For a moment he didn’t seem to understand her reaction. Then his voice softened. “I do, beautiful queen. All of you.”
She traced her fingers along his lips. “And I you.”
He held her close and the day was sharp and clear. Yet it also felt like a dream that would fade just as the last note of his song had disappeared from her garden.
17
The Grain Cart
The Chamberlight forces were half-a-day’s ride from the Jazid border when Cobalt’s scout rode to him with the news: The atajazid had gathered his own army and was on the move within Jazid. It didn’t surprise Cobalt. If someone brought an army to his borders, he would meet them with his forces even if both sides professed no hostile intent. The Misted Cliffs had an advantage; its borders were a wall of cliffs to the east, the Escar Mountains in the north, and the Blue Ocean to the south and west. It made the country relatively impregnable compared to his adversaries.
Potential adversaries, he reminded himself.
The land gradually became more arid. Although they passed patches of greenery around small lakes or along rivers, lush Shazire was giving way to harsher terrain. It was a land of wild beauty, of deserts and needled peaks interspersed with valleys that nurtured the increasingly rare oases.
By the time the sunset coalesced on the horizon, the forward ranks of Cobalt’s army were massing on the Jazid border. He had brought six companies: Carnelian, Alexandrite, Aquamarine and Iolite on foot, and Tanzanite and Sapphire on horseback. Although the cavalry could travel faster, the horses needed rest more often, so they didn’t arrive much ahead of the troops. They spent the evening gathering in a plain of rock slabs and patches of meadow.
He rode up on a spiky knoll where he could view his army spread all around. Beyond them, the shadowy lands across the border were a blur. He put on his spectacles and peered east. The distant campfires of the Jazidian army flared in the foothills of the Jagged Teeth Mountains, and the peaks above them jabbed the purple sky.
Agate Cragland rode up alongside him and indicated Ozar’s army. “My scouts estimate they are four and a half thousand.”
“We underestimated their numbers.” Cobalt scrutinized the distant campfires, as if he could decode their secrets. “I must send an envoy to Ozar.”
“A wise precaution.”
“If he doesn’t kill the envoy,” Cobalt said.
Agate glanced sharply at him. “You have reason to believe he would commit such an act?”
In truth, Cobalt had heard of no such dishonor from the House of Onyx. But a dark history surrounded the atajazids. They had never been known for their adherence to codes of war, nor had they ever fully shed their reputation for the barbarism that had flourished in ancient times. They no longer committed atrocities, at least none they let be known, but in recent times, no hostile conflicts had offered them the opportunity, either.
“No specific reason,” Cobalt admitted. “But the House of Onyx has a brutal history.”
Agate regarded him curiously. “Dancer tells me that you’ve studied military history for decades.”
“A bit.” Cobalt started to assume the nonchalance he had always adopted with Stonebreaker, who ridiculed anything Cobalt valued. Then he remembered Stonebreaker was gone. After a pause, he said, “I read it all the time, actually.”
“It is good for a leader to know such chronicles.”
The comment startled Cobalt. He hadn’t thought Agate viewed him as much of a leader. The older man had said nothing when Cobalt became a general at the young age of thirty-three. Stonebreaker gave him the title just before Cobalt led his men to free Varqelle. The king had never made it a secret that he promoted his grandson for heredity rather than merit. Cobalt could never claim he earned his rank. No other general commented, of course, but Cobalt had assumed they felt it was unearned. His grandfather had never hidden his dissatisfaction with his heir. Cobalt had spent his life trying to prove the king wrong, but he could have conquered the world and it wouldn’t have satisfied Stonebreaker. The damn old man could say nothing more on his deathbed than to swear Cobalt was a bastard who deserved no title at all, let alone the Sapphire Throne.
Cobalt raged inside at his tormentor, who blighted his life even from the grave. He could never tune out his grandfather’s voice; he would hear Stonebreaker until the day he died.
He had never told his grandfather about his fascination with history. Cobalt had learned a great deal about Shazire, once a part of the Misted Cliffs. He had read widely about Taka Mal and Jazid, contrasting their campaigns to the more conservative Chamberlight approach. It had helped him envision how Shazire might have changed since Jazid ripped it free of the Misted Cliffs.
The war two centuries ago between the Misted Cliffs and Taka Mal had ended with no clear winner. Most historical accounts credited victory to Jazid and Taka Mal, which together had wrested land from the Misted Cliffs. The conflict had depleted them, though, and they couldn’t hold their new acquisitions. The provinces soon became independent. The larger turned into Shazire and took many influences from Jazid. The smaller named itself Blueshire, after the meadows it shared with Aronsdale, and became like a younger sibling to that pastoral country.
Cobalt’s familiarity with the complex histories of Shazire and Blueshire allowed him to see how they might react to changes. Establishing a government wasn’t his forte, but Mel was good at it and she knew Shazire. If he hadn’t needed her in the Misted Cliffs, he would have appointed her governor of Shazire.
