Mel ran across the bridge between the East and North towers. The clank of metal and the thump of swords on wooden shields came from below. She stopped at the high point of the arch and leaned over the rail, breathing hard. Cobalt and Varqelle were working with the Chamberlight warriors in one of the few straight portions of the courtyard. A wooden fence marked off the practice area, along with a row of risers for anyone who wanted to watch. A few grooms sat there and some of the castle staff. The physician had set up a station near the risers where he could treat injuries. The swordsmen worked with blunted metal weapons, in pairs, parrying back and forth or trying various moves. Farther down the yard, the archers were training. Their arrows thwacked into the targets with unsettling precision. In Harsdown, she would have practiced with them, but here none of the soldiers would even look at her, let alone train with her.
Cobalt’s words from last night echoed in her memory. I never promised I wouldn’t conquer Jazid, Shazire, or Taka Mal. Nothing Mel had said or asked since then would convince him to reveal his plans. Would he and his father attack countries that had lived in peace for many generations? Yes, Jazid and Taka Mal had once attacked the Misted Cliffs without provocation. And yes, Shazire and the western edges of Harsdown had once been part of the Misted Cliffs. But that had been over two centuries ago.
Mel had to face the truth. With a Chamberlight army and Cobalt as his general, Varqelle could conquer Shazire, which had a relatively small military. If he added the Shazire army to his, they might take Jazid and Taka Mal, as well. Blueshire would fall without a blow; that tiny realm didn’t even have a real army, only a glorified honor guard. Varqelle would hold every country surrounding Aronsdale and Harsdown. What good would a treaty do then?
Taking hold of the pendant around her neck, she tried to call forth a green spell. She imagined the orchards at home during the height of their foliage, with acre after acre of leafy green trees. Her head didn’t hurt at first, but as she strained for green, a higher-order spell, the ache rekindled in her temples. Still nothing. She had to stop—
Wait! A shimmering bubble of green light spread out from her body, covering a greater area than any spell she had created before. She turned her focus toward the practice yard below. She knew she was too far away to feel much, but she tried anyway. Her spell thinned as it grew, like a soap bubble blown from a child’s ring toy. Incredibly, moods came to her then, diffuse and hard to differentiate—except for one. She recognized Cobalt’s intensity, fierce and sharp even when he was only practicing. She also felt his determination.
He wanted more.
More what? When Mel tried to probe further, her headache flared. With a groan, she lost the spell and sagged against the railing, weak and dizzy.
Gradually her head cleared. She inhaled deeply and stood up straight. She had to warn her parents and King Jarid. But what message should she send? She knew nothing definite, only Cobalt’s vow, made in the aftermath of a passion that had nearly incinerated them both. She wanted to think he hadn’t meant it, but she had seen that ferocity in his eyes when he called her an empress. It would know no appeasement except by the sword.
If she couldn’t send a message, she would take it herself. But she was trapped here. Cobalt hadn’t even let her bring Tangle.
Mel took off again. She ran through the horseshoe arch at the end of the bridge and entered the fourth floor of the North Tower. Drapes rippled in wind that gusted through the open windows. She raced across the room and down the spiral stairs, her soft boots thudding on stone, her tunic fluttering. At the bottom, she shoved open a door into streaming sunlight. The courtyard twisted among the towers, and the clang of swords echoed off the walls.
It took Mel only moments to reach the stables. She hefted open the door of the center building. The air inside was quiet, and sunlight filtered through cracks in the planked walls. Dust motes drifted in the shafts of light. She walked to a stall with its upper half-door open. The horse inside stood in a bar of sunlight from a high window. His black coat glistened over the lines of his incredible muscles. He wasn’t as fast as a charger, but he was the largest horse Mel had ever seen. The most powerful. Magnificent. Like his rider.
“A good morn to you, Admiral,” she said.
“Take care,” a man warned. “He tolerates very few people.”
Mel turned with a start. Matthew was standing a few steps away. “Good morning. I was looking for you.”
He bowed deeply. “I am at your service.”
Relief washed over her at his welcome. He didn’t walk away or ignore her. Impulsively she said, “Matthew, have I caused offense here? No one else will speak with me.”
He didn’t look surprised. “It isn’t you, Your Highness. King Stonebreaker has forbidden the men here to speak with women of the royal family.”
“Whatever for?”
“Your protection.”
