The Misted Cliffs

by Catherine Asaro

  “What…?” Mel stirred, warm and drowsy, and turned onto her back.

  Cobalt fumbled with the ties at the neck of her gown. He couldn’t undo them, but the ribbon broke in his hand and her gown opened. He slid his hand over her breast. Propped up on one elbow, with one hand braced on a pillow and his other stroking her nipples, he gazed at her face. Angel face. He lowered his head and kissed her.

  Mel went very still. Her lips were warm, inviting him, but she didn’t respond the way she had at the pool. He lifted his head, puzzled. Her eyes seemed too large and she had no smile for him tonight.

  Don’t be afraid of me. He wanted her to desire him. Was this what his father meant by a woman weakening him, this need that made him feel as vulnerable as the cat in the drawer? Unlike Fog, he couldn’t just turn around a few times and go to sleep.

  After several moments of him looking at her and her looking at him, Cobalt realized she wasn’t going to scream or beat him off. He tugged at her nightgown. “Can you make it go away?” he asked. “It tears when I try.”

  Mel hesitated. Then she wriggled out of the gown, her body moving sensuously against him until he wanted to groan. He didn’t, though. He made no sound at all. When she had the gown partway over her head, he pulled it off and tossed it over the side of the bed. She lay beneath him, gazing up with luminous eyes. Eager for her, he lowered himself on her lovely body.

  Mel awoke in darkness. Someone was fumbling with her nightgown. She opened her eyes, groggy and confused. Cobalt had pinned her on her back and was looming over her. His hands moved on her body, grasping and large. He pressed his lips against hers while he mauled her breast. He was too heavy—she couldn’t breathe—he was going to crush her.

  Cobalt lifted his head and his hand stilled on her breast. Mel stared at him, her heart beating hard. She could breathe now, though. After a moment, as her pulse calmed, she exhaled. She remembered the first time they had lain together. His power could be as erotic as it was overwhelming, but he was different now, darker, less patient. Or perhaps he had been that way before and she hadn’t noticed.

  Cobalt tugged at her gown. “Can you make it go away? It tears when I try.”

  Did she want to refuse him? He was her husband, and a fine figure of a man—if she could just stop being afraid of him. She did want him, she realized. She struggled out of her gown, which tangled with her limbs. Before she finished, he pulled it away and threw it somewhere. Then he stretched out on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She had to turn her cheek against his shoulder to breathe. It was too much. He was huge, his head above hers, his biceps hard against her, his hands grasping her breasts until she felt suffocated.

  “Mel.” He whispered her name. “Sweet angel.”

  “Can you lift up?” She slid her arms around him in a tentative embrace. “You’re heavy.”

  He pushed up on his elbows, easing his weight off her. Then he grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness, and leaned down his head to rub his nose against hers.

  Mel gave him a shaky smile. “What is that?”

  “Like Fog. He did it when I put him in the drawer.”

  “The drawer?”

  “Hmm.” Cobalt caressed her breast. Then he kissed her again. He pressed his hips against her, spreading her legs apart while he pushed her lips open with his tongue.

  Slow down! Mel struggled under him, but it only seemed to make him more insistent. His hands kneaded her too hard, enough to leave bruises.

  Mel pulled away her head. “Stop!”

  Cobalt froze. “Stop?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  Even in the dark, the alarm on his face showed. “Tell me what hurts. I will stop.”

  “It’s just—your hands. And I—It’s hard to breathe.”

  He slid off and lay against her side. His hand slowed on her breast, stroking only, no longer kneading.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She blushed. “Yes.”

  “You are small,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Like Fog. I will have to be more careful.”

  “Don’t put me in a drawer,” she said, managing a laugh.

  His face softened into his most incredible expression, that smile he so rarely showed. “You wouldn’t fit in the nightstand, Mel. You aren’t that small.”

  She touched his lips. “You are beautiful to look at and to touch, my husband, but too much of anything, even such a desirable man, can be overwhelming.”

