Varqelle waved his hand. “Take a switch to her.”
Cobalt’s good mood vanished. “No.”
“She will get more unruly.”
This was an aspect of his father he didn’t want to see. “I am no Stonebreaker.” He rubbed his knuckles, recalling the bloodstains they left in the towers of his home. “Nor a breaker of women and children.”
“I do not countenance brutality.” Varqelle shook his head with a firm, unyielding motion. “But Cobalt, you must make your wife behave. Break her as you would an unruly horse.”
“I never break a horse.” Cobalt thought of Admiral. “Destroy the spirit and you lose what you love.”
“Such women are incapable of love.” Varqelle’s voice hardened. “Judge by their actions, not their false words.”
Cobalt wished he could soften his father’s view. “Have you no sympathy for Mother?”
“Why would I have sympathy for a woman who hated me from the day we wed?”
“Sometimes a woman needs time.”
“An eternity wouldn’t have melted her.” Varqelle’s voice lost some of its edge. “The only woman who ever gave me any warmth was a girl I got from Jazid.”
So his father had kept a concubine. It didn’t surprise Cobalt. Stonebreaker had several, and Varqelle didn’t seem the type of man to spend all those years alone. “Did you bring her to Escar after Mother left?”
“Before. She consoled me for your mother’s cold heart.”
Cobalt’s sympathy vanished. He scowled at his father. “Perhaps your mistress was the reason your wife lacked warmth.”
“You want a miracle reunion. It will never happen.” Varqelle’s answer held no anger, only sadness. “You must stop hoping.”
“The three most important people in my life all hate one another. I cannot help but hope it will change.”
“Then see to your wife. She is the one you can most affect.” Varqelle’s eyes glinted. “You spend a great deal of time with her at night. Make it mean something.”
“Mean something?” Cobalt asked, perplexed. It meant a great deal, all of it very private.
“No reason exists why punishing her should not give you pleasure.”
Cobalt felt as if Varqelle had punched him deep in the stomach. His rage stirred, and it took a great effort not to raise his fist. “I do not wish to have this conversation.”
“Ah, Cobalt, I do not mean to offend you.” Varqelle paused. “Just think on what I have said. Do not let her pretty words blind you.”
Everything Mel did blinded him. She remained in his thoughts always. She terrified him, yet he would do anything, anything at all to hear her tell him that she loved him. Was this weakness? Should he rethink the way he dealt with her? The thought of her coming to harm was unbearable.
“Was there never any love between you and Mother?” he asked.
Regret showed on Varqelle’s face. “I’m sorry I cannot give you the answer you want.”
Sorry. Just like that, his father said, I’m sorry. Never in a millennium would Stonebreaker have apologized for anything.
Varqelle smiled. “It is true, though, that the one time she sought me of her own volition was the night you were conceived.”
Cobalt’s face flamed. “I don’t believe I should hear this.”
“Ah, well, perhaps not.” Varqelle chuckled. “You were born as you lived, impatient and demanding to conquer the world. You couldn’t even wait the full nine months.”
“I was born early?” Dancer had never told him.
“About a month.”
“Was I sickly?”
“Not at all. You were always big and robust.”
“Perhaps Mother mistimed the dates.”
“I don’t think so. She slipped and fell. That was why she went into labor early. But she and you were both fine.”
“Well, I am glad to be born.” It was one of the few times in his life when Cobalt genuinely felt he could mean those words.
Varqelle clapped him on the shoulder. “Indeed.”
They continued on together, father and son, discussing plans for their future.
King Lightstone and his family left in the early morning. Mel rode out to meet them with a scroll in her hand. Lightstone, his wife, and their daughter, Sky, were mounted and ready to ride, accompanied by an honor guard of twenty Chamberlight and twenty Lightstone men. Varqelle sat on his horse a distance away with a company of his men, observing, and Cobalt was speaking with Lightstone.
Mel rode through the honor guard, aware of everyone watching her. She reined to a stop alongside Sky. The Blueshire princess regarded her with red-rimmed eyes.
“I am sorry,” Mel said. She and Sky had known each other all their lives, not well, but with friendship.
Sky indicated Cobalt. “Are you the one who convinced him to let us live?”
Mel told the truth. “It was his decision. But I spoke in support of it.”
Sky nodded and they sat awkwardly. There seemed no more to say. Whatever friendship they might once have shared had no place here.
“Be well,” Mel finally said.
“I would wish the same for you.” Sky glanced at Cobalt, then at Mel. “If such is possible.”
Mel had no answer for that. After she and Sky bid each other an awkward farewell, Mel rode to where Cobalt conferred with Sky’s parents. They all fell silent as Mel bowed to King Lightstone. Then Cobalt backed up his horse, giving her privacy with the king and queen.
“Your Majesty.” Mel offered him the scroll. “This is a letter on your behalf to my cousin, King Jarid in Aronsdale.”
Lightstone accepted the scroll and inclined his head in a formal gesture of thanks. “Perhaps someday we will meet again.” His voice cooled. “Though you are no longer Dawnfield.”
What could she say? She had married the Escar prince whose army had overrun Blueshire. Nothing would change that.