She put her fists on her hips. “Surely I am not in danger of their saying, perhaps, ‘Greetings of the morning.’”
“They must obey their king.”
“But there are no other women here. Who does he expect Dancer to speak with?”
He answered with care. “Her Highness is always welcome at the Diamond Palace. She has many ladies-in-waiting there.”
The more Mel learned of the Chamberlight king, the less she wanted to meet him. If he had intended to force Dancer’s return to the palace, though, it hadn’t worked.
“You talk to me,” she said.
“I am attached to the House of Escar.”
“Won’t King Stonebreaker still disapprove?”
Matthew rubbed his ear. “His Majesty has not forbidden me to speak with Her Highness or with you.”
Mel suspected that had more to do with Stonebreaker being unaware of Dancer’s interpretation of his decree than his intent. “I am glad.”
“May I help you with something here?” he asked.
“I was hoping to find a horse I could ride.”
His weathered face crinkled with his smile. “I have some gentle mares you might like.”
Gentle mares, indeed. He was misguided if he thought all females were gentle, and that went for humans as well as horses. “I prefer an animal with spirit.”
“Spirit?”
“Perhaps one of the horses used by the soldiers.”
“You cannot take such a risk.” Matthew blanched. “If you come to harm, Prince Cobalt will haul me over hot coals.”
“What harm?” Mel tilted her head toward Admiral. “I could ride him.”
“Saints above! Your husband would kill me.”
Mel could imagine. She relented and said, “We brought a gray up from the lowlands, the one with blue and white cords braided into his bridle.” Softly she added, “The man who rode him fought well. His memory will be honored.”
Matthew inclined his head with respect. “He did, indeed.”
“Does the gray belong to his family?”
“Nay, lady. To the House of Chamberlight. He is one of the mounts provided by the king for the men quartered here.”
“May I ride him?”
“He is a warrior’s mount, Your Highness.”
“Good.” She waited.
“Saints,” Matthew muttered. He raked his hand through his hair. “You are sure you won’t take a mare?”
“Very sure.”
“Well. So.” He shook his head as if he were seeing the downfall of the civilized world. “Come with me.”
As Mel followed him out of the stable, she heard him mutter under his breath. It sounded like, “Aye, Cobalt has his hands full.” She held back her smile.
They found the gray in another stable. Mel offered him bits of a small apple from the kitchens and the horse pushed his nose into her hand. While he chewed, she looked him over. He had a healthy coat. She found no scars from poorly treated saddle sores. His legs were strong with no swelling, and his hooves had no cuts or pebbles. His excellent condition, and that of his stall, told her a great deal about Matthew, all of it good.
“What is his name?” she asked.
Matthew had watched intently while she examined the gray. “Karl called him Smoke.”
“Karl?”
“His last rider.”
Mel nodded, subdued. Karl lay in a grave in the borderlands. She laid her hand against the horse’s neck. “May I ride him?”
She expected Matthew to urge her again about the gentle mare. Instead he said, “Aye, I think so.” He showed her Smoke’s gear and watched while she saddled the horse and prepared for their ride. Then she pulled over a stool and swung up on his back. Smoke stepped restlessly and whinnied.
“Good beauty,” Mel murmured, patting his neck. She guided him out of the stable.
Matthew walked with them. “You’ve a good touch.”
Mel inclined her head in thanks. “Where can I ride here?” From what she had seen on the journey up, the area was mostly gorges and cliffs.
“The trails are out there.” Matthew indicated several gates in the wall behind the stables. They were smaller than the main entrance, but looked just as thick.
Mel walked Smoke toward the wall, past the stables, getting a feel for how he moved, the way he lifted his head, how he reacted to her touch. Matthew released heavy bars on one gate and cranked it open. As Mel rode past, she raised her hand and he smiled at her.
She came out into a flat area. The mountains rose beyond, gray and mottled with stubby bushes. Streamers of cloud banded the sky. Cliff-terns wheeled above the castle, and their eerie cries echoed across the peaks. Birds with iridescent green chests darted from cracks in the wall. The air had a pure quality with none of the dust or pollen common in the lowlands. It invigorated her.
Several trails led from the clearing into the mountains. Mel chose the largest. Smoke seemed to know the way, and she slowed down as they climbed higher. The trail wound around boulders and switch-backed up cliffs with spectacular views of plunging gorges. The River of Diamonds poured over a high ledge brilliant with green ferns and fell a long way into a series of pools Mel could barely make out from so high. For the first time since she had left her home, she began to relax.