Cobalt smiled. He should put Mel on the Sapphire Throne. She could run things and he could stay with the army. She wouldn’t approve of his campaigns, though, and dealing with her displeasure was more daunting than ten thousand Jazidian warriors.
In the past, Cobalt had taken for granted the constraints on the women in his life. They went veiled. Their men owned them. Many lived in seclusion. He knew women in other countries enjoyed more freedoms, but he had never thought much about it. That changed with his marriage. Even before he knew Mel, though, he had thought Stonebreaker was mistaken to deny Dancer the Sapphire Throne. Such a waste. She had far more talent for governance than her son. She would make a good Chamberlight queen.
Taka Mal had a history of queens who ruled. For all that the culture restricted women, it was a hotbed of progressive ideas compared to the Misted Cliffs. That was even truer of Harsdown. Aronsdale was in between; although women had freedom in rural areas, they had no history of power on the throne. Or maybe he should think of the “crown”; Aronsdale was the only country that gave its ruler a fancy headpiece. Cobalt didn’t see the point, but the practice had a long history. He had once researched it. He traced the custom to ships that had come to the Misted Cliffs long ago from across the Blue Ocean, but he couldn’t find much about them, and few visited now. In fact, he couldn’t think of any in his lifetime. These days, any ship that sailed off into the Blue Ocean ended up coming back to the shore, though the sailors swore they never changed direction. Either that, or the ship vanished.
According to legend, an ancient mage had cursed the settled lands: Each century they would become more hidden from the world, until one day they would be forever cut off, with no link to other lands except for globes of the world that were centuries out of date. Cobalt found it unlikely. He was willing to admit mages existed, given that he had married one, but he had never known Mel to do harm with her spells, except to herself.
Mage queen. He didn’t understand it, but his formidable wife clearly wielded some sort of power. He wished his mother had a similar focus in her life. She could have done so much given even half the chances Stonebreaker had denied her.
“Agate,” Cobalt said. “You’ve known my mother a long time?”
The general shifted his attention from the army below to Cobalt. “Since she was born. I was eleven, then.”
“What do you think she would say if I asked her to govern Shazire?”
He looked perplexed. “But she is a woman.”
&
nbsp; Cobalt smiled slightly. “Yes, I noticed.”
“It seems…atypical.”
“Why? She is in charge of the Misted Cliffs.”
“Temporarily.”
“Shazire has had queens on the throne.” Cobalt suspected the people would be more willing to accept Dancer than him. “They called Zerod a prince instead of a king because he married into the royal family. He only became the ruler after the death of the previous king, his wife’s brother.”
“But he took the throne,” Agate said. “Not his wife.”
“Even so.” The more Cobalt thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Dancer could govern both Shazire and Blueshire, which might stop Mel from this confounding idea of hers to put the deposed king of Blueshire back on his throne.
“Do you think she would do a good job?” Cobalt asked.
“I don’t know.” After a moment, Agate said, “I don’t think Her Majesty would do a bad job.”
He appreciated the respect Agate showed by using Dancer’s former title, from when she was the queen of Harsdown.
“I get my interest in history from her,” Cobalt said.
“She is intelligent.”
“She has more patience than I do.”
Agate wisely refrained from any response. Cobalt knew his temper and dark moods were often cause for comment among his men.
They remained on the knoll while the sky turned from purple to black, with the moon half-hidden behind streamers of cloud. This felt right, a place he belonged. And yet…Cobalt found himself thinking of home. He missed Mel. When she came with him, he didn’t miss her, which was good. He could concentrate better. But then he worried for her safety, and now he thought a lot about the baby. This marriage business was a distraction, but such a sweet preoccupation. More and more lately, he wanted to concern himself with matters of state and fatherhood. When they reached Taka Mal, he would sign a treaty with Queen Vizarana and the Atajazid D’az Ozar. His army would be a good bargaining tool. But Mel was right: He had done enough. He had healed the two-centuries-old wound that had sundered the Misted Cliffs. His world was whole.
It was time to go home.
Across the border, in Jazid, the fires of the Jazid army burned orange, harsh in the night.
In Shazire, they celebrated the Citrine Festival with bonfires, honoring the saint who added brightness to the land. The festivities heralded the summer and their hope for a good year.
Mel hurried to her palace suite. She had been busy all day, and people had kept coming to her about the festival events, especially Tadimaja Pickaxe. He was the aide from Zerod’s staff Cobalt had kept, because Mel had trusted Tadimaja all her life. He knew the palace and its workings, which today unfortunately meant he was continually reminding her of chores she hadn’t realized needed to be done. Now night had fallen and she wasn’t ready to appear at the ceremony in the Alzire Plaza. She was expected to wear a yellow gown and dress her hair in citrine gