The Misted Cliffs

by Catherine Asaro

Mel found it hard to believe she had called forth power from such a shape. It couldn’t be true. She was a Dawnfield, yes, but neither she nor Skylark had expected such a degree of ability.

  “What is this?” a voice asked.

  Mel looked up. Cobalt was standing by the bookshelf. She rose to her feet, holding the blackened ball. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to see you nearly burn down my library.”

  His voice was so tightly controlled, she wondered it didn’t snap. His knuckles were a mess, torn and ragged, crusted with blood.

  “Saints, Cobalt, what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But your hands—”

  “It is nothing.” Cobalt came over and took the ball out of her grip. He grasped her palm and turned it from side to side. “This is a bad burn.”

  As dizzy as she felt from the overuse of her abilities, Mel knew she wasn’t yet done. She took the ball from him and cupped it in her burned hand, then put his hands over it and covered them all with her uninjured palm.

  “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

  Mel concentrated, only half believing she could manage with a sphere. Outside, the blue sky vibrated until it entered her mind and filled her body.

  The ball glowed with blue light.

  Cobalt yanked away his hand. “What are you doing?”

  Mel was too drained to answer. The ball continued to glow in her palm. She took Cobalt’s hands and once again folded them around the ball, covering them with her own. His fingers tightened into claws but this time he held on, his face creased with strain.

  The spell drained her. It trickled away like sand running through her fingers, and the glow around the ball faded. Her legs buckled and she collapsed like a rag doll.

  Cobalt caught her as she fell. He knelt down, easing her to the floor. Then he held her against him, her head on his chest. “What did you do?” His voice held an echo of Dancer’s fear.

  “Too tired…” She lifted their hands—and saw only smooth, unmarked skin on both his and her own. No injury remained for either of them.

  “It isn’t possible,” Cobalt whispered.

  “Apparently it…is.”

  Then she passed out.

  It was dark when Mel awoke. She was lying in Cobalt’s bed with the covers pulled all the way up to her eyes. He had taken off her tunic and leggings, leaving only her camisole and lace trunks. Fog was curled on her pillow, apparently having forgiven her for the dramatics in the library.

  Mel rolled onto her back. She felt as if a horse had stamped on her head. She needed a glass of water, but she wasn’t certain she could stand up. The pain in her temples surged when she looked around the room, which was empty except for herself. Had she been at home, someone would have tended her, a maid or her mother. Here she was on her own.

  Mel sat up and groaned. She pressed the heels of her hands against her throbbing temples. When the worst of her dizziness passed, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, out from under the rumpled covers. Fog mewed as she jostled the pillow. She tried to stand, then sat down heavily as her head swam.

  “You can do it,” she muttered. She took a breath to steady herself and then slowly stood up. Her vision blurred and her mind reeled. She very much wanted to sit down. But she steeled herself and stayed on her feet. The cold air raised goose bumps on her bare skin.

  When her head cleared a bit, Mel left the bedroom. The circular chamber in the center of the suite was empty, too. Although most of the castle was colorless, as white as the clouds, the colors here glowed richly in the golden light shed by the lamps. Six horseshoe arches opened into the chamber from the six wedge-rooms that made up Cobalt’s suite. Stained glass filled the curved portion of the arches, each with a luminous design of blue, white, and gold spheres. She walked around the chamber and peered into the bathing room, study, parlor, library, and Airlight room. No Cobalt.

  For a while, Mel leaned against the marble column of the entrance to the bathing room. When she felt steadier, she went inside and eased into the shallow end of the pool. The water came to just above her breasts. Its warmth soothed her, enough that she slid down and dunked her head. She traced the mosaics on the bottom of the pool, green, blue, and silver designs of polygons, circles, crosses, stars, all in chains and curving patterns.

  Blue light filled the pool.

  Saints! Mel broke the surface and gulped in air. Her headache had vanished. Then a spark of pain returned. She had to be careful with this strange loop of power; if she made spells that helped her heal from straining her talents, she could end up straining her talents again.