  His grin flashed. “So I am desirable.”

  “Hmm…” She kissed him tentatively, and he responded with that fierce intensity of his, but more controlled this time, enough that she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Knowing she provoked this response from such a powerful man aroused her in a way that sweet words or suave expertise could never have done. His strength, his urgency, his muscles hard against her body: it was unlike anything she had imagined. He touched her everywhere. Although he would never be a gentle lover, his hands weren’t as rough as before. Her breasts ached, but without his weight pressing her so hard, she no longer felt as if she were suffocating. She ran her palms over his back and buttocks, and her breath quickened.

  “You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  For a moment his hands stopped. Then he groaned and rolled on top of her, holding himself up on his elbows so she could breathe. He pushed his hips between her thighs and she tensed when he tried to enter. She was too tight, too small, he was pushing too hard, she couldn’t take him—

  Mel cried out as her barrier gave and Cobalt thrust inside, hard and deep.

  “Mel?” He paused, breathing heavily.

  She didn’t want him to stop, not now. “It’s—all right.”

  He moved with great thrusts, all that power and ardor concentrated on her. His hands gripped her waist. Sensations flooded her and she responded with a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. The pleasure he had given her at the pool was nothing compared to this. She arched against him, and the world broke into pieces.

  Mel didn’t know how long they built together, their rhythm increasing. Then Cobalt thrust so hard, he shoved her deep into his mattress. Contractions of pleasure rippled inside of her and swept away her thoughts.

  Gradually Cobalt slowed to a stop and sank onto her. It was hard to breathe again, but that no longer seemed to matter. She could have floated away on the clouds, sated and content.

  After a while, he pushed up on his elbows and looked down at her with intense dark eyes. “You are mine.”

  She touched his mouth. “Your queen. Someday.”

  His gaze seemed to burn. “I will make you an empress.”

  A thorn pricked her contentment. “The Houses of Escar and Chamberlight have a treaty with the House of Dawnfield.”

  “Yes,” Cobalt said.

  A chill went through her. “Then why call me empress?”

  “I gave my word I wouldn’t invade Harsdown or Aronsdale.” Then he said, “I never promised I wouldn’t conquer Jazid, Shazire, or Taka Mal.”

  11

  Fists

  Mel ran across the bridge between the East and North towers. The clank of metal and the thump of swords on wooden shields came from below. She stopped at the high point of the arch and leaned over the rail, breathing hard. Cobalt and Varqelle were working with the Chamberlight warriors in one of the few straight portions of the courtyard. A wooden fence marked off the practice area, along with a row of risers for anyone who wanted to watch. A few grooms sat there and some of the castle staff. The physician had set up a station near the risers where he could treat injuries. The swordsmen worked with blunted metal weapons, in pairs, parrying back and forth or trying various moves. Farther down the yard, the archers were training. Their arrows thwacked into the targets with unsettling precision. In Harsdown, she would have practiced with them, but here none of the soldiers would even look at her, let alone train with her.

  Cobalt’s words from last night echoed in her memory. I never promised I
wouldn’t conquer Jazid, Shazire, or Taka Mal. Nothing Mel had said or asked since then would convince him to reveal his plans. Would he and his father attack countries that had lived in peace for many generations? Yes, Jazid and Taka Mal had once attacked the Misted Cliffs without provocation. And yes, Shazire and the western edges of Harsdown had once been part of the Misted Cliffs. But that had been over two centuries ago.

  Mel had to face the truth. With a Chamberlight army and Cobalt as his general, Varqelle could conquer Shazire, which had a relatively small military. If he added the Shazire army to his, they might take Jazid and Taka Mal, as well. Blueshire would fall without a blow; that tiny realm didn’t even have a real army, only a glorified honor guard. Varqelle would hold every country surrounding Aronsdale and Harsdown. What good would a treaty do then?

