In the silence that followed Cobalt’s words, he thought he could hear his own pulse. His insane proposal made perfect sense. If he married Melody Dawnfield, she became Melody Dawnfield Escar. Their child would inherit the Jaguar Throne. It would return the title to the House of Escar without shedding one drop of blood.
Varqelle stared at Cobalt as if his son had grown a second head. For once Stonebreaker seemed at a loss for a comeback.
Brant Firestoke narrowed his gaze at Cobalt. Then he said, “I will carry your proposal to King Jarid.”
Stonebreaker slowly rose to his feet. “So you have come around after all,” he told Cobalt.
After all? Cobalt could have socked him. Stonebreaker wanted it to sound as if he had suggested the marriage and his grandson had resisted until now.
Cobalt crossed his arms. “I hope you won’t continue your attempts to talk me out of this, Grandfather. My decision is made.”
A muscle twitched in Stonebreaker’s cheek. He didn’t like his own duplicitous methods turned against him. Well, he could live with it. Either that, or he could start a verbal war right here and weaken their position.
Stonebreaker turned to Firestoke. “My men will escort you to the border. We await King Jarid’s response.”
Relief washed over Cobalt, though he schooled his face to keep it hidden. He had no wish to marry a Dawnfield, especially not a woman who reputedly looked like a man, but it would achieve their ends. The proposal probably wouldn’t satisfy his father; it would put his grandson on the throne, not him. But Varqelle surely saw the advantage of protecting Harsdown—his country, his people, and his home. Although the idea wasn’t perfect, it just might work.
If Dawnfield agreed.
The creak of stable doors awoke Mel. She lifted her head from her pillow and peered into the darkness. Predawn light sifted through the window nearest her bed. The stamp of hooves and the snort of horses came from outside.
Mel got up and went to the window. A short distance behind the house, men were dismounting from horses. They wore the livery of King Jarid at Castle Suncroft. Her father was out there as well, a robe over his sleep shirt and trousers as he spoke in a hushed voice with the visitors.
She laid her hand against the diamond shapes engraved in the window frame. Closing her eyes, she imagined green leaves and lush grass. A spell grew within her, and she probed her father’s mood. The diamond was a weak shape, just two dimensions with only four sides, so her spell picked up only a vague sense. Something dismayed him—
Her?
Mel opened her eyes. She could think of nothing she could have done to trouble her father, at least beyond the normal state of affairs. She went to her bed and moved the sleeping kitten off her robe. As she pulled on the velvet dressing gown, she left her room and padded barefoot down the hall.
It was cool outside. Mel walked through the gardens behind the house and approached the stables, where her father was talking to the messengers, and stable hands were seeing to their horses. In the flurry of all that activity, no one noticed Mel.
“It is worse than her riding with my cavalry,” her father told one visitor, a craggy man with a sunburned face. Muller was clenching a scroll with the seal of Castle Suncroft.
“King Jarid won’t force her to accept the decision,” the man said. “It is her choice.”
“What choice?” Mel asked behind them.
Muller spun around. When Mel saw his look of pain, she realized what had happened and a chill went through her. “It has begun, then? Varqelle has invaded?”
“How much did you hear?” Muller asked.
She pushed her hand through her tangled hair. “That you believe a choice I have to make could be worse than riding with your army.”
He spoke with difficulty. “Mel—”
“Tell me.” She felt as if she were about to fall.
“Stonebreaker has a proposal that will avoid this war.”
Such news should have overjoyed him. Why did he look as if he were attending a funeral? “What is it?”
He didn’t answer. When the moment stretched out too long, Mel said, “Father? What do they propose?”
He spoke in a dull voice. “That you and Prince Cobalt wed.”
Mel waited for him to laugh. It was a horrendous joke, one she would never have imagined from him.
He didn’t smile.
Finally she found her voice. “This is a terrible jest.”
He looked as if he had aged ten years. “It is no jest.”
“No.” She couldn’t accept that.
“It is the perfect solution.” Bitterness edged Muller’s voice. “Brilliant. The Misted Cliffs win. Chamberlight wins. Escar wins. Everyone wins.” Grimly he added, “Except us.”
“No! Father, no.”
“Gods forgive me, Mel, but I could never see you marry that man no matter how much it would mean for our people.”