  She floated across the pool to a slanting section and lay on her back, half out of the water. Her underclothes clung to her body, wet and almost transparent.

  After a while, Mel had an odd sense, as if hairs on her body were standing up. She opened her eyes. Cobalt was leaning against a nearby column with his arms crossed, his clothes dark against the pale blue, green, and silver mosaics. He was staring at her with a hunger so raw, her pulse stuttered.

  Mel pushed up on her elbows. Her skin felt sensitized and her body tingled. No man had ever looked at her that way before; it both aroused and alarmed her. She wanted to hide herself, but she wanted even more for him to come to her and expend that powerful hunger. Letting her head fall back, she arched her back and stretched her legs.

  “Saints, woman,” Cobalt said. He stalked over to her, his boots striking the tiles. At the pool, he knelt in the shallow water, fully dressed, with his knees between her thighs. He rubbed her breast through the lace. Then he clenched a handful of the cloth and jerked. The camisole ripped off her body. He threw the wet rag onto the floor and then tore the lace trunks away from her hips. She was breathing harder now, either from lust or fear. Or both.

  Cobalt lowered himself on top of her. He didn’t remove his clothes, not even his boots, he just opened his trousers. Nor did he tease or seduce—he just entered her hard and fast. She was ready for him, even more than she had realized. Lying here thinking about him had been enough. She was sore from last night, and she gasped at his thrust, but when she groaned, it wasn’t from pain. She lifted her hips, answering his urgency with her own. His onslaught drove her. She needed more. Even the scrape of his trousers on her thighs aroused her. He thrust harder, his head above hers, and she cried out. Cobalt went rigid and his muscles corded against her body as if they were made of iron rather than human sinew.

  The spasms inside Mel seemed as if they would last forever. She stopped thinking altogether and let the sensations sweep her along. Gripping Cobalt’s biceps, she pressed her body into him.

  Gradually Mel became aware again, as her tremors subsided. Cobalt lay on top of her, his breaths coming more slowly now. He moved inside her again for a few moments, as if he didn’t want to stop even after he had finished. Then he sighed and settled his weight on her body. They lay still, and his hair tickled her ear.

  A few minutes passed. Then Cobalt said, “I seem to be wet.”

  Mel smiled drowsily. “I guess so.”

  He lifted his head and looked down at their bodies half in the water. “I was a bit impatient.”

  “A bit.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Ah, no,” Mel murmured.

  His gaze darkened with pleasure. “You are a sorceress. So angelic in appearance, but a she-devil in my bed.”

  Her lips curved upward. “We are hardly anywhere near as comfortable as in a bed.” The tiles were hard and wet, though she hadn’t noticed until now.

  He rose onto his knees. Water dripped off his shirt, but he paid no attention, he just sat back and gazed at her. Mel let him look. She was too sated to move.

  “Do you put tantalize spells on me?” he asked.

  “Do I what?”

  He pushed back his damp hair. “Spells to make me want you.”

  “Of course not.” Her voice turned husky. “You must be putting spells on me. I am a proper woman of
a venerable line. Yet you make me into someone wild and uncontrolled.”

  His lips twitched upward. “I like you that way.”

  “Umm.” Her fatigue was returning. Too many spells and too much love. She sat up, but she could only slump forward.

  Cobalt pulled her against his chest. His muscles ridged through his wet shirt. “My mind tells me to ward off your magecraft. My instincts want me to embrace you.”

  She sighed drowsily. “Ward off? Silly Cobalt.”

  “I am never silly,” he stated.

  She smiled as her eyes closed. “I can’t do anything but make warmth and comfort with my spells.”

  “Very warm.” His voice deepened. “You should go to bed. Rest.”

  Rest, indeed. “That means you can’t come with me.”

  “I need to make sure you are all right.” Cobalt stood up and lifted her, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. He settled her head against his shoulder and carried her out of the room, dripping water the whole way. Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was going to his bedroom. Mel suspected he wasn’t going to stay out of bed, either. She doubted either of them would sleep much the rest of the night.

  He dried her off with an extra blanket set out on the end of the bed, taking his time as he rubbed it over her body, especially her breasts and thighs. When he finished, he laid her on his bed, then undressed and threw his soaked clothes on the ground. As he stretched out next to her, he spoke in a low voice, dark and ominous and full of a sensual promise. “I will lay the world at your feet.”

  Mel didn’t answer. She let herself think of nothing and feel only his hands on her body and his lips on her breasts. She didn’t want to know his dreams, for if he tempted her long enough with his warlord’s spell, he might seduce her into anything, even loving him—and if she fell that far and that hard, she could someday find herself riding into battle with him against the people of all the settled lands, even her own.

  13

  Chamberlights

  Mel found the main library in the Sphere Tower. It took up the entire base of the structure. Books and scrolls filled the shelves there. Stained-glass windows glowed with sunlight high on the walls, patterned in circles, hexagons, and diamonds. Colored light slanted over the mellow wood tables. An elderly soldier was cleaning the globe on a stand across the room, a larger sphere than the one in Cobalt’s library. Mel felt odd when she concentrated on it. Light-headed. Strained. No spells stirred. It made her uneasy. What if her spells never came back? She couldn’t let herself believe that might happen. After having achieved so much, she couldn’t bear to have it all vanish. It would be worse than losing her sight.

  The soldier scowled as she entered the library. Then he went back to work, pointedly ignoring her. He seemed to be the only librarian. She hesitated, then took a deep breath and walked over. She stopped before him, uncertain how to proceed. He rubbed his cloth on the bronze stand that held the globe, his concentration on his work, but she felt certain he knew she was there.

  Mel spoke awkwardly. “Greetings of the morning, Good sir.”

  He kept polishing the same section of metal.

  She tried again. “You have a beautiful library. I don’t want to disrupt your procedures. Please let me know if I can do anything for you, or if you have any preferences for how I treat the materials here.”

  His polishing slowed, but he didn’t look at her. After another moment, Mel bit her lip. But just as she was about to turn, he looked up at her and spoke gruffly. “If it be pleasing you, Your Highness, I’d ask you be gentle with the books. That is all.”

  Mel smiled at him, her relief warming her expression. “I will indeed, kind sir.”

  At her smile, his cheeks turned red. He even seemed on the verge of smiling himself. Mel wasn’t certain why people reacted that way when she smiled, but she was glad to see his unfriendly demeanor soften.

  After taking her leave of the librarian, she browsed the library—and found a treasure. An entire set of shelves was devoted to geometry. She eagerly gathered up an armful of books and scrolls and carried them to a table. Soon she was engrossed in proofs about the diagonals in polygons.

  “You are doing mathematics,” a woman said.

  Mel looked up with a start. Dancer was standing only a few paces away. She held two large scrolls, one with a title penned on the outside: Historical Perspectives on Agriculture in the Western Cliffs.

  “Oh, yes,” Mel said. She motioned at her books. “These are wonderful. I’ve never seen most of them.”

  Dancer seemed perplexed. “You like to read?”

  “Very much.”

  “Ah.” The queen lost some of her cool reserve. “That is good. Always good.” She inclined her head. “I will leave you to your studies.” Then she went away with her scrolls.

  Mel watched her leave, bemused. She hadn’t expected Dancer to value education, though now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure why not. Perhaps she and Dancer had a great deal to unlearn about each other.

  Varqelle stood with Cobalt on a balcony of the South Tower. They gazed out to the east, toward Harsdown. Without his glasses, Cobalt couldn’t see the borderlands well, but the night was too dark to make out much even with them. He could distinguish the constellations if he squinted. That gave him a headache, though. It was why he liked his telescope; it turned the night sky into a sparkling wonderland he had no trouble seeing. He couldn’t view many stars at once with such a powerful lens, but he liked it anyway.

  His father was discussing matters with far less appeal than star patterns. “The messenger from the Diamond Palace arrived this morning,” Varqelle continued. “Stonebreaker will be here tomorrow.”

