Muller stared at her. “Hell and damnation, Mel.”
“She has nowhere else to go.” Then Mel added, “And Father—as long as she is with us, in our territory, it is an added incentive for her son’s good faith. He wishes her safe.”
Muller studied her face. “As he does with you?”
Mel knew what he was asking; were she and Cobalt estranged or did they live as husband and wife.
Mel had to tell him the truth. “As with me.”
“You accept this man?”
“The good in him.”
Her father snorted. “I have yet to see it.”
Mel doubted he would have the chance. The world would know Cobalt by his campaigns. No one would see the man she knew, the Cobalt who dreamed of stars and gazed through a telescope, who had taught her to hit wooden balls with a stick, and who was so awkward and yet so gentle with her kitten. The world would know only Cobalt the Dark. Or perhaps Cobalt the Great, if his campaigns succeeded; victors invariably rewrote history in their own favor.
“It exists,” she said quietly. “His mother has had some difficult years. I would like her to know life can be better than what she has seen.”
“You are kind,” he said. “Also terribly naive.”
“Will you take her?”
He sighed. “All right, Mel. We will take her.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
“For the other,” he said. “Tell your husband I will have an answer for him in the morning.”
“I will.”
“Mel—”
“Yes?”
He raised his head to look out at the Chamberlight forces. Then he turned back to her. “If we had not been prepared, what would have happened with this army?”
She told him the truth. “Were it just Cobalt, I think nothing. But he and his father are of different minds.”
“His father.” His fingers gripped his helmet. “He almost destroyed my homeland eighteen years ago.”
“But not this time.”
“We had warning.” His expression softened. “From a mage.”
She averted her gaze. “A mage no longer.” The words cut like a blade.
“Spells that powerful can injure.”
She looked up at him. “They can destroy.”
“Injuries heal.”
Her voice broke. “How?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke gently. “I pray they will.”
“It may never happen.”
He inclined his head with respect. Sadness showed in his eyes. “If it turns out that way, your sacrifice will be honored by an entire country.”
“Papa—” He couldn’t stop the pain of losing her abilities, but his words helped ease her sadness. A tear ran down her face. “Thank you.”
He touched her cheek. “Be well.”
She folded her hand around his arm. “You also.”
He set his palm over her hand. They separated then, he returning to his army and she to hers.
In the morning, Sphere-General Fieldson delivered Muller’s reply to Cobalt: The Dawnfield forces would give them passage to the southern border of Harsdown. Mel grieved for what she knew that decision had cost her father.
As the army prepared to ride, Cobalt took Mel to a secluded copse of sunbask trees. She wanted to say so much, to argue, cajole, plead, insist he change his mind. But it was useless. She had already tried every approach she knew.
He enfolded her in his arms and held her under the swaying branches, her cheek against his chest.
“Don’t be a hero,” she whispered.
Cobalt drew back and put his hand under her chin, tilting her head up so he could see her face. “Why do you say that?”
She laid her palm against his chest. “I want you to come home to me. Alive.”
He searched her face. “Why? You have every reason to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“No?”
Softly, with pain, she said, “No, saints forgive me.”
He released a long breath. Then he lowered his head and kissed her. Mel leaned into him, her arms around his waist, and she wanted him even now. When he raised his head, his eyes had a luminous quality, sadness and light.
They spent too long among the trees, and Leo Tumbler came to fetch them. After they returned to camp, Cobalt and Dancer said their farewells. Dancer didn’t cry, but tears glistened in her eyes. Cobalt looked as if he felt the same. Yet they didn’t embrace. Mel had never seen any member of his family unrestrained enough to show affection.
Then Mel and Dancer rode across the valley, accompanied by Mel’s honor guard. As they approached her father’s army, he rode forward with a hexagon of his cavalrymen, who exchanged places with the Chamberlight men. Leo Tumbler and his men bowed to Dancer and Mel from horseback, and Leo raised his hand in farewell. Dancer nodded, regal on her silver horse. Although the queen held her head high, Mel saw her white-knuckled grip on the reins.