She spent the morning exploring the region around the castle and getting acquainted with Smoke. He was solid beneath her, spirited but responsive to a firm hand. She headed back around noon, tired but gratified. Smoke was a good horse. They would do well together.
A stable hand opened the gate for her and scowled as she rode past. Mel had an impression he would have liked to leave her outside. Except for Matthew, none of the staff seemed to like her much.
As she entered the courtyard, Matthew came striding over. Mel reined in Smoke and dismounted. “What is wrong?” she asked.
“Where have you been?” His face was pale.
“Riding. You knew that.”
“You’ve been gone for hours! Cobalt is angry.”
Mel frowned. “He doesn’t control my time.”
Matthew reached for the reins. “Better you discuss that with him.”
Mel gently pulled away the reins and walked Smoke toward his stable. “I can tend my own mount.”
He went with her. “I’m sure you can.” Dryly he added, “But so can I. And I’m afraid only you can tend to His Highness.”
Well, perhaps he had a point. With reluctance, she handed Matthew the reins.
Mel wasn’t certain where to find Cobalt. She heard no one in the training yard now. She climbed the North Tower to its fourth floor. The open room was the same as when she had crossed it earlier this morning, empty, just gossamer drapes, no people. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a cloud drift in the window.
She returned to the East Tower and found Cobalt’s suite empty except for Fog, who was visiting the library. Mel scooped up the kitten and cuddled him until he squirmed out of her grasp and jumped to the floor. She laughed as he chased a wooden ball he had found somewhere. It was as big as his head.
“What have you there?” she asked.
“It’s a billiard ball,” a dry voice said behind her.
Mel spun around. Cobalt was standing in the entrance of the library, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. He obviously intended to present a stern demeanor, but it had a very different effect on her. The way he folded his arms made his biceps bulge and reminded her of the previous night. Her face heated and her body tingled.
“My greetings,” she murmured.
He scowled at her. “Where have you been?”
“Riding.”
“Smoke is no animal for a woman.”
“Why not?”
He seemed at a loss for words. It made her wonder if no one ever disagreed with him. She had a feeling he had assumed she would quake.
“What do you mean, ‘why not’?” Cobalt finally growled.
She walked over to him and set her palm against his chest, above his crossed arms. “He is a good horse. I like him. He likes me. It pleases me to ride him.”
“Matthew says you ride well.” Now he looked flustered. Or aroused. Maybe both.
“Of course I ride well.” Mel could feel the muscles of his chest through his shirt. She moved her hand in a circle and murmured, “Very well.”
“Saints, woman.” Cobalt pulled her against him. With one arm around her waist, he bent his head and tried to kiss her. He was too tall to manage with them standing, so he lifted her up with her feet dangling. Her tunic bunched up in his hands.
Mel laughed as she slipped. “Cobalt, stop!”
He made a frustrated noise and set her down on her feet. “Wife, you play with dangerous weapons.”
“Are you?” she asked, intrigued.
His face actually reddened. “Maybe my father is right.”
“About what?”
“You distract me.” He glowered. “Weaken my resolve.”
“Your resolve to do what?” Her voice cooled. “Will you be the weapon he uses to subjugate all the settled lands?”
“Do not speak ill of him.”
“I speak ill of no one. It was a question.”
He folded his arms again. “You ask many questions. You do many things. I don’t recall giving permission for any of it.”
“I don’t recall asking for permission.”
Cobalt sighed and lowered his arms. “No, I don’t imagine you would.” He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to him. “Would you ride at my side, like the warrior queens of your past?”
“Why a warrior?” Mel pulled her head away. “We have peace now. I would have it stay that way.”
“Why?”
“It is better than killing.”
He leaned toward her. “Battles are triumph. Not killing.”
“Unless you lose them.”
“Until a man dies, his battles are never lost.” The name Varqelle remained unspoken between them.
Mel felt as if walls were closing on her. “He demands too much of you.”
His gaze darkened. “He demands nothing. I freely give.”
She laid her hand against his chest, this time to hold him off rather than draw him near. “Honor the spirit of the treaty you proposed.”
“I do.” He folded his hand around her fingers. “You like that horse?”
“Smoke?” The change of subject caught her off guard. “Yes, I do.”
He pulled her hard against his body, still gripping her hands in one fist, his other arm tight around her waist. “Then ride at my side, wife. Not against me.”
