The Misted Cliffs

by Catherine Asaro

  For a moment, she clung to the smoothed wood. They were in a narrow valley with woods on either side. She couldn’t see clearly, but the stars gave enough light to show men fighting on both sides of the carriage, here and farther out. Cobalt had brought thirty, but there were at least twice that number now. She crawled to where her bags and packages were lashed to bars on the back of the carriage. She knew where she had put everything, but nothing seemed to be where she remembered. She fumbled through the packages, searching, searching—it had to be here—there! She undid her sword from its wrappings and fastened the belt around her hips. A metal stud on the leather ripped her wedding dress more.

  Mel edged back to the trap door and lowered herself into the carriage. Fog was crying and scratching inside his carrier. Crouching by the basket, she cracked it open enough to pet the terrified kitten. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Please, Fog.” It did no good; the kitten kept crying.

  The door suddenly jerked open, leaving a large figure silhouetted against the starlit sky. He wore rough clothes under crude leather armor, and he held a long sword. Lunging inside, he grabbed her arm.

  “No!” Mel tried to pull away.

  He yanked her out of the carriage. Mel fell to the ground and her legs tangled in the cursed wedding dress. Several men in Chamberlight armor lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving. She scrambled to her feet, unmindful of the tearing silk.

  “Stop!” she shouted.

  “No Escar will sit on the throne again.” He shoved her back against the wheel. “Neither your husband nor your child.”

  Mel grabbed the hilt of her sheathed sword. She was aware of others fighting near the carriage, but no one was close enough to help.

  “You should never have married him,” the man said. His blade glinted in the starlight as he swung at her.

  Mel whipped out her blade and parried his blow. Their swords rang, adding to the clangs and grunts of the fighting around them.

  “What the hell!” He stepped back. “You’re armed.”

  “You don’t want to fight a Dawnfield heir.” Her anger was flaring like a stoked flame. This was no practice match with blunted swords, but a combat for her life.

  He didn’t answer, he just came at her again, with more force this time. Mel countered the blow, her swing fast and sharp. She had to rely on speed, because she sure as hell didn’t have the strength to match him. She had no time to be afraid; she reacted with single-minded concentration, her senses heightened and focused. He was stronger but less well-trained, probably a farmer rather than a solider. When he drove her against the carriage, she ducked and came at him from the side, catching him with a wound along his arm. She had never deliberately drawn blood before, but rather than shock, she felt a fierce triumph.

  When he caught her blade with his, she staggered from his force; when she evaded him, he couldn’t keep up with her speed. They went back and forth past the wheels of the carriage. As Mel tired, she slowed down and desperation intruded on the fire of her will. She knew, without doubt, that if she lagged now, she would die. Her opponent was breathing heavily, also slowing, but he retained his strength. She barely managed to parry his next thrust, and when his blade hit her sword, she stumbled into the wheel.

  No! Anger surged in Mel and added strength to her arms. Clutching the hilt of her sword with both hands, she thrust upward. He blocked her strike, but her blade caught his sword and knocked it out of his hand, smashing it into the door of the carriage.

  For one instant, the man stood with his mouth open, staring at her. Suddenly he arched. His face crumpled and his grunt ended in an odd gurgle. As his legs folded, he collapsed, but he didn’t hit the ground; he hung about two handspans in the air. A huge figure stood behind him. Cobalt. He had run his sword through the man’s chest and was holding him up. Then he yanked his sword out of the body, and the man sprawled in front of Mel, very, very dead.

  “Saints almighty,” she whispered, her heart pounding.

  Cobalt lunged over the body and grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t pull away; his grip was so tight it hurt her arm.

  “What are you doing with a sword?” he demanded.

  She stared at him. “Defending myself.”

  “He could have killed you!” His arm was shaking, not from fear, but from whatever blood lust had gripped him in battle and still had him in its thrall. “I told you to stay in the carriage.”

  “Damn it, I didn’t have a choice!”