Muller bowed to Dancer. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her face was pale and she swallowed as she looked around at the slopes crowded with the Dawnfield army.
Muller put more warmth into his voice. “My daughter has spoken for you. You are welcome in our home.”
She gave Mel an odd look, as if she would decipher what lay beneath her daughter-in-law’s innocent exterior. Mel hoped Dancer didn’t always feel this constrained among her people, that in time they might build some trust.
Within an hour, the Dawnfield and Chamberlight armies were moving out, headed south. They left hills and meadows trampled in their wake, and Muller’s forces escorted their unwelcome visitors around settled areas. They crossed Harsdown with the two largest military forces in the settled lands, a sea of men and horses that stretched as far as Mel could see.
In the evening, Mel’s father separated a contingent of his most trusted officers from the main body of his forces. He sent them west—with Mel and Dancer. They left the sea of warriors and rode for the Dawnfield orchards.
Mel brooded. She abhorred being sent home while so many others went to risk their lives—including her husband.
16
The Citadel Within
Chime was waiting on the veranda in back of the farmhouse, dressed in a tunic and trousers, green silk with shimmering gold layers. Jason Windcrier stood with her, dusty and tousled. He had ridden ahead to warn the household that Mel and Dancer were coming. Brant Firestoke was at Chime’s side, tall and imposing in gray, with his silver hair swept back from his forehead.
Dancer and Mel rode with their guards around the house to the stables. Grooms ran out to meet them. Chime came down from the porch with her tunic fluttering in the breeze, flanked by Jason and Brant. Her face was drawn but she walked with poise despite her obvious fatigue.
Mel dismounted from Smoke and let a stable girl take the reins. A sandy-haired youth offered his hand to Dancer and she accepted his help with a regal nod. When she was safely on the ground, she turned to face Chime. Her gaze had the same shuttered quality Mel had seen so many times in Cobalt. At first, Mel had thought it meant Cobalt felt no emotions. She had soon come to realize he was guarding them because he was afraid of being hurt. So, too, would Dancer guard herself as she met the woman who had taken her title as the queen of Harsdown.
Seeing her mother, Mel felt as if she were coming out of a thunderstorm that had drenched her in darkness. She wanted to run and hug Chime, but she held back in front of Dancer, she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the painful reserve Cobalt’s family had with one another. But Chime had a familiar gentle expression, the special one for her daughter. Mel could restrain herself no longer. She went into her mother’s arms and Chime held her close, her head against Mel’s head.
“Welcome home,” Chime murmured. “I am so very, very glad to see you.”
“Me, too.” Her answer was muffled against her mother’s hair. Everything was catching up to Mel, the long ride, her months at the C
astle of Clouds, a time of wonder and misery, the magic of learning to know Cobalt, her dread of his plans, her pleasure in his touch and the sight of him, and her fear of Stonebreaker. She squeezed her eyes closed and held her mother.
After a few minutes, they drew apart. Self-conscious, Mel turned to Dancer. The queen had stayed back, but she didn’t seem offended.
Mel spoke. “May I present my mother, Chime Headwind Dawnfield.” To her mother, she said, “Dancer Chamberlight Escar.” She deliberately avoided titles. Who would she call queen? No matter what she said, it would offend someone. So she said nothing.
Dancer and Chime nodded to each other, two women of influence, both of them forged by difficult lives, Dancer’s heavy with the demands of heredity and pain, and Chime’s with her responsibilities as a mage as well as a queen.
“I hope you will dine with us,” Chime said.
“I appreciate your hospitality,” Dancer said.
So polite. Mel doubted either of them wanted to spend the evening together. What would they talk about? I wonder when we’ll know if they’ve crushed Shazire. The armies wouldn’t reach the border for many days.