  Cobalt suppressed his hatred. He had to hold it in check, because they needed Stonebreaker. Only the Chamberlight king could provide them with an army. When his grandfather had tried to make him responsible for invading Harsdown, Cobalt had challenged him. And won. Cobalt wouldn’t have hesitated to ride against Harsdown if he had thought they could succeed. Both his father and Stonebreaker wanted the Jaguar Throne at any cost, but Cobalt had no desire to destroy his goal in the process of achieving it. He preferred his solution. Although neither he nor his father would ever sit on the Jaguar Throne, he had brought it back to their House without bringing ruin to their country or people. And now they had other options, for neither Harsdown nor Aronsdale could move against the Misted Cliffs. Tomorrow he would face Grandfather again, and this time he would give Stonebreaker what he wanted: conquest. But it would be on Cobalt’s terms.

  “You are quiet,” Varqelle said. “Do you not wish to see your grandfather?”

  Cobalt gritted his teeth, then realized what he was doing and stopped. “I never wish to see him.”

  “You do not like him,” Varqelle said.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Silence.

  “He kept me apart from you and your mother,” Varqelle said. “I have no great love for him, either.”

  “He is—” Cobalt could think of no tactful way to voice his true opinions of the king, so he said only, “Harsh.”

  “A man needs to take a firm hand even with his family,” Varqelle said. “Strength gives rise to strength.”

  The thought made Cobalt ill. He would sooner throw himself off a cliff than harm his child. He wanted his son or daughter to have the security neither he nor Dancer had known. He wished for his family what Mel had with hers.

  “Is that what you would have me do with my son?” Cobalt asked coldly. “Beat the ‘strength’ into him?”

  “Of course not. I do not approve of beating children.” Varqelle paused. “But neither would I have you spare the switch. A child who never knows discipline becomes weak in character.”

  Cobalt’s fist clenched on the balcony rail. “And you would take this ‘firm’ hand with your wife?”

  Varqelle scrutinized him. “This Dawnfield woman preys on your mind.”

  “She does not prey.” If
anything, he was the predator. Yet she had bewitched him with her spells. He thought of her constantly. Nothing would free his mind from her.

  “You must control her,” Varqelle said.

  Anger sparked in Cobalt. “Is that what you did with Mother?”

  “Apparently not enough.”

  This was a side of his father he didn’t want to see. “Or too much.”

  Varqelle frowned. “It is not your affair.”

  “I would have you tell me.”

  “Why?”

  “It would explain her fear of you.”

  His father answered with scorn. “She fears strength.”

  Cobalt crossed his arms, so tight with submerged rage that his words grated. “Perhaps she fears being punched in the stomach, the back, the arms, and the legs until she can’t bloody damn walk.”

  Varqelle stared at him. “What lies has she told you about me?”

  “Nothing.” Cobalt wished he could blur his memories as easily as his vision blurred. “That was what I watched Stonebreaker do to her.”

  “I cannot believe such.”

  Cobalt gripped the railing. “That you can’t believe it doesn’t change its truth.” He had no stone wall to hit and he didn’t want to lose control in front of Varqelle, but his father was treading on dangerous ground.

  “I would never countenance such behavior,” Varqelle said. “That is the truth.” He suddenly went still. “Saints, Cobalt, did he hit you?”

  “No longer. I am stronger than him.” Cobalt was clenching the railing so hard, his knuckles hurt. “Now.”

  His father swore. “It was unforgivable for Dancer to bring you here. That my son should have endured such is a crime she can never undo.”

  Cobalt gave him an incredulous look. “What about her? She endured the same.”

  “She deserted her husband. That has consequences.”

  “She deserves to be loved.”

  Bitterness edged Varqelle’s voice. “She is incapable of it.”

  “She loves me.”

  “Then why did she bring you here?”

  Why, indeed? That question had tormented Cobalt his entire life. He knew he should let it go. This bond he and his father were forming could all too easily break. Their connection was unlike anything he had known and he would do almost anything to protect it. But Varqelle and Dancer had molded his life. He had to understand. His need drove him when prudence cautioned he remain silent.