“Good night.” Mel watched Dancer, helpless to do anything, though she didn’t know what she thought she needed to do.
The queen paused and turned back. “Thank you.”
Mel wasn’t certain why Dancer was thanking her. Whatever the reason, she was glad her mother-in-law’s attitude had softened. “You are welcome.”
Dancer inclined her head. Then she continued on her way. When she turned the corner, Mel resumed her errand. She felt somehow lighter, as if sunlight had slanted through a window, though it was night.
A half-moon lit the yard behind the house. Mel lifted a wood panel at the back of the stable, taking care to make as little noise as possible. When the wood creaked, the crickets went silent. She hadn’t even noticed them until they stopped their racket. That was why the Castle of Clouds had seemed unnaturally silent; it had few of the night sounds she knew from these fertile valleys. No crickets.
After a moment, they started up again, like a host of miniature saws cutting wood in the night. Mel ducked into the stable. She padded across a dirt floor strewn with fragrant straw, and the smell of hay tickled her nose. A horse snorted in one of the stalls.
In her youth, Mel had worked in these stables. Her mother had decreed she wouldn’t grow up “spoiled.” Prior to her betrothal to Muller, Chime had lived as a commoner. Mages had always been rare, and a royal heir in Aronsdale was expected to marry the most powerful female mage who would accept his suit, which meant Dawnfield men often wed the daughters of farmers, merchants, or shopkeepers. Some said it was the reason their line remained so robust. Mel didn’t see why that mattered, but she knew enough about livestock to realize inbreeding could have a harmful effect on offspring.
In any case, Chime had worked on her family’s farm in her youth and she was determined her daughter would do the same. So Mel had mucked out stalls and fertilized crops along with all the stable boys and stable girls. Now others were tasked with those onerous chores, but Mel had never lost her love of the horses.
She went to Smoke’s stall and leaned across the open half-door. He pushed his nose against her hand, searching for the apple she often brought him. She offered him a succulent fruit she had taken from the kitchen. While Smoke crunched it, she rested her hand on a carved ball that decorated the half-door.
Blue light glowed around the ball.
Saints! Mel moved her hand and the light faded. Elated, she grasped the ball again and focused, using extra care. Blue light flickered. Had she wanted to make a brief spell, she could have managed. Tears welled in her eyes. “Well, Smoke. That is my second spell tonight. It seems I am still a mage after all.”
He nuzzled her hand, searching for sweets, unconcerned about the momentous event. Mel laughed and scratched his neck. “Sorry. No more.”
It didn’t take long to prepare him for their ride. The supplies she had hidden earlier this evening were in the back of the stable where she had left them. She changed into the armor she had taken from the storeroom and strapped on her sword belt. The familiar weight of the blade reassured her. When she fastened the travel bags across Smoke’s flanks, he stepped with restless energy. Like her, he wanted to be off and moving.
The front doors of the stable creaked more loudly than her private entrance. Mel held her breath as she walked Smoke into the yard. No calls came from the house, and no lights glowed on. Even the reading lamp in Dancer’s bedroom was dark. Mel knew by heart the schedule for the sentries who protected the house; she had only a few moments before they would come by here. She mounted and guided Smoke past the house in a wide circle to minimize the chance of waking anyone. When she reached the orchards, she urged him down a row of trees, slow enough for safety but fast enough to get them away as quickly as possible.
She couldn’t stay here, coddled and safe. She had no wish to fight Shazire, and she couldn’t stop Cobalt, but if she could use her mage powers to ease the ruin brought on by battle, she was honor-bound to try.
As soon as she and Smoke reached the dirt road, Mel gave the horse his head and he broke into a gallop. She finally began to breathe more naturally. He was a good horse, fast and strong. Mel would be long gone by the time her mother found her letter in the morning.