“Would you like to freshen up?” Chime asked. “I’ve a girl who can help you.”
Dancer put her palm against her cheek as if she wasn’t certain what to do. It was such a simple thing Chime offered, a chance to recuperate with help from someone—except for Dancer it was a luxury, one deliberately denied, given only when she left her refuge and went to a place she hated, the Diamond Palace.
“I thank you,” Dancer said with brittle formality.
Chime lifted her hand in a gesture of invitation, and Dancer joined her as they walked to the house. Jason and the other officers went into the stables to check their horses.
Brant fell into step with Mel, following the two queens. “How are you?”
“One moment I feel like mourning,” Mel said. “The next I miss him terribly.”
He didn’t have to ask who. “Do you grieve for Shazire? Or him?”
A good question. “Both. For Shazire’s losses. And for what Cobalt could have been if his life had been less harsh.”
“Is he such a monster, then?”
“No. He’s not.” How to describe him? It would be like trying to explain lightning or thunder. “He could be a great leader.”
Brant studied her face. “And his father?”
Mel thought for a moment. “Varqelle is not the horrendous man I expected, but neither is he good. He has neither Cobalt’s compassion nor his kindness. For all his power, Varqelle lacks wisdom about people. He considers gentler emotions a weakness.” She struggled to express what she had trouble defining for herself. “Somehow that makes him weaker than Cobalt, not stronger. He and Stonebreaker criticize Cobalt, yet Cobalt is more than either of them. I think they know, even if they don’t understand. Varqelle admires Cobalt and Stonebreaker fears him.”
“It is not Cobalt who will rule in Shazire and Blueshire if his army conquers them.”
If. If Cobalt didn’t die in the process. Mel shuddered. “Do you think my father will break the treaty to defend Shazire and Blueshire?”
“I have no doubt he has asked himself that question every hour since he made his decision.” He continued without hesitation. “He will keep his word. He has always done what he believed right and stood by his decisions.”
“He never had to make one this terrible.”
“No,” Brant said softly. “He never did.”
Mel sighed, saddened by everything. “You remind me of Matthew.”
“Who is that?”
“A good friend.” He was her only one at the castle, though at least the staff no longer seemed to resent her.
Brant inclined his head. “I am honored.”
She slanted him a look. “He’s in charge of the stables.”
He didn’t even blink at the comparison. “From what I saw of your horse, it is well cared for.”
“Yes. It is.” Brant was so very different from Cobalt’s family. She couldn’t imagine Stonebreaker or Varqelle accepting such a comparison. “I wish we could stay here.”
He watched Dancer and Chime ahead of them. “You may end up living in Shazire.”
It was a sobering thought. Mel had no idea how this would end. Dancer and Cobalt had survived and remained free after Varqelle failed to conquer Aronsdale, but only because they no longer lived in Harsdown. Otherwise, Jarid would probably have sent them into exile. If Cobalt lost this campaign against Shazire, Mel doubted that Prince Zerod, the emir of that country, would let him live. Cobalt had sent her and Dancer here to ensure that if he failed, his wife and mother would be safe, not only from Zerod, but from Stonebreaker, as well.
Mel would have rather risked her life in the upcoming war than have come here to safety. If she could no longer act as a mage, she could do little to help the army. But she couldn’t bear to stay here while Cobalt courted death.
They took supper together, Mel and Chime, Dancer, Brant, Jason, and the other five officers from the honor guard. Dancer said little and avoided looking at Chime.
When Brant and the officers became involved in a discussion of vintage wines Muller imported from Taka Mal, Mel’s interest wandered. She picked up the bronzewood ring that had held the cloth she used to clean her hands. It glistened in the candlelight. The wood seemed to glow with rosy light. In fact, it was glowing—
With a start, Mel dropped the ring. It clinked on the table and the glow faded.
“Mel,” her mother admonished.