“Do not ask me that.” Mel didn’t know how to deal with this force of nature she had married. He watched her with his sensuous dark gaze, compelling and indomitable, and she knew she could no more stop him than she could halt the ferocity of a blizzard or the thunder in the sky.
Cobalt paused outside his mother’s suite. The drape before him rustled as air gusted in the windows. He pushed it aside and went to knock on the door within the elegant horseshoe arch.
“Come,” Dancer called.
He laid his palm against the door and bent his head. Perhaps he should leave. Come another time.
The door opened, and he lifted his head. Dancer stood there in her silk tunic and trousers, wearing her spectacles. “Cobalt?” She smiled. “What are you doing?”
“I came to talk with you.”
She moved aside so he could enter her study. “You seem troubled. Is it your bride?”
“No.” He walked into the familiar room, but today it all looked different. He turned to Dancer as she closed the door. “He is not a monster.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
She stiffened. “I will not speak of Varqelle.”
Cobalt paced away, toward her desk. Her history scrolls lay open, weighted down by small statues of ice-dragons. “You deserted your husband and denied me my father.” He swung around to her. “You let Stonebreaker raise me.” His anger threatened to flare, but he kept control. “Why? You’ve always told me it was for my protection. Against what? I have met this supposed devil and he is no demon.”
“I told you the truth.” She took off her spectacles. “I have also told you that I will say no more.”
“Did he hurt you?” Cobalt knew he skirted the edges of decent questions. He was neither deaf nor dense. He had heard the rumors of his father’s appetites in the bedroom. He had no wish to know what cruelty might have gone into his conception. But if that was why his mother had fled his father, how could she look him in the eye and claim it had been to protect him? She had given them both a lifetime of hell.
Dancer spoke stiffly. “This is not a conversation I will have with my son.”
“You betrayed us both.”
She came over to him. “I did not.”
“Prove it!” His fists clenched at his sides. “How could you subject us both to that monster you call a father?”
Her voice snapped with anger. “You will not speak of the king in that way.”
“Why? He deserves it.” He was breaking the unwritten rule they always kept. Never acknowledge the truth about Stonebreaker. But everything had changed with Mel and his father here, and his world was shifting in ways he didn’t yet understand. Today he couldn’t keep the long-suppressed rage out of his voice. “The day will come when no man or woman dares to raise a hand against me.”
“Ah, Cobalt.” She seemed full of grief. So sorry. But she would never say the word. Never admit that vulnerability.
“Tell me why you left him!” Cobalt demanded.
“I have said all I have to say.”
His fury threatened to incinerate him and leave only cinders. He had to go before he lost control. He walked away, to the door, but when he went to turn the knob, his hand was still clenched. He stood and stared at his fist. He was so full of the rage, he felt as if he would burst if he even moved.
Dancer spoke behind him. “Don’t leave like this.”
Cobalt slowly relaxed his hand. Then he opened the door. He walked into that airy room of gauze and beauty and nightmares, the room where he had so often sought refuge. He would run to Dancer, and she would hide him, but in the end Stonebreaker always found them. Cobalt walked past the doorway of the closet where his grandfather had locked him as punishment for fleeing a king’s rage. He had spent hours there in the dark, terrified no one would ever let him out. The door was closed now, the closet used to store ladders and paint.
He strode across the room, whipping aside the drapes. It wasn’t until he was descending the spiral stairs of the tower that he stopped. He sagged against the wall and a sound escaped his throat, a half gasp, half sob. He slammed his fists against the stone. His rage welled up and exploded out of him. He hit the wall again, again and again, gouging his skin on the rough bricks, expending his fury until his hands were bloody and battered, his skin torn to shreds. He wasn’t his grandfather. He could never break the stone. His bones would shatter first. If the king of the Misted Cliffs had been here now, Cobalt would have turned his fists against him and brought on his own execution for attacking, even killing the reigning sovereign.
Finally his rage wore itself out. He sank down on a step and put his head in his bleeding hands. He grieved for what he would never have, for the friends he had never known, for the normal life he had glimpsed, however briefly, with his bride’s family. He had taken Mel and run from that place, unable to face the love that they all shared without apology or subterfuge.
Cobalt made his decision. Together he and Varqelle would create a world where no one could ever again harm him or anyone he loved. He would do this—no matter what price they had to pay.