Cobalt paced the ridge above the fields where his men had camped for the night. Neither he nor Muller Dawnfield wanted his forces below those of the other army, so they both ended up camping on separate regions of the grassy plains. This was rich land, so different from the rocky cliffs of his home. He felt saturated. It was like eating too much sweet food; it seemed a good thing, but afterward you felt queasy. Too much, and your body became sluggish and heavy. A part of him wanted to return home, and the other wanted to gorge on this lush countryside.
The sky had just barely begun to lighten, and dawn was more than an hour off. A few fires burned as cooks prepared the morning meal. Fragrant traces of smoke drifted around him, a richer smell than produced by the hard woods of his home.
Cobalt climbed to the top of the ridge and looked back across the hills they had crossed yesterday. He had thought eleven thousand people would strip the land bare, but the scattered woods were still standing. A creek meandered at the foot of the ridge, its path muddied and shifted. In the predawn light, he could see little of the damage done by the army, just the natural beauty of the land. No one stirred in the hills, though yesterday they had swarmed with people, horses, livestock, and carts.
Almost no one. A rider was crossing a distant bluff. Cobalt squinted. His vision wasn’t usually bad enough to make his spectacles necessary, but this early-morning light bothered him. He took his glasses from a pouch inside his shirt and put them on. The rider resolved into a man in armor, which meant he could be from either the Dawnfield or Chamberlight forces. The fellow had probably traveled a good distance, since the armies had passed no settlements in this region. Given the time, well before sunrise, he must have left at a very early hour, indeed.
By the time the rider reached the base of the ridge, Cobalt had deduced that he came from Muller’s army. His helmet resembled the head of a bobcat found only in these southern hills. Cobalt’s men had the Chamberlight sphere emblazoned on their breastplates, whereas this man had a blank one fashioned from leather. The Chamberlight men used more metal in their armor, which offered better protection but less agility. This fellow’s chain mail also had a less solid look. Nor was he large. He was probably a fast fighter without much strength.
Cobalt was standing under an outcropping that jutted up from the ridge. It was a deliberate choice; in the open, he would be silhouetted against the paling sky, giving away his position. The rider climbed the ridge more to the east, where a mounted sentry from the Chamberlight army intercepted him. Cobalt watched as the riders conferred. Then they headed over the ridge and down the other side. He expected them to veer eastward, toward the Dawnfield army, but instead they went through the Chamberlight camp. In fact, they were headed toward his own tent. Puzzled, Cobalt jogged down the ridge.
The sentry and the Dawnfield man arrived at Cobalt’s tent first. Cobalt slowed to a walk, watching them. The two riders dismounted, and the sentry spoke with Matthew, whom Cobalt had left on guard. The Dawnfield man waited back a few paces. His chin showed under the bottom of his helmet, well formed but too delicate for a grown man. He was a boy. Probably he had wanted to join Muller’s army and they had turned him away because of his youth. Although Cobalt approved of determination, he didn’t see why the sentry had brought the boy here. A few of Muller’s men had deserted their army and asked to join Varqelle’s forces; they had served him eighteen years ago, and they returned now to swear their loyalty. Although it was a smaller number than his father had hoped for, it had gratified Varqelle. They were older men, however. This boy probably hadn’t been alive during the last war. Cobalt frowned. He had doubts about a soldier who changed sides so easily.
“I will inform you when he returns,” Matthew was saying in his deepest voice.
Cobalt smiled. Matthew had of
ten used that voice during Cobalt’s youth, when the young prince had misbehaved. It could rumble with just as much authority as the highest general in the land.
The sentry seemed unduly agitated. “It wouldn’t be wise to wait, sir.”
“You have no choice,” Matthew said.
Cobalt walked up to them. “What is the problem?”
They all turned with a start. The sentry took a step backward as he saluted, his hand snapping to his shoulder in the Chamberlight tradition. “Sir!” He was staring at Cobalt oddly.
Cobalt suddenly realized he was wearing his spectacles. Embarrassed, he took them off and put them in his pocket. “You have a message for me?”
The sentry indicated the boy. “You’ve a visitor.” He swallowed and took another step back.
Cobalt wondered at the sentry’s behavior. He knew he unsettled people, but this seemed extreme. The fellow had never acted with such trepidation before. Cobalt frowned at the Dawnfield youth. “Remove your helmet. Let me get a look at you.”
The boy inclined his head in an oddly regal gesture. He pulled off his helmet—and masses of gold hair spilled free.
Bloody hell. Cobalt swore in several languages. Decked out in armor and mail, his wife regarded him with an unwavering gaze, her chin lifted. Then she gave him that devastating and deceptively angelic smile of hers.
“Good morning,” she said.
Cobalt glowered at her. “Not anymore.” He jerked his hand toward his tent. “In there.”
Mel nodded to the sentry who had escorted her. “Thank you, sir.” She walked forward and gave Matthew a courteous nod. “It is good to see you.” Then she entered the tent. Cobalt didn’t miss that she neglected to nod to him. Well, hell. How was he supposed to greet her? Now he had to worry about sending her home, and saints knew, he dreaded that conversation.
He yanked aside the flap and stalked inside. Mel was standing across the tent by the brazier holding her helmet under her arm. Her hair tumbled about her body in golden waves, and the hilt of her sword glinted in the ruddy light. Her House took its name from ancient tales of a warrior goddess who came down from the stars in the dawn sky. Right now, Mel could have been an incarnation of that goddess. She took his breath away. She would also drive him to drink. He had no idea how to deal with this wife of his, who carried the blood of warrior queens in her veins.
“You must return to your mother,” he stated.
“I must stay here,” Mel answered calmly.
Cobalt crossed his arms. “I do not see your mother riding with your father’s army.”
She scowled at him. “That is because someone has to rule Harsdown while my father makes sure your marauders do not pillage our lands.”
“We do not maraud,” he growled.
Mel walked over to him. Her head came up to his chest and she was probably less than half his weight. She was also thoroughly intimidating.
“I will not leave,” she said.
“Why not?” Cobalt lowered his arms. “You wish to fight Shazire?”
“Saints, no. I wish I could stop you. But I cannot.” She turned her palm up as if showing him what she had to offer. “As a mage, I am sworn to do no harm. If you must do this, I must do what I can to ease the harm.”
“You would fight against me?”
“You are my husband. I would not go against you.” In a low voice, she added, “Though I feel I am betraying my own people because of it.”
“I would not have you betray anyone,” Cobalt said. “The solution is for you to go home.”
“I cannot.”
“You are one person,” Cobalt said, bewildered. “What could you possibly do?”
“I am a mage. I can help an army.” She spoke as if she were forcing out the words. “I also know Shazire. My parents felt I should learn about the neighbors of the country I will rule. Shazire has little chance against this mammoth army you bring against them. Nor do they have strong allies. Aronsdale is probably the only country they could have relied on for help, and we are bound by our treaty with you to withhold such support.”
The tendons in Cobalt’s neck tightened. “Are you saying you will use your mage abilities to help them defeat us?”
“No.” She made no effort to hide her regret. “I could never achieve such a miracle. You have three times the men, resources, and armaments they can bring to muster. I cannot change that with a few spells. But I know the House of Zerod. They have great pride. They will never surrender. Even now, they will be scrambling to prepare, sending envoys to other countries asking for help, even to the borderlands to hire mercenaries. But it will be too little too late.”
The clicks, buzzes, rustles, and hums of the night receded until Cobalt heard only Mel. “Then what are you suggesting?”
She spoke quietly. “I can help you win your campaign with as little loss of life and destruction as possible.”
Cobalt was certain he had heard wrong. “You will help me conquer Shazire?” With her at his side, he truly would be invincible.
Her voice turned cold. “I have no wish to help you conquer anyone.” She laid her hand on the hilt of her sword and the ball at its tip glowed blue. “I have come to minimize the harm.”
Cobalt was beginning to see. “You can heal, yes? You will help my physicians.”