She glanced up. Only Chime had noticed; everyone else was talking or paying attention to their food. Mel’s pulse raced. A spell! It was a small one, yes, but real. She hadn’t lost all her abilities. Elation surged within her, followed by an absurd urge to cry.
Mel wasn’t embarrassed that her mother had seen her fumble the spell. She wanted to jump up and yell. Barring that, she beamed at Chime, evoking a perplexed look from her mother. Mel said nothing. If she explained about the injury, Chime would want to know how it happened. The answer would reveal to Dancer that Mel had warned Harsdown about the invasion. If she didn’t answer, it might look odd. She could tell her mother later—though it might be a long time before she had the chance.
After dinner, they relaxed around the table and drank wine mulled with spices and apples. Brant spoke to Dancer. “Do you have any hobbies, Your Majesty?”
Mel approved of the title he used. Technically, Dancer was a Highness, as a Chamberlight princess. Given the circumstances, though, Mel was glad he had chosen to forget she was no longer a queen.
Dancer seemed bewildered. “Hobbies?”
“I play chess,” Brant said.
“I know the game.”
“Perhaps we might try a game later,” he offered.
Dancer regarded him warily. “Perhaps.”
Chime smiled. “I enjoy working in the orchards, when I have a chance.”
“We have men who tend the crops,” Dancer said. It could have sounded like a slight, as if she looked down on Chime for doing such work, but Dancer spoke with no disdain. She seemed more baffled than anything else.
“Her Majesty is an expert in the history of the Misted Cliffs,” Mel said.
“History?” Chime’s interest perked up. “I’ve always enjoyed the subject. A lot is there to be learned.”
For the first time since they had arrived, Dancer smiled. “It intrigues me how much our lives have changed over the centuries. The past was a simpler time.” She sounded wistful. “Or perhaps it only seems that way now, when our lives have too many complications to bear.”
A silence fell around the table. Mel didn’t think Dancer realized what she had said. With her life, the former queen had no reason to think people might live without complications that seemed unbearable.
Chime spoke gently. “You are welcome to visit our library. Our scrolls and books are at your disposal.”
“Thank you.” Dancer had a strange expression, as if
she expected that any moment someone would yank the rug out from under her chair.
Later that night, after everyone had retired, Mel walked down the hallway carrying a candle. Its mellow light reflected off the sunbask walls, but the house was otherwise dark, the lamps on its walls doused. She carried her basket over one arm with Fog sleeping inside.
“You’re getting heavy,” she murmured. “Not such a baby anymore.” She hoped Fog would sleep well for the next few hours. If she left him outside her mother’s door and the kitten woke up alone, he would be frightened inside his basket. Mel had decided to slip it inside her mother’s room and crack open the lid. That way, Fog could climb out, but he wouldn’t end up wandering and lost in a house he probably didn’t remember. Knowing Fog, he would jump on the bed and sleep under the covers next to Chime.
Mel had come to a decision as soon as she had realized her magecraft was returning. No matter how much anyone else might disagree with her—especially her husband or father—she couldn’t shirk the responsibilities conferred by her power.
Up ahead, the door of the library opened. Dancer stepped into the hallway, holding open the door with her back, a lamp in one hand and her attention absorbed by a gilt-edged book in her other hand. She looked vulnerable with her velvet robe over a pale nightdress and her unbound hair hanging down to her waist. Startled, Mel stopped. At that instant, the queen glanced up and froze, as if she expected attack.
“My greetings of the evening,” Mel said. She could make out the title of the book, a historical treatise on agriculture.
Dancer hesitated. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“Not at all.”
The queen nodded stiffly. “Well. Good evening.”
Mel returned the nod, feeling self-conscious. “Did you enjoy the library?”
“Very much. It is a splendid collection.” Although impeccably courteous, her tone had a finality that left little doubt she had no wish to converse. She walked past Mel, in the direction of her room. “Good night.”
The Misted Cliffs Page 21