  “You will not use that language with me!” He dropped her arm and jerked his own up high, the fist drawn back, his elbow lifted.

  Mel knew a blow from that height, from a man this strong, would break her bones. She was still holding her sword, but she couldn’t strike her own husband. She tried to back up—and hit the carriage wheel.

  Cobalt groaned and grabbed his raised arm with his other hand, his palm smacking against his wrist. He lowered both arms and crossed them over his torso. “I won’t hit you. I swear, Mel. I won’t.”

  Someone was approaching them, more a shadow than a person. As he neared, he resolved into Matthew. “I think that’s the last of them.”

  Cobalt turned to him. “You will go with my wife in the carriage. I will ride Admiral.”

  Matthew looked at Cobalt holding his arm. “Cobalt, listen—”

  “No.” He spoke in a low voice. “Do you remember how you used to hide me in the stables?”

  “Those days are gone,” Matthew said, his gaze intense. “Gone.”

  Cobalt didn’t seem to hear him. He motioned at Mel. “I task you now with her protection—” His voice cracked. “Just don’t tell me where you hide her.”

  Matthew grasped him by the shoulders, something Mel could never have imagined anyone doing to the Midnight Prince. “Have you ever struck a woman? Or a child? Ever?”

  “No,” Cobalt whispered.

  “Nor will you.”

  Cobalt pushed off his hands. “I am him, Matthew. I am his blood, his grandson, his spawn. Ride in the carriage with her.” Then he strode away, toward a cluster of men who were tending another man on the ground.

  Mel was starting to tremble. She sagged against the carriage door, above the body crumpled at her feet, the hilt of her sword clutched in one hand, her arms folded across her stomach. Bile rose in her throat.

  Matthew came over to her. “I’m sorry.”

  She raised her head. “Who are you?”

  “His stable hand.”

  She wanted to laugh, then cry. This man was obviously far more than a stable hand to Cobalt.

  “Can I help?” Matthew asked.

  She doubted anyone could help now. “He frightens me.”

  “Aye. He does everyone.”

  “Doesn’t he feel it?”

  “Too much,” he murmured. “He feels far too much. If he didn’t, his wounds wouldn’t be so deep.”

  Mel was clenching her sword so hard, she couldn’t release the hilt. As she pulled herself up straight, Matthew slid his hand under her elbow in support.

  “No.” Mel pulled away. “Don’t touch me.” She climbed into the carriage and sat down on the bench where she and Cobalt had slept. Her legs shook, but she couldn’t let a reaction set in; she had to keep going until she reached a place of safety where she could release her frayed control. Except she had no place of safety anywhere.

  Matthew followed her in and swung the door closed. He sat on the bench across from her. With dogged resolve, she picked up a layer of her dress and cleaned the blood off her sword. Then she sheathed the blade at her hip.

  Fog began crying, frantic and disconsolate. Mel pulled the basket out from under the seat. Before she even finished opening it, the kitten scrambled out and burrowed into her lap. She tried to pet him, but her arm had no strength and she could only rest her hand on the trembling animal. Matthew watched them with a strange look, as if the sight filled him with grief.

  Mel didn’t know how long they stayed at the site of th
e battle. It could have been moments or hours. Voices called outside and several times men cried out in pain. She tried to build a blue spell of healing, but she couldn’t summon the strength for anything at all.

  “I’ve never seen a woman fight with a sword,” Matthew finally said.

  “They should learn,” Mel answered dully.

  “Your Highness—”

  “I do not feel high, Matthew. Please do not call me that tonight.”

  “I’m sorry.” The starlight coming in the window turned his gray eyes black.

  “They killed any attackers who survived, didn’t they?” she asked.

  His voice sounded carefully neutral. “I don’t think any survived the fight.”

  Mel didn’t dispute him. She didn’t believe him, either, but regardless of the truth, she doubted any were left alive. It was one more part of this terrible night.

  The carriage lurched and rolled forward. Their journey to the Misted Cliffs had resumed.