Mel folded her arms and shivered in the chill autumn morning. “Cobalt the Dark is crazy.”
“They are all crazy,” Muller said, “if they think I would give you to such a monster.”
“I am betrothed to Aron.”
Her father lifted the scroll he held. “This includes a letter signed by both King Jarid and his son Aron. It releases you from your betrothal if you decide to accept the Chamberlight proposal.”
Her mind whirled. “And if I don’t agree?”
“The Misted Cliffs will invade.” His fist gripped the scroll. “They swear they will not stop until the House of Dawnfield is destroyed in both Aronsdale and Harsdown.”
Mel felt ill. “They could succeed.”
“It is a devil’s offer!” her father said.
“What devil?” a sleepy voice asked.
Mel spun around just as her mother ambled up to them, dressed in her robe and silk pajamas, her hair tousled. The queen smiled drowsily. “You are all up early.” As she looked from Mel to Muller, her smile faded. “What happened?”
Muller told her, briefly, without comment. He needed none. His pale face said it all.
“This is ludicrous.” Chime stared at him. “They believe we would sacrifice our daughter so they can steal the throne they lost through their own belligerence?”
The world seemed to tilt around Mel. “If I tell them no, many of our people could lose their lives, lands, and homes.”
Her father lifted his chin. “We can defeat any army the Misted Cliffs sends against us.”
“Can we?” Mel felt as if a band were tightening around her torso, cutting off her breath. “They are so strong.”
“We will find a way,” Muller said. His hollow expression belied the confidence he was trying to project.
“At what cost?” Mel whispered.
“Ah, saints.” Chime held out her arms, and Mel went to her mother. Chime held her, and Mel hugged her hard, unable to stop shaking.
“What can I do?” Mel said.
Her father clasped her shoulder, but his hand shook. No matter what he or her mother said, what reassurance could they give? Mel couldn’t say yes, but she didn’t dare say no. Her mother murmured her name over and over. Chime’s voice caught, and Mel felt the wetness of her mother’s tears against her hair and cheek.
Every instinct urged Mel to run from this proposal. She wanted to go to Aron, her betrothed. If only they were already married. Although they weren’t in love, she had always been fond of him. Her feelings surely could have grown into more, given time. She couldn’t bear to think of losing him for a prince of night and terror. But if she said no, how many of her people would die beneath his sword and the ferocity of Escar vengeance?
Mel’s voice cracked. “I have no choice.”
Her parents both held her, the three of them forming a grief-stricken knot in the yard. The messengers and stable hands waited in silence, no one intruding. Tears slid down Mel’s face. She had known a good life here with a loving family and friends. Now that would end. In the rest of Harsdown, the sun was rising, but for her family, it was sunset.
Cobalt gazed into his wedge-shaped bedroom. Here in the narrow end, the entrance curved in an elegant horseshoe arch. Curtains hung along the wall to his left, and oil lamps lined the other wall, though none were lit. The only light trickled from a single lamp on the wall outside. His bed stood across the room at the wide end of the wedge, its covers bunched up or thrown on the floor. Every night he went to sleep in a perfectly made bed and every morning he awoke with it torn to pieces. He tossed and turned throughout the night. And he was too big. His bed had to be tailor-made for his body; otherwise, his feet hung off the end.
“Goodbye,” he said. It felt odd to speak; he rarely did it even around people. But today it seemed appropriate. This was an ending to the first half of his life. It called for something dramatic. A spoken word seemed to fit that requirement, though he supposed most people would find his conclusion amusing. Or perhaps not. Cobalt Escar and amusing weren’t concepts found in the same thought for most people.
“Brooding on your soon-to-be-lost freedom?” a familiar voice asked.
Cobalt turned around. Matthew stood behind him in the circular chamber in the center of his suite, here at the top of the tower where he lived in the Castle of Clouds. He smiled. It even felt natural. Matthew was one of the few people who actually seemed to like him. “My greetings of the morning.”
Matthew bowed. “Is it all right that I’m here?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Thank you.” Matthew was wearing rough trousers and a homespun shirt. Cobalt knew he had finer clothes; after so many years with the Escar household, Matthew had a high status among the staff and was in charge of the stables. But he seemed to prefer simple garments and a simple life.