  Taking hold of the pendant around her neck, she tried to call forth a green spell. She imagined the orchards at home during the height of their foliage, with acre after acre of leafy green trees. Her head didn’t hurt at first, but as she strained for green, a higher-order spell, the ache rekindled in her temples. Still nothing. She had to stop—

  Wait! A shimmering bubble of green light spread out from her body, covering a greater area than any spell she had created before. She turned her focus toward the practice yard below. She knew she was too far away to feel much, but she tried anyway. Her spell thinned as it grew, like a soap bubble blown from a child’s ring toy. Incredibly, moods came to her then, diffuse and hard to differentiate—except for one. She recognized Cobalt’s intensity, fierce and sharp even when he was only practicing. She also felt his determination.

  He wanted more.

  More what? When Mel tried to probe further, her headache flared. With a groan, she lost the spell and sagged against the railing, weak and dizzy.

  Gradually her head cleared. She inhaled deeply and stood up straight. She had to warn her parents and King Jarid. But what message should she send? She knew nothing definite, only Cobalt’s vow, made in the aftermath of a passion that had nearly incinerated them both. She wanted to think he hadn’t meant it, but she had seen that ferocity in his eyes when he called her an empress. It would know no appeasement except by the sword.

  If she couldn’t send a message, she would take it herself. But she was trapped here. Cobalt hadn’t even let her bring Tangle.

  Mel took off again. She ran through the horseshoe arch at the end of the bridge and entered the fourth floor of the North Tower. Drapes rippled in wind that gusted through the open windows. She raced across the room and down the spiral stairs, her soft boots thudding on stone, her tunic fluttering. At the bottom, she shoved open a door into streaming sunlight. The courtyard twisted among the towers, and the clang of swords echoed off the walls.

  It took Mel only moments to reach the stables. She hefted open the door of the center building. The air inside was quiet, and sunlight filtered through cracks in the planked walls. Dust motes drifted in the shafts of light. She walked to a stall with its upper half-door open. The horse inside stood in a bar of sunlight from a high window. His black coat glistened over the lines of his incredible muscles. He wasn’t as fast as a charger, but he was the largest horse Mel had ever seen. The most powerful. Magnificent. Like his rider.

  “A good morn to you, Admiral,” she said.

  “Take care,” a man warned. “He tolerates very few people.”

  Mel turned with a start. Matthew was standing a few steps away. “Good morning. I was looking for you.”

  He bowed deeply. “I am at your service.”

  Relief washed over her at his welcome. He didn’t walk away or ignore her. Impulsively she said, “Matthew, have I caused offense here? No one else will speak with me.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “It isn’t you, Your Highness. King Stonebreaker has forbidden the men here to speak with women of the royal family.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Your protection.”

  She put her fists on her hips. “Surely I am not in danger of their saying, perhaps, ‘Greetings of the morning.’”

  “They must obey their king.”

  “But there are no other women here. Who does he expect Dancer to speak with?”

  He answered with care. “Her Highness is always welcome at the Diamond Palace. She has many ladies-in-waiting there.”

  The more Mel learned of the Chamberlight king, the less she wanted to meet him. If he had intended to force Dancer’s return to the palace, though, it hadn’t worked.

  “You talk to me,” she said.

  “I am attached to the House of Escar.”

  “Won’t King Stonebreaker still disapprove?”

  Matthew rubbed his ear. “His Majesty has not forbidden me to speak with Her Highness or with you.”

  Mel suspected that had more to do with Stonebreaker being unaware of Dancer’s interpretation of his decree than his intent. “I am glad.”

  “May I help you with something here?” he asked.

  “I was hoping to find a horse I could ride.”

  His weathered face crinkled with his smile. “I have some gentle mares you might like.”

  Gentle mares, indeed. He was misguided if he thought all females were gentle, and that went for humans as well as horses. “I prefer an animal with spirit.”

  “Spirit?”

  “Perhaps one of the horses used by the soldiers.”

  “You cannot take such a risk.” Matthew blanched. “If you come to harm, Prince Cobalt will haul me over hot coals.”