  8

  Borderland Glade

  Cobalt rode in a trance. They had rested the horses and then continued through the night. Now the sky was lightening. In the distance, the Misted Cliffs rose up from the borderlands in a barrier that blocked the world. A blurred barrier. He could have put on his glasses, but he didn’t want people to see him wearing them. Even hazy, though, those magnificent cliffs looked as if they could be a great wall erected for the saints themselves.

  In truth, Cobalt found it hard to believe saints existed. They were spirits from the ancient legends, and they took their essence from colors of the rainbow, which supposedly corresponded to the “spells” of a mage. Azure saints glazed the sky, dawn saints added their blush to the sunrise, verdant saints breathed new crops into life, and on and on with the foolish tales. What of blood and the fire of rage? Those existed only in hells never touched by any spirit of life. And in him.

  Last night, only one of their attackers had broken through the defenses Cobalt had set up around the carriage. Only one. But that was all it had taken. Had Mel not known how to defend herself, she would be dead now. Her blood would be on his head.

  The carriage rolled ahead of him, carrying his bride. If any saints did exist, they had surely cursed this young woman. He found it hard to believe that the slender, fragile beauty he had married had turned into the swordswoman of last night, but her fire wouldn’t protect her from his darkness. She would spend the rest of her life with a monster who could shatter her as easily as a china dish falling onto a stone floor.

  As easily as Stonebreaker had shattered his queen.

  No. No. His grandmother had died from a fall. Everyone told him so. He couldn’t believe otherwise.

  The carriage rolled to a stop ahead of him. As Cobalt approached, the door opened and Matthew jumped out. The older man rubbed his eyes, then shielded them with his hand as he looked around at the empty, flat countryside. The sun had just risen behind them. Ahead, the wall of cliffs stretched from north to south as far as they could see.

  Mel stepped out of the carriage. Her wedding dress, that vibrant creation of silk, hung in torn layers with dried blood crusted on the hems. Cobalt’s stomach tightened. Beauty had finally come into his life, and he had left it ripped and trampled.

  He reined Admiral to a stop and dismounted. Matthew gently pried the reins from Cobalt’s hand.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Matthew said.

  Cobalt nodded stiffly, aware of Mel watching. Without the excuse of tending his horse, he had no reason to avoid her. At least Matthew hadn’t given him any warning looks to suggest his bride would run away from him.

  Cobalt went to her. Dark circles showed under her eyes, but she spoke in an even, melodic voice. “Good morning.”

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine.” She smiled ruefully. “Your Matthew is a saint. Fog ran all over him in the carriage, but Matthew never complained.”

  “Ah.” Her smile mesmerized him. “Matthew is kind.”

  “Yes. He is.” She hesitated. “If we have time, I would like to clean up.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She seemed even more delicate close up. After last night, though, he knew better. Anyone who wielded a sword so well would have toned muscles and more strength than some youths. She unsettled him, because she very definitely curved like a woman. How would those curves feel under his hands? He wanted to find out. He had the right; she was his wife. After last night, though, she would probably shrink from his touch.

  An alarming thought came to him. Perhaps she would pull her sword when he came to her. He wasn’t certain if the idea appalled or aroused him. She was certainly a woman like no other. Then again, he knew almost no others.

  “Your Highness?” she asked.

  Cobalt realized he had just been standing here, staring at her. He mentally shook himself. “I will have someone accompany you while you perform your ablutions.”

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “My, uh, ablutions are private.” Then she said, “If you had let me bring a maid, she could have accompanied me.”

  “A maid?” He vaguely recalled mention of such, but of course he had said no. Stonebreaker allowed no women at the Castle of Clouds except Dancer, and now Mel. Cobalt’s mother had plenty of ladies-in-waiting and female servants at the Diamond Palace, but Grandfather had left no doubt; if she insisted on living away from him, she could damn well do without the comforts associated with her station. He had obviously expected his daughter to come home rather than look after herself.