“It is good to see you,” Cobalt said. “But unusual, eh?” Matthew was usually working in the stables at this early hour.
“It is hard to believe you will soon leave for Harsdown.”
Cobalt crossed his arms. “I would prefer not to believe it. But it seems I must do this. I’m the idiot who suggested it.”
Matthew’s mouth curved upward. “Perhaps your bride will be comely and sweet.”
“Or she might have two heads.”
The older man laughed, a mellow sound. “Ah, well, I hope not.” His voice quieted. “It was a good idea.”
Cobalt was just glad he wouldn’t lead his men into defeat. He had no doubt he could act as Varqelle’s general, and he wanted the chance to prove himself to his father. He had thought this driving need to seek challenges would calm after he freed Varqelle; instead it had grown stronger. But they couldn’t have won this damn war. His unplanned plan to conquer Harsdown without combat had worked out perfectly—except for one thing. He had to get married.
He squinted at Matthew. “Rumor says Melody Dawnfield looks like a man.”
Matthew chuckled. “Perhaps she is a pretty man.”
Cobalt scowled at him. “Very funny.”
“You need a wife,” Matthew admonished. “It shouldn’t have taken such extremes to make you propose.”
“I don’t want a wife. Especially not this one. She is also said to be a sorceress. Saints, Matthew, what if she turns me into some vile creature?” Cobalt knew the “mage” powers probably didn’t exist, but he had no doubt his bride could find some way to bedevil him with arcane rituals.
Matthew wiggled his fingers. “Poof. You are a roach.”
Cobalt glowered at him. “Did you come here this morning to torment me?”
“Actually, no.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I request that you take me on your journey to Harsdown.”
Cobalt had intended to ask, but he hadn’t been certain Matthew would come. Stonebreaker wanted Matthew to take extra care of the stables in preparation for the bride. “Are you sure you can leave your work here?”
“Yes, certainly.” Matthew hesitated. “Your Highness…”
Cobalt groaned. “Whenever you say ‘Your Highness,’ I know I am in trouble.”
“No trouble. Not for you, anyway.”
“Surely you aren’t in trouble.” That would be a first.
“Not now.” Matthew spoke awkwardly. “I was one of the people who helped your mother leave Harsdown all those years ago. Back then, I worked in the stables of your father’s castle.”
Ah. Cobalt had long suspected as much, though his mother had never told anyone, not even him. No guarantees existed that Varqelle wouldn’t someday return, and she had always acted to protect those servants who had risked their lives and his wrath by helping her leave Harsdown.
“Has my father said anything to you?” he asked Matthew.
“I don’t think he remembers me. But I fear he will.” Matthew grimaced. “The more I avoid his presence, the better.”
“I will arrange it.” Cobalt put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I will let no one bring harm to you.”
“My thanks.” Matthew started to say more but then stopped.
“Yes?” Cobalt asked.
“Forgive my presumption,” Matthew began.
Cobalt snorted. “Since when has my forgiveness or lack thereof stopped you from presuming?”
“It is just—I couldn’t help but notice you have somewhat confused responses to your sire.”
Cobalt glowered. “I am never confused.” It wasn’t true and they both knew it. He had nothing to say because Matthew was right. Cobalt’s reaction toward Varqelle had always been too convoluted for him to untangle, and he felt no more able to talk about it now than he had any of the other times Matthew had tried to draw him out over the years. He might need a lifetime to figure out his emotions in this, but at least now he had the chance.
He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in this attempt at a truce with the House of Dawnfield. A part of him wanted to fight. He had pledged his fealty to Varqelle, and he would keep that word. He finally had his father, after thirty-three years, and he didn’t want to lose him.
If this marriage didn’t work, they would still go to war.
Mel and Shimmerlake had been friends for as long as Mel could remember. They had played together as toddlers, run through the orchards as children, snuck out at night to swim in the lake, commiserated on the embarrassing names their parents had inflicted on them, and shared their secrets. Now Shim was helping her prepare to leave home, and Mel feared she would never see her friend again.
Shim arranged Mel’s silk dress. It fell in blue drapes around her body, layered and soft, with gold under-panels that glimmered. By tradition, a royal bride wore the color of her mage power. In making the cat spell, Mel had shown she could access the power of a blue. They didn’t know what sublevel yet; different shades of blue corresponded to variations of power.
