She and Clove sped into the Ginger Suite, bustled through Jade’s bedroom, and entered a round chamber. The ginger-stone floor had concentric circles cut into it, and gold filigree curled on the walls, the only adornment in the otherwise empty room.
Jade crossed to the window. No birds fluttered outside, but the mesh door on one side of the recess was open. Jade could reach the loft from here using a round portal set in the wall at shoulder height and enameled with a redwing in flight. She pulled the little door open by the crystal knob in its center. In the chamber beyond, a redwing ruffled its feathers and squawked at her.
“Come, sweets,” she crooned. She gently took out the bird. Its red wings contrasted with the blue under its body and its gold beak. It didn’t peck at her hand, which suggested General Spearcaster’s bird-adepts had trained it as a carrier.
A metal tube was attached to the bird’s leg. Jade removed the tube and released the redwing, which flew up to a perch under the domed ceiling. As Jade pulled a tiny roll of parchment out of the tube, Clove watched, her face flushed. The ginger-maid was the only one Jade had confided in about her concern. Holding her breath, Jade read the parchment:
Found Drummer. Very ill. Needs doctor. Back on Ringday. Javelin
“Hai!” Jade leaned against the wall, uncaring if it tore her dress. Her relief that they had found him was tempered by the rest of the letter. Very ill. What had happened? She would have her physician ready. Ringday. Fifth of the week. The day after tomorrow. At least she had a definite time to give Sphere-General Fieldson. But she couldn’t have Javelin bring a sick Drummer into the palace. If Fieldson or his men saw, they would think her soldiers had perpetrated nefarious acts against the minstrel. She supposed having his honor compromised by the queen might be construed as a nefarious act, but she didn’t think it counted if they had enjoyed the act so much.
Jade turned to Clove. The ginger-maid had anticipated her needs, and she offered Jade a parchment, quill, and a scribe’s board with a bulb of gold ink. Jade wrote quickly:
Good work, Javelin. Doctor Quarry will be ready.
Take Drummer to guard tower, South Gate. Don’t come inside the palace. Vizarana
Jade blew on the ink until it dried, then rolled up the message and slid it into the tube. When she whistled, the redwing fluffed its plumage, squawked irately at her, and flew down. As Jade raised her arm, the bird lighted on her wrist, claws digging into her skin. A drop of red ran down her arm. “Sealed in blood,” she murmured. She attached the tube to the bird’s leg while Clove opened the window. Jade released the redwing, and it soared away, heading for the Rocklands and—she hoped—Captain Javelin.
She would have the Master of the Guard keep close watch on the South Tower and tell Physician Quarry to be ready.
Be well, Drummer, she thought. She had to bluff two more days out of her guests and pray Drummer came back in time—
And alive.
13
The Fire Opal Court
The Chamberlight army flooded the land like a drowning sea. It swirled around forests of droop-elm and spindle trees and eddied in valleys as if they were cups filling with water. Two days later, it reached the base of the cliffs that gave their country its name and the soldiers piled against the base of the mountains in waves, the blue-and-white plumes of their helmets like froth on the breakers.
Mel mostly rode with Cobalt or Matthew. Dancer had remained at the Diamond Palace to govern in Cobalt’s absence, an authority Stonebreaker would never have granted her, though after half a century as his only child she had the experience. Mel missed her company. Although Dancer had mistrusted and disliked her at first, she had gradually thawed. They would probably never be close, but Mel enjoyed Dancer’s scholarly bent and dry humor.
Cooks and maids and seamstresses accompanied the army, and the wives of some soldiers, but none of them seemed comfortable with her. It wasn’t only her title, but also that she was riding as an officer. Her commission was actually in her father’s army, but she wore Chamberlight armor to downplay her many differences. Until recently, it had been rare for women to serve in the Harsdown army, and it was unheard-of in the Misted Cliffs.