“That is part of it. I can also bolster confidence and health among your men. My mood spells can gauge the morale of armies you fight, even their plans if I can get close enough to them. I can save lives when men fall.” She was clenching her the hilt of her sword. “I will help you win your campaign as fast and as cleanly as possible, my husband, because it is the only way I can see—the only realistic way—to minimize the harm you will do.”
It was what he had wanted, to have her support, but it sobered him that it came because she saw him as a destroyer and was desperate to help those she expected him to hurt.
“Mel, listen.” He drew her to sit with him on his pallet. She remained cross-legged, stiff and distant though they were only handspans apart. He had tried to make her see before, but he found it hard to speak so much. He would try again, and yet again, until she would know his visions as he knew them.
“I have no wish to harm,” he said. “I too hope for as few deaths as possible. Shazire is a beautiful country and I would keep it that way. But it is our country. The House of Escar will rule. Someday we will take Jazid and Taka Mal. When I am king of the Misted Cliffs, it will unite the Escar Empire. Then you will inherit the Jaguar Throne. Mel! It could be the greatest empire ever known among these settled lands, one that will endure for ages.” He took her hands. “This is my dream. I would bring our peoples together.”
“It is a powerful dream. But is it real?” She tensed her fingers around his. “You conquer. How does that make you different from a tyrant?”
“I am no tyrant.”
“Why not?”
“A tyrant oppresses. Destroys. Kills.”
“You will kill and destroy to defeat Shazire.”
Why could she not see? “People die in battle.”
“How is it not oppressing people when you force them to deny their leaders and accept you?” she demanded. “How is it not destructive to trample their lands, to kill their sons and fathers and brothers, all so you can take the throne?”
“Jazid and Taka Mal did exactly that when they tore apart the Misted Cliffs.” He flexed his fingers, easing her viselike grip. “I do not claim it will be easy or gentle. That does not mean it isn’t a vision worth the price of its realization.”
“It is a brutal price.” She opened his hands and showed him his palms. “Soon you will cover these in blood. Will you do the same to anyone who defies you? Where is the line between an ‘acceptable’ price and tyranny?” In a quieter voice, she said, “And if you succeed? Where does that leave Aronsdale? Surrounded on every side by your empire.”
He hesitated. “I might hope, through you and our child, that someday Aronsdale would join us. Perhaps the tie could b
e strengthened through a marriage.”
“I don’t think that could ever happen.”
Cobalt didn’t know how to make her see. In the light from the brazier, her face had a gilded quality, as if she had stepped out of a legend like an antique goddess. He wanted to lay an empire at her feet, but she wouldn’t accept it. He put his arm around her waist and drew her against his body, his legs on either side of her.
“Mel—”
“No!” She set her palms against his chest. “You cannot seduce me into this.”
“Be my empress.”
“Why would I wish this?”
It seemed obvious to him. He was offering her immense power. He wanted to give her so much and she didn’t want it. What did a husband give his wife, then? He had little to offer, but this was something he could do and do well. So he tried again. “If you fear for the future, then sit at my side and do what you think is right for the peoples of the lands that become ours.”
“Cobalt…”
He waited, but she said no more. At least she wasn’t refusing. “You say that a lot. Just my name. It sounds very fine, but I think when you say it, you have other purposes in mind than to enchant me with the sound.” He trailed his fingers across her mouth. “Do you truly think I am evil?”
Her lips parted. “No.”
Ah, saints. What could he do when her mouth invited him that way? He bent his head and kissed her, making her lips part even more for his tongue. At first she stiffened, and he thought she would shove him away. She kept her hands up, exerting pressure to hold him at bay, but she kissed him back with a hunger that fed his own.
“Mel.” He reached for the fastenings of her armor.
She pushed back from him. “Stop it.”
“Why?”
“You seduce me.”
“Good.”
“It is not good.”
“I am your husband.”
“Cobalt.”
Exasperated, he said, “There it is, my name again.”
She hesitated. “You asked if I thought you were evil.”
The Misted Cliffs Page 22