Cobalt’s men would ensure the Blueshire party reached the Harsdown forces at the border. From there, her father would have them escorted to Aronsdale. Mel had no doubt her parents would offer to take them in, but given her marriage to Cobalt, she doubted the Lightstone king would accept.
The queen spoke quietly. “Goodbye, Mel. I hope you fare well.”
Mel nodded to her. “You also.”
They left then. An hour later, the Chamberlight army was on the move as well, headed for Shazire.
18
Flame Caller
Mel had always thought Shazire beautiful. She had loved to visit as a child. Never in any of her imaginings would she have expected to ride through its lovely countryside as part of an invasion. The army flooded the hills and meadows and churned the wildflowers into pulp. They forded rivers and left behind swamps. Six thousand strong, they marched southward.
Scouts who had ranged ahead of the main force for days came back and reported to Cobalt; the Shazire army was amassing in the Azure Fields north of Alzire, the capital city. Estimates put their numbers at roughly two thousand, with four hundred spearmen from Jazid.
Mel rode with her hexagon guard. They surrounded her but kept enough distance to give her privacy. The Chamber-light cavalry proceeded in columns, and pages led additional mounts. Carts rolled forward, carrying men, women, and supplies. The foot soldiers traveled more slowly but had to rest less often than the horsemen. Several officers from the Castle of Clouds rode past Mel and one raised his hand in greeting. She nodded to them, gratified that their attitude toward her was beginning to thaw.
Toward midday, Colonel Tumbler pulled his horse alongside hers. He bowed and smiled with reserve, his two crooked front teeth giving him a boyish look.
“My greetings,” Mel said.
“I wondered if you required anything,” he said. “Food or water? You are so stoic, never complaining.”
“Thank you.” They were practically the first kind words anyone had said to her during this march. Although the people here still didn’t speak to her much, she suspected it was more no
w because she was Cobalt’s wife than because of any decree from Stonebreaker. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m fine.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Mel smiled. “I will.”
At her smile, Tumbler blushed. He nodded formally, then let his horse fall back into formation, as was appropriate. But he stayed close enough that she could easily call on him if she had any request.
His gesture touched Mel. Nor was his the only one. It was just a nod here, a wave there, but they no longer seemed hostile. It lifted her spirits, which were otherwise dark.
The antiqued sunlight of late afternoon was slanting across the land when Mel saw Cobalt riding back along the lines. He sat tall on Admiral, long-legged and broad-shouldered, his armor glinting. He held his helmet under his arm, and the wind tossed back his hair from his strong-featured face. His aura of power caught Mel and left her breathless. She had no doubt that this man, Cobalt the Dark, the Midnight Prince, would someday be known as Cobalt the Great—if he didn’t burn himself out in the flame of his ambition.
He rode over to her. “Did you forget to eat?”
Mel blinked. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” he said smugly, “you were looking as if you wanted to devour me.”
She glowered at him. “You have an avid imagination.”
He grinned and continued to ride at her side, looking around, conducting an informal inspection of his cavalry, at ease on his mount. Men saluted as they passed and Cobalt nodded in acknowledgment.
“Have you had any message from the emir?” Mel asked. She knew it was a futile hope. Prince Zerod, who ruled Shazire, would never surrender, not if he faced an army ten times the size of his own. One of the greatest tensions among the people of Shazire was that they had a culture steeped in the traditions of the Misted Cliffs, but their rulers now came from the eastern lands, Jazid and Taka Mal, creating a clash of cultures that had never sat easily on the populace.
“A letter arrived this morning,” Cobalt said.
Her pulse leaped. Was she wrong? Perhaps Zerod would surrender. “What does he say?”
“It was very wordy, formal, and polite,” Cobalt said dryly. “Stripped of all that, it said, ‘Get the hell out of my country.’”
Ah, well. It had been a foolish hope.
He glanced at her. “You are wearing armor and a sword.”
“So are you.”
He crossed his arms, his reins tight in one hand. “I would not have you fight tomorrow, when we engage Zerod’s army.”
Her voice cooled. “I have absolutely no desire to kill people.”
“Nor I.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Of course not.” He unfolded his arms and motioned at the land around them. “I desire this. And more.”
She shook her head. “What will you do, Cobalt, when there are no more lands to conquer?”
“I will keep these lands.” He indicated his father, who was riding ahead of them. “For him.”
Mel knew she could never win where Varqelle was concerned. Cobalt’s bond with him was forged in a furnace of shared goals and personality, and annealed by Varqelle’s longing for a son and Cobalt’s need for a father. Nothing she could say would stop Varqelle from despising her, and if she spoke against him, it would only estrange her from Cobalt.
“Why does your face cloud so?” Cobalt asked.
“I wish your father and I got along better.”
“So do I.”
“Do you think it will ever change?”
He thought for a while. “I do not think he likes women.”
There’s an understatement. “He loathes me.”
“He believes women should be submissive. Especially pretty ones.” His lips quirked upward. “You are never the former and always the latter.”
She tilted her head. “You’ve changed.”
“I have?”
“You smile sometimes. And you use full sentences.”
He spoke with mock solemnity. “I must be more careful about that.”