Mel had tried to cultivate friendships among the women of the Diamond nobility, but she had little in common with them. She hadn’t expected so many similarities between the Misted Cliffs and Jazid and Taka Mal. Although their countries were geographically distant, they exported and imported many goods from one another, and apparently customs came with the tangible items. As in Jazid and to a lesser extent Taka Mal, the royal court at the Diamond Palace maintained a rigid separation between men and women. Stonebreaker took it even further; in his court, women had gone veiled, a custom followed nowhere else in this modern age. Mel thought Dancer had done it as protection; the more she hid her face, the less the king could discern her thoughts. But she had always been watching, silent and unseen, navigating Stonebreaker’s capricious emotional politics.
Dancer had spent the past year at Applecroft with Matthew and Mel’s parents. In that place of warmth and burgeoning life, she had changed. As a historian, she was writing a treatise on the role of women in the Misted Cliffs, an aspect of history she felt was neglected. When she had returned to the Diamond Palace, just before Stonebreaker died, she no longer wore veils. The Diamond Court knew her better than they knew Mel. Perhaps in time, they would follow Dancer’s more flexible ways.
The army stretched out along the cliffs that separated them from Harsdown. They took a steady but easy pace that didn’t tax the horses. Oxen drew supply wagons. The horsemen passed the soldiers on foot, but when the animals rested, the troops caught up. Cobalt had left Diamond Company behind and taken the other four thousand soldiers plus about a thousand day-tenders. They would go over the cliffs in the south, where the mountains were smaller, cross southern Harsdown, and enter Shazire. At Alzire, the capital of Shazire, they would rendezvous with the rest of the army, another three thousand men.
Cobalt was riding ahead, taller in his saddle than the other warriors, with his helmet under his arm. Mel rode up alongside him. “A fine morning.”
“Yes.” His face was more relaxed than it had been in days.
“You seem satisfied.”
“Yes.”
Mel sighed. “You know, love, you are allowed to speak more than one word per sentence.”
His grin flashed. “Yes.”
“Oh, stop.” She pretended to pull an arrow out of her quiver and knock her bow.
“What is this?” he asked. “You look lovely, trying to shoot me through the heart.”
Mel lowered her lashes and contemplated him through their fringe. “Now that I know what stirs your passion…”
Cobalt rode closer. He said nothing, but his gaze told her what he wanted. Her body always heated when he looked at her that way.
“So.” She cleared her throat. Then she ran out of words.
He smirked at her. “You can say more than one word, too.”
Mel laughed, and they rode on together. He continually scanned the riders, troops, wagons, everything. She was one of the few people who knew that the more distant parts of the army were a blur to him. He could see fine at moderate distances, but he needed his glasses for anything far away. He disliked people knowing he wore them. It didn’t really matter now; although he would never be much of an archer, he could see well enough for most everything else. But if his sight continued to worsen, someday it could interfere with his ability to command the army.
A thought came to her: Could she help his eyes? A blue mage could speed and deepen healing. But his sight wasn’t injured, so she had nothing to heal. Still, she was willing to try if he didn’t put too much hope in the result. Far better that than what she feared, that she would someday have to heal him after battle. She couldn’t give life where it had already been lost. At night, she tossed with nightmares where he took a mortal wound and she burned out her mage powers trying to heal him while he died in her arms.
&nbs
p; Stop it, she thought.
She couldn’t help but worry, though. Supposedly Cobalt was bringing his army to establish a more permanent presence in Shazire. It didn’t take a genius to see he didn’t need eight thousand people for that. He intended to leave only the Andalusites in Shazire and take the other six companies and their day tenders toward Jazid, then north along the Aronsdale-Jazid border to Taka Mal.
“I’ve never been to Jazid,” Mel mused. “When I was small, my family visited Queen Vizarana, and I met King Ozar at the Topaz Palace. But I don’t know much about him. He never allows women to join discussions of state policy or governance.” She gave a short laugh. “He does not like my parents.”
Cobalt smiled. “Everyone likes your parents.”
“They break Ozar’s rules,” Mel said. “He supposedly has said my mother would make a good concubine and my father is ‘too pretty’ to be a king.” Mel hated the stories. She had no doubt Onyx liked her no more than her parents, and she dreaded to think how warriors in Taka Mal would treat Drummer. Her father might look innocuous, but he was a seasoned commander. Drummer had no military training. In Taka Mal, he would be a gazelle among wolves.