“You look gorgeous,” Shim stated.
Mel grimaced. “I look like an idiot.”
They were in Mel’s bedroom. The sunbask walls glowed in the sunshine that poured through the windows. Light and air; that had been her life until now. Mel couldn’t believe it would end, with marriage to someone named “The Dark” and “Midnight” no less. She hoped he didn’t look as monstrous as his reputation claimed.
Shim turned her toward the mirror on one wall. “Look.”
Mel did so. A stranger stared back at her. Shim had brushed Mel’s hair into a yellow fall of curls that spilled over her shoulders and arms to her waist. Her friend had even twined blue flowers into it, skybells, which grew only in the lowlands. A pendant hung around Mel’s neck, a twenty-sided sapphire in a gold claw. Mel didn’t know yet the number of sides she could draw on as a mage, but her mother could use a faceted ball with up to twenty sides, so Skylark considered it a good guess for Mel, also. Mel thought it was overly optimistic, but she didn’t have the heart to tell her mentor.
Mel bit her lip. After today, she would have no one to help her learn magecraft. Cobalt Escar had made it clear no one could accompany her to his home. What reasonable prince refused his bride even one lady-in-waiting or companion? Mel had intended to ask Shim and one or more of the housemaids to come with her, and one of the red or orange mages who studied with Skylark. But Cobalt the Dank and Dismal forbade it. She hoped his carriage broke an axle on the way here and fell over a ridge.
“I look silly.” She frowned at her reflection. “That isn’t me.”
“No, it isn’t.” Shim put her hands on her ample hips. “But most brides don’t stomp to their wedding in riding boots, wool leggings, and an old tunic.”
“I ought to,” Mel muttered. “Maybe it would scare him away.”
A clatter came from beyond her window. Mel went to peer out. At least thirty riders in dark livery were headed to the stables behind the house. They were leading more horses, probably spares so they could travel faster without overworking their mounts.
“Ho!” Mel said. “He’s here!”
“Are you sure?” Shim joined her. “Black livery? How unsuitable. It doesn’t match your gown.”
“Oh, Shim. Who the hell cares if it matches my gown?”
“He should have worn sky blue.”
“That livery has blue lining,” Mel offered.
“Cobalt blue,” Shim said darkly.
“I don’t see any carriage,” Mel said. Her groom had sent word he would arrive in one. Perhaps this wasn’t him after all.
The riders gathered in front of the stables, their horses stepping and snorting, stirring up dirt. Stable hands were running out to meet them.
A carriage rolled into view.
It was black, all of it, with the Escar jaguar emblazoned on its side, visible only by the narrow blue border that set it off from the rest of the black surface. Black horses pulled the carriage. The reins, bridles, and uniform of the driver were black. Even the carriage wheels were black.
“If that is supposed to scare me,” Mel said, “it doesn’t.” Never mind that her voice shook.
Shim laid a hand on Mel’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”
“He’s in there, Shim. I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think he is as grotesque as they say?”
Mel frowned at her. “As who says?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone who?”
“If you are asking, do I know anyone who has actually seen him, the answer is no. But, Mel, rumors like that don’t start out of nothing.”
“Thanks, Shim,” she muttered. The longer the carriage sat there, the more her pulse sped up.
A Dawnfield groom came over and reached up to the carriage door. Before he touched it, though, the door swung outward, creaking on its hinges. A large, muscular man with a shaggy mane of gray hair jumped out. He wore gray riding clothes of a fine cut, though without the elegance that Mel was used to seeing on her father. Then again, probably no other man alive had Muller Dawnfield’s style.
“He’s big,” Shim said.
Mel studied him. It was true, he was taller than most men, with a bulkier physique, but he wasn’t as huge as she had heard. Although he wasn’t handsome, he had regular features and a pleasant mien. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have described his expression as kind.
“He isn’t monstrous,” Mel said, relieved.
“He doesn’t look so bad.” Shim smiled at her. “If that’s him, then perhaps you will be all right.”
“Wait.” Mel caught a flicker of motion behind the man. “Someone else is still in the carriage.”
“Can you see him?” Shim asked.
“Not yet. He’s coming—”
The second man stepped out into the yard.
“Saints almighty,” Shim whispered. “You’re dead, Mel.”