“Cobalt.”
He laughed. “There it is. My name again.”
She grunted at him.
“Mel, listen to me.”
“Yes?”
His smile faded. “You must promise you will stay away from the fighting tomorrow.”
“I do not wish to fight.” She had no desire to see battle. But she couldn’t give him her word when she didn’t know yet what she would be able to do as a mage. She just didn’t know.
“You must promise,” Cobalt told her.
She said nothing.
“Wake up,” Cobalt said.
Mel groaned. “It can’t be dawn yet.”
“It isn’t.” He kissed her ear. “You need to dress.”
She turned on her back and opened her eyes. He was propped up on his elbow, looking down at her. One of his shirts dangled from his raised hand.
“I do?” she asked, groggy.
“You do.” He pulled her up until she was sitting. Then he tugged his shirt over her head and down around her knees. She regarded him with bleary eyes. No light yet showed around the cracks between the entrance flap and the front of the tent.
“It must be almost an hour before dawn,” she mumbled.
“I know. I have to go.” Cobalt drew her to her feet.
Mel swayed. “Too sleepy.”
“Here.” He led her over to where they had hammered a post into the ground to hold up his tent. “Sit here.”
Mel yawned. “I need one of those metal balls your men use in the catapults.”
“The catapults?” He put her back to the pole and pushed her down so she was sitting against it. “Why?”
“Cobalt, what are you doing?” Mel tried to get up.
He hugged her as if he were embracing her, but he was also pulling her arms behind the pole. Before she could react, he had wrapped a rope around her wrists.
“What—stop!” Mel tried to yank her arms free, but he held her pinned in his arms and quickly bound her wrists together.
“No!” Mel struggled against him. “Let me go!”
He did finally let go, though he stayed kneeling in front of her. He spoke firmly. “I would die before I would let you near a battle. You must stay here.”
She jerked on the ropes that kept her arms behind her back. “You bastard.”
“I assure you my birth was quite legitimate.”
Mel swore at him with the choicest words she had picked up from her father’s officers during training.
Cobalt winced. “Your language is extraordinary.”
“What if Shazire warriors break through here?” she demanded. It was unlikely; they were far from the Azure Fields. But it wasn’t impossible. “What then?”
He rose to his feet. “Matthew will be here to see that you are protected and give you meals.”
She couldn’t believe he was going to leave her half naked and bound to a pole. “You have to untie me.”
“No.” He picked up his clothes from where he had laid them out the night before. “I do not.”
Mel wrestled with her bonds. When she couldn’t loosen the ropes, she tried to pull the pole out of the ground. That didn’t work, either. While she struggled, Cobalt dressed, donned his armor, strapped on his sword, and picked up his shield and helmet. He lifted the tent flap, and his body made a dark silhouette against a sky just barely lightened by dawn.
“I will see you when I return from the Azure Fields,” he said.
Mel turned her head and refused to acknowledge him. It was several moments before she heard him leave. The flap crinkled as it fell back in place.
“Are you all right?” a man asked.
Mel jerked and nearly choked. A man with broad shoulders and long legs stood in the entrance, dark against the paling sky. It wasn’t Cobalt—she couldn’t defend herself—
“Matthew!” She sagged against the pole. “You scared me.”
He came over and crouched next to
her. “I am sorry.”
“Will you untie me?”
“You know I cannot do that.”
She scowled at him. “You are perfectly capable of doing it.”
“I won’t disobey Prince Cobalt’s orders.” At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.
She twisted her hands behind her back, trying to work them free. All she succeeded in doing was scraping her wrists. “I can’t believe he did this.”
“I’ve never seen him treat a woman in such a manner,” he admitted. “But then, I’ve never seen him so intense about anyone, either.”
“You mean tying them up? You’re right. He’s intensely crazy.”
“He’s in love.”
“He has a damn fool way of showing it.”
“What would you have him do?” Matthew asked. “Let you go into combat?” “Yes.”
“That is crazy.”
“He goes, and I have to agonize over his safety.”
“That is different.”
“Like hell it is.”
“You know,” Matthew said, “you not only fight like a man, you swear like one, too.”
“Yes, well, Cobalt doesn’t tie his men to poles.” She wrenched at her bonds. “He listens too much to his father.”
Matthew’s voice quieted. “I would take care how you speak to him of his father.”
“I know.” Mel leaned her head back against the pole. It was too irregular in its cut to provide a good shape for a spell. “I need to calm down.”
“This would be good.”
She sent him an annoyed look. However, a plan was coming to her. She lifted her head and put on a wistful expression. “I guess I’m afraid.”
His gaze softened. “I won’t leave your side.”
“I wish Fog were here.”
“He would be comforting.”
“My people have a custom—well, it’s rather silly. But it does offer comfort.”
He squinted at her. “What custom?”
“When we are afraid, we hold a favorite object and sing.”
Matthew blanched. “You want to sing?”
Mel glared at him. “I don’t have that bad of a voice.” Then she remembered she was being conciliatory. “But I wouldn’t sing this early in the morning. It would be calming, though, to have something to hold.”
The Misted Cliffs Page 24