“Ozar and my grandfather got along well,” Cobalt said.
“That figures,” Mel said dourly.
His smile turned wicked. “It is a pity Ozar won’t meet you. I should like to see how he reacts to my warrior wife.”
“Why wouldn’t he meet me? We will travel along the border of his country.” She already knew what Cobalt would say, but it wouldn’t do him any good. “It is customary in such situations for sovereigns to confer, lest one side assume hostilities.”
Cobalt stopped smiling. “Whether or not Onyx and I meet is irrelevant. You will be in Shazire.”
She met his gaze. “No.”
“Yes.”
“What, are we going to argue with one-word sentences?”
He scowled at her. “Someone needs to govern Shazire while I am busy.” Drily he added, “You are better at it than me, anyway.”
“Leo Tumbler has governed Shazire fine. He can continue.”
“He is a colonel,” Cobalt said, as if that explained something.
“You have to appoint a governor. You can’t live in both Shazire and the Misted Cliffs.” The situation had been worrying Mel. “You need one for Blueshire, too.”
His face darkened. “I am not going to put Lightstone back on the Blueshire throne after I deposed him.”
“What deposing?” she demanded. “You rode in with six thousand men. He had fifty. You bullied him.”
“I did no such thing.”
“He would make a good governor.”
“No.”
“If you leave me in charge in Alzire,” she said, “I shall appoint Baker Lightstone as Governor of Blueshire.”
“Mel!” Cobalt glowered at her. “Do not bedevil me this way.”
Mel had expected he would want her to stay in Alzire. She had also noticed he tended to defer to her in the day-to-day process of governance. She appreciated his trust, and she had no intention of endangering their child. But a mage queen rode with the army. Her own mother had ridden against Varqelle when she was pregnant. Good reason existed for kings to marry adepts. Mages brought light, literally and figuratively. Mel wouldn’t help Cobalt overthrow countries, but she could minimize harm to his men, improve morale, increase health and strength, heal wounds, sway fighters not to slaughter if they were winning and calm panic if they were losing.
Cobalt claimed he had no intention of invading Taka Mal. Prior to Stonebreaker’s death, she might have believed him. His fire had cooled this past year. But his grandfather had died before Cobalt could come to terms with him. In his own inarticulate way, her husband had wanted an accounting for all those years of torment. She doubted he could ever have made peace with Stonebreaker, but he might have with himself. Now she questioned if that would ever happen.
The envoy should arrive soon in Quaazera. Fieldson would send his fastest horsemen with news of the negotiations. And if they were lucky, truly lucky, the volatile mix of countries, royal houses and Cobalt’s suppressed rage wouldn’t explode.
When the disaster hit, Jade and Baz were taking Sphere-General Fieldson and his officers on a tour of the palace winery. They had gathered in a courtyard to watch tenders load barrels into a wagon as the Wine Master described various vintages. Jade planned to offer one of their finest bottles to Fieldson, with the hopes of appeasing his growing frustration. She sympathized. Today was Ringday, but still no word of Drummer.
“Our merlot from Kazlatar has a particularly rich flavor,” the Wine Master was saying. The envoy listened politely. Baz looked bored, having heard this every time he and Jade went over the scrolls for the winery.
A commotion came from an archway across the courtyard. The two soldiers on guard were talking urgently with someone there. Then one strode toward Jade, his breastplate gleaming in the sunlight, his armor and curved sword an impressive sight. Which was the intent, of course, with Fieldson here.
The soldier stopped in front of Jade and saluted with his fist against his breastplate. “Your Majesty!”
“Is there a problem?” Jade asked.
“A day-runner is looking for you,” he said. “He claims he has important news.”
Jade inwardly swore. If this was about Drummer, the Master of her Watch had bungled their plans. They were supposed to let Jade know when Javelin showed up, but only in a manner that drew no attention, particularly in front of the sphere-general.