  Dancer had stayed at the Castle of Clouds.

  “We have a staff at the castle,” Cobalt said. Male servants helped Dancer when appropriate, but that left a great deal for the queen to do herself.

  Spots of red appeared on Mel’s cheeks. “No one here can help.”

  He suddenly realized what she wanted. To bathe. His pulse jumped. “I will go with you.”

  Her blush deepened. She nodded awkwardly, and he thought she wanted to protest. She didn’t, though. Who else could go with her? Certainly not one of his men. He would punch any of them who tried to watch her bathe.

  While she retrieved some clothes from one of her valises, he set men to guard the carriage and to check the surrounding area, including a ridge about a hundred paces away. A river wound across the otherwise dry land, providing a place where his men could water their horses. It disappeared into the ridge. Not much thrived in these borderlands, but trees grew along the banks of the river and a small forest covered the hill.

  As soon as Cobalt and his men established that the area was safe, Mel headed for the trees. Cobalt followed and caught up as she entered the woods. He could have reached her sooner, with his stride so much longer than hers, but she seemed more comfortable without him looming about. He also liked being behind her, watching the sway of her hips while she walked.

  Mel neither looked at him nor spoke as they went through the forest. Birds fluttered among the leaves and added splashes of color to the morning.

  “Your cat would like this,” he said. “Lots of birds to eat.”

  Mel looked up with a start. Then she laughed, that same lovely sound she had made yesterday. “I imagine he would, when he’s old enough. He’s just had mush in the carriage.”

  Her laugh so surprised him that he stopped. She kept going a few steps, then halted and came back to him. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He felt foolish. She didn’t know he wasn’t used to hearing people laugh. “Come. We shouldn’t tarry too long.”

  “All right.” She scratched her chin, but started off again.

  No path wound through the trees, so they made their way by pushing aside scrubby bushes with pink flowers and thorns. Cobalt doubted anyone came here much. They were far out in the dry lands between Harsdown and the Misted Cliffs. Not many people lived in this region, which had few resources. This was the only river he had seen all morning.

  They climbed the ridge and discovered a hollow between it and a s
econd ridge. The river fell in a waterfall over a ledge and filled a small pool overhung with trees.

  Cobalt looked around. “This looks like a good place. You should have privacy here.”

  “Yes.” She stood a few paces away, her face red.

  After several moments of standing there, Cobalt said, “Didn’t you want to bathe?”

  “Yes.” She pressed the knuckles of one hand against her cheek. “Are you going to stay?”

  “Someone must.” He walked over to her. “We are married. It is all right.”

  “I know.” She didn’t move.

  Cobalt offered her his hand. She started to take it, then looked down and froze. He followed her gaze.

  Dried blood crusted his fingernails.

  “Hell,” Cobalt muttered, quickly dropping his hand. He wasn’t doing this well.

  Her exhalation was almost inaudible. She sank to the ground and lowered her head, holding the clothes she had brought in her lap. Cobalt knelt next to her, at a loss for what to do. He wanted to say, I’m sorry. But he couldn’t. Never apologize. Never admit vulnerability. Never acknowledge a mistake. Show no weakness. Except that was his grandfather in his mind, not him; he couldn’t let it be him. But he couldn’t say the words. He had killed men last night, ten, maybe eleven. He had done what had to be done, and even in that he had almost failed. Mel could have died. Filled with adrenaline and battle fury, he had raised his fist. On her wedding night. He wouldn’t have struck her, but that moment was seared into his mind. And he couldn’t even say I’m sorry. No wonder people thought he was a monster.

  Cobalt sat down and put his arms around her, with his legs on either side of her body. She sat rigid in his embrace. Then her shoulders began to shake. He drew her closer and she slumped against him, her cheek on his chest.

  And she cried.

  Her sobs were quiet. He could barely hear them, but he felt her crying. He kept her in his arms, awkwardly smoothing her hair, his head bent over hers. He didn’t know what else to do.