  “What harm?” Mel tilted her head toward Admiral. “I could ride him.”

  “Saints above! Your husband would kill me.”

  Mel could imagine. She relented and said, “We brought a gray up from the lowlands, the one with blue and white cords braided into his bridle.” Softly she added, “The man who rode him fought well. His memory will be honored.”

  Matthew inclined his head with respect. “He did, indeed.”

  “Does the gray belong to his family?”

  “Nay, lady. To the House of Chamberlight. He is one of the mounts provided by the king for the men quartered here.”

  “May I ride him?”

  “He is a warrior’s mount, Your Highness.”

  “Good.” She waited.

  “Saints,” Matthew muttered. He raked his hand through his hair. “You are sure you won’t take a mare?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Well. So.” He shook his head as if he were seeing the downfall of the civilized world. “Come with me.”

  As Mel followed him out of the stable, she heard him mutter under his breath. It sounded like, “Aye, Cobalt has his hands full.” She held back her smile.

  They found the gray in another stable. Mel offered him bits of a small apple from the kitchens and the horse pushed his nose into her hand. While he chewed, she looked him over. He had a healthy coat. She found no scars from poorly treated saddle sores. His legs were strong with no swelling, and his hooves had no cuts or pebbles. His excellent condition, and that of his stall, told her a great deal about Matthew, all of it good.

  “What is his name?” she asked.

  Matthew had watched intently while she examined the gray. “Karl called him Smoke.”

  “Karl?”

  “His last rider.”

  Mel nodded, subdued. Karl lay in a grave in the borderlands. She laid her hand against the horse’s neck. “May I ride him?”

  She expected Matthew to urge her again about the gentle mare. Instead he said, “Aye, I think so.” He showed her Smoke’s gear and watched while she saddled the horse and prepared for their ride. Then she pulled over a stool and swung up on his back. Smoke stepped restlessly and whinnied.

  “Good beauty,” Mel murmured, patting his neck. She guided him out of the stable.

  Matthew walked with them. “You’ve a good touch.”

  Mel inclined her head in thanks. “Where can I ride here?” From what she had seen on the journey up, the area was mostly gorges
and cliffs.

  “The trails are out there.” Matthew indicated several gates in the wall behind the stables. They were smaller than the main entrance, but looked just as thick.

  Mel walked Smoke toward the wall, past the stables, getting a feel for how he moved, the way he lifted his head, how he reacted to her touch. Matthew released heavy bars on one gate and cranked it open. As Mel rode past, she raised her hand and he smiled at her.

  She came out into a flat area. The mountains rose beyond, gray and mottled with stubby bushes. Streamers of cloud banded the sky. Cliff-terns wheeled above the castle, and their eerie cries echoed across the peaks. Birds with iridescent green chests darted from cracks in the wall. The air had a pure quality with none of the dust or pollen common in the lowlands. It invigorated her.

  Several trails led from the clearing into the mountains. Mel chose the largest. Smoke seemed to know the way, and she slowed down as they climbed higher. The trail wound around boulders and switch-backed up cliffs with spectacular views of plunging gorges. The River of Diamonds poured over a high ledge brilliant with green ferns and fell a long way into a series of pools Mel could barely make out from so high. For the first time since she had left her home, she began to relax.

  She spent the morning exploring the region around the castle and getting acquainted with Smoke. He was solid beneath her, spirited but responsive to a firm hand. She headed back around noon, tired but gratified. Smoke was a good horse. They would do well together.

  A stable hand opened the gate for her and scowled as she rode past. Mel had an impression he would have liked to leave her outside. Except for Matthew, none of the staff seemed to like her much.

  As she entered the courtyard, Matthew came striding over. Mel reined in Smoke and dismounted. “What is wrong?” she asked.

  “Where have you been?” His face was pale.

  “Riding. You knew that.”

  “You’ve been gone for hours! Cobalt is angry.”

  Mel frowned. “He doesn’t control my time.”