Maybe it wasn’t Drummer. It could be another emergency. Her subjects thought she lived a glamorous life, but in truth it involved an unending stream of problems that had to be solved.
Jade turned to Fieldson with a look of apology. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I must see to this.” To Baz, she said, “Please do finish the tour with our honored guests. I will return as soon as I see to whatever problem has come up.”
Baz inclined his head, for once raising no objections. They had already discussed what to do when his men brought in Drummer.
Fieldson was watching them closely. “Perhaps Goodman Headwind has arrived.”
“I hope so.” She spread her hands out from her body to indicate her puzzlement. “We will see.”
The guard escorted Jade into an adjacent courtyard. The day-runner was there, a boy of about nine with black curls that flopped over his ears. Seeing Jade, he pulled himself up as tall as his small stature would allow and pulled on his shirt, straightening his clothes. Jade couldn’t help but smile at his earnest face.
“Your Magnificence!” The boy bowed. “Your Gloriousness! Your Esteemed—”
“Goodness, I’m not all that!” Laughing gently, Jade said, “What is your name?”
“Spark, ma’am.” He gazed at her with a rapt face.
“Did you have a message, Goodsir Spark?” Jade asked.
“Oh! Yes.” His cheeks turned red. “Captain Javelin said to run as fast as possible to let you know he had arrived. He is in the Fire Opal courtyard in the north wing of the palace. He sent for the physician, too, but Goodsir Quarry isn’t here. Captain Javelin says to please bring another doctor. It’s urgent.”
Jade felt as if the ground dropped beneath her. What hadhappened to Drummer? And why the blazes had Javelin brought him here? He must not have received her message. Redwings were well-trained, but even the best of them didn’t always fly true. Unfortunately, Quarry was at the South tower in the city wall, waiting for Drummer. Javelin must have come through another gate.
Jade turned to the guard. “Please find Mica and take her to Captain Javelin’s party.” Mica was the best healer at the palace after Quarry, and also the midwife for women at the Quaazera court. “I will meet you there.”
“Your Majesty,” the guard said. “I should accompany you to Captain Javelin. In case there is trouble.”
Trouble, indeed. It was an apt word, but no guard could protect her against the kind of trouble Dru
mmer posed. He might have used her that night they spent together, but even if that was true, and even if for some bizarre reason he attacked her in front of Javelin, she could probably fight him off. Her parents had ensured she learned to defend herself at a young age. But Drummer wasn’t going to attack anyone. He was no warrior. Why she liked him so much was beyond her, but she did, far too much.
“Thank you for your concern,” Jade said. “But I’ll be fine.”
Although the guard hesitated, he couldn’t insist. So he saluted and strode toward the palace.
“Lead on, Spark,” Jade said.
“Yes, ma’am!” He set off, clearly determined to do a good job, and she smiled as he hurried her across the yard.
Spark led her through courtyards she rarely saw, those used by domestic staff at the palace. They ended up at a yard shaped like a Fire Opal blossom with scalloped sides. People filled it: soldiers from the search party, grooms and horses, more soldiers at the entrances. Smart fellow, Javelin, to post guards so no one could enter uninvited.
The captain stood across the yard, leaning over a litter on the ground. Mica was kneeling by it, talking to whoever lay there. Jade hurried through the bustle, and people bowed as she passed. She barely nodded to each, her attention on the litter. Had they carried Drummer? The possibility that he had been too ill to ride scared her more than any Harsdown envoy.
When she reached the litter, Javelin turned and bowed to her. Grime and sweat streaked his face, and she suspected neither he nor his men had rested on the journey here. His face was grim as he moved aside. Jade knelt next to Mica—and her breath caught.
Drummer lay in the litter, his eyes closed, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Jade felt as if her world stopped. She was aware of Mica and the others, but everything dimmed except this minstrel.
“Drummer?” she asked. “Can you hear me? It’s Jade.” Belatedly, she realized how that sounded. No visitor could use her personal name, especially not a hostage from Aronsdale. At the moment, though, she didn’t care.