course.” She indicated a sofa with cushions of white brocade with gold flowers. “Please join me.”
He hesitated, looking from the pristine furniture to his dust-covered body.
“It’s all right.” Mel smiled. “I used to annoy my father no end by tramping around in my riding clothes and sprawling on the sofa with my boots on the table.”
He chuckled, his face relaxing. “I recall him grumbling about it.” He suddenly seemed to remember himself. His face reddened. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty.”
“I know.” She started toward the sofa, then glanced back at him. Softly she said, “None was taken.”
He came after her, and they sat at a table tiled with blue circles. The shapes nudged her mage power. Without her intent, a green spell formed, and she felt his response to her, his appreciation for her hair, of all things.
Embarrassed, Mel cut off the spell. She touched her hair, which her sphere-maids had piled on her head and woven with sapphires. They seemed fascinated by its yellow color, so unusual in the Misted Cliffs. To cover her self-conscious response, she opened a gilded cage on the table. The sunbird inside trilled as she gently took it out. When she opened her palm, it perched there, its head cocked. Then it fluttered into the air and flew away, through an archway across the room.
The youth watched with bewilderment. “It’s a summons,” Mel said. “The bird flies to the Welcome Chamber. Then the staff knows to prepare a meal for this room.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He looked confused, and when she smiled, his cheeks turned red.
“I will have someone show you to a suite where you can change,” Mel
said.
He was beginning to relax. “This is fine, ma’am.”
“Your name is Lieutenant Kindler, isn’t it?” When he nodded, she asked, “Did my parents send you?”
“With much urgency,” he said. “They wanted to tell you—” He stopped as his gaze shifted past her shoulder. His face paled and he jumped to his feet.
Puzzled, Mel turned around. The welcoming staff shouldn’t cause such a strong—
Oh. Her husband loomed in the archway, his dark hair wild, his eyes intense, his face fierce as he glared at Kindler.
“Your Majesty!” The messenger dropped to one knee, bumping the table, and bowed his head.
Mel stood up. “Greetings, my husband.” Cobalt couldn’t help the way he looked, but it wasn’t helping her put Kindler at ease.
Cobalt stalked to the divan and looked down at Kindler’s bowed head. “You can get up, Messenger.”
Kindler rose to his feet. “I am honored by your presence.” His voice shook, though whether from fatigue or fear, Mel couldn’t tell.
Mel feared Cobalt would answer, No you’re not. Instead, he said, “Why does my father-in-law send you with such urgency?”
Mel almost groaned. It didn’t take a protocol expert to see the discourtesy in demanding information from an exhausted man, even one who had been about to volunteer it, which she had thought Kindler was going to do.
Kindler cleared his throat. “King Muller bids you welcome, Your Majesty. He sends his condolences for the death of your grandfather.”
“He already did that,” Cobalt said.
For flaming sake. Mel scowled at him. It was true her father had sent condolences and salutations to honor Cobalt’s ascension. He showed courtesy by opening his message this way. Mel wished Cobalt wouldn’t be so oblivious.
“Will you join us?” she asked her husband. Perhaps they could salvage this awkward moment.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
Mel was growing exasperated. Oblivious was kind. Aggravatingly dense was more accurate.
Suddenly Cobalt grinned, his flash of teeth lighting his usually somber face. “You have that look.”
“What look?” She was painfully aware of Kindler listening.
“Like you want to send me to bed without dinner.”
Her face flamed. Saints only knew how Kindler would take that. Tartly, Mel said, “We were going to talk, Husband.”
“Oh. Well, in that case.” He sat in a wing chair by the couch.
Relieved, Mel made an effort to relax. As she and Kindler resumed their seats, two maids bustled in, followed by a sunboy, a youth of about ten with hair falling in his eyes. The maids carried platters of meats, cheeses, and nuts, and a decanter of wine, which they set on the table. They bowed deeply to Cobalt and Mel without disturbing a single mote of the food. The sunboy returned the sunbird to its cage and clipped a treat to one of the bars. They all avoided looking at Cobalt.
Mel poured a goblet of wine for Kindler, her unspoken apology for Cobalt’s behavior. After the maids poured for Mel and Cobalt, they and the sunboy withdrew. Cobalt drained his goblet and thunked it on a table at his side. Mel sipped hers, and Kindler sat back, still wary in his manner.
“So.” Cobalt considered the messenger. “You come from Applecroft?”
Kindler spoke in the formal cadences of Harsdown. “I do, Your Majesty. I bring you a message from King Muller and Queen Chime.”
Mel waited for Cobalt to respond. She didn’t think he was being deliberately rude. In his youth, he had avoided the royal court here, and though he had probably learned its ways, he was far more at ease with his soldiers than in the palace.
When Cobalt said nothing, Mel inclined her head to Kindler. “We thank you for carrying the message. What news do you bring?”
Lines of strain showed on his face. “It is your uncle Drummer.” He set down his goblet. “Queen Vizarana has taken him hostage.”
Mel stared at him. “What? No, that can’t be.”
Cobalt barely moved, just leaned forward a small amount, but his contained energy was so intense the air seemed to vibrate. Mel would never have thought the color black could be described as burning, but right now his eyes flamed with anger.
“Are you telling me,” he asked, “that Taka Mal has attacked my wife’s family?”
“Their emissaries claim Goodman Drummer is un-harmed,” Kindler said. “And that he will remain so as long as no Chamberlight or Dawnfield army marches against Taka Mal.”
“Neither my father nor my cousin Jarid has ever coveted Taka Mal,” Mel said. But she knew taking hostages to ensure the behavior of a rival sovereign had a long history in the settled lands. Taka Mal sought protection against Cobalt. He and her parents and Vizarana would all debate until they settled on a compromise. She hoped. She didn’t want to think what might happen to Drummer if they couldn’t reach an agreement.
“Surely we can help my uncle,” Mel said.
Cobalt turned his fierce gaze on her. “Drummer is your mother’s younger brother?”
“That’s right. He’s a minstrel.” Mel smiled. “He likes to sing and play pranks. He’s harmless.”
“And well loved by your mother,” Cobalt said.
Softly Mel said, “By all of us.”
“That makes him dangerous,” Cobalt said. “When a man is loved, those who care for him will do anything to make sure he comes to no harm.”
Mel shivered. Cobalt had met Drummer only a few times, hardly enough to develop any affection for him. “We must help him.”
“Taka Mal is wrong if they think they can control me by attacking my kin.”
Kin. So he did think of Drummer as family. “Then you will send emissaries to Taka Mal?”
His expression darkened. “I will send no emissaries.”
Mel felt as if she had lost her moorings. “No one?”
“Not for an insult this grave.” His voice chilled. “I will send my army.”
Drummer spent the morning playing his glittar. He did scales, practiced old songs, and composed new ones. By midday, he was restless. Bored. He resented the captivity.
After he finished his midday meal, he cleared out the parlor and laid down Kazlatarian rugs, plush and vibrant with sunrise hues. He practiced acrobatics, first warm-ups and then more intricate routines. He was standing on his head, doing splits in that inverted position when Jade entered the room. For a moment he enjoyed the upside-down sight of her gaping at him. She had on amazing clothes, emerald-green and silky. Gold jewelry glistened against her skin, and topazes sparkled in her upswept hair.
“What in a thousand journeys on the cinnamon road are you doing?” she asked.
“The what road?” Drummer somersaulted in the air and landed on his feet. He didn’t even stumble, which usually happened on that maneuver. He felt as if he could fly. “Greetings of the afternoon, Your Highness.”
“Light of the afternoon,” Jade said. “It is what we say here.”
“And you are.” Drummer went over to her. “I have never seen you so captivating. Every day I wait for a glimpse of you.”
She looked unimpressed. “Does this flattery of yours actually work on Aronsdale farm girls?”
He was challenging her, especially with words like captivating, but it was true, too, that he savored their daily meetings. And for all that she insisted he vexed and provoked her, she always found an excuse to see him. She rebuffed his advances, yet never demanded he stop, which only made him try harder. Hot one moment and cold the next: She was tying him in knots.
Drummer came to within a step of her, closer than he had been since her first visit to his suite. “Aronsdale women can’t compare to you.”
Her lips quirked upward. “I fear you will write me more bad poetry.”
“Bad? Never.” He feared he was about to do something much worse. It would undoubtedly involve Jade and her lips and evoke more of her threats to throw him in a dungeon for offenses against the throne. The dungeon, however, had yet to
materialize.
He rubbed his knuckles down her cheek. “You deserve only the best verses.”
“And you have a death wish.” But she neither moved nor pushed him away. Her eyes smoldered as her lips parted, and he thought he could die happy right there. Almost. He wanted even more to do alive, vital things with her. He touched her lips, and she closed them to kiss his finger. She stroked her hand along his arm—
Jade inhaled sharply and stepped back. “I am having a banquet tonight. You will attend. A bid-boy will be in later to dress you. You may keep the clothes as a gift.”
Ai! She might as well have doused him in cold water. “What, you want me to dine with your court?”
“You are the brother of the Harsdown queen. It is fitting.” She moved a wayward curl out of her eyes. “I also don’t want rumors to spread that we are treating you poorly.”
“And here I thought you wanted my company.” He meant it as a joke, but it sounded angry. “What the blazes is a bid-boy?”
“Aronsdale men call them valets.”
“Oh.” At Castle Suncroft, they always offered him valets, but Drummer had never liked having someone else dress him. “He can just leave the clothes.”
“Hmm.” Jade made that one sound a commentary on his ability to make himself presentable. “We will see.”
She swept out the door, leaving him alone, and he wanted to pound the wall with frustration.
“You mustn’t!” The force of her own words startled Mel. She never raised her voice to Cobalt.
He stood by the heavy drapes that covered the windows. His white tunic bore the Chamberlight sphere, and slits in its sides showed blue-and-gold cloth underneath. A gold medallion hung around his neck. Sapphires glinted on his boots. It hadn’t taken Mel long to realize he hated the clothes, for they made him look like Stonebreaker. In the privacy of their rooms he let down his guard enough for her to see hints of the emotions he hid from everyone else. It terrified her.
“You cannot storm Taka Mal!” She swept her hand out to accent her words. “Yes, Vizarana Jade wronged my family. But in her eyes, we have wronged Shazire and Blueshire. We started this. Not Taka Mal.”
The Dawn Star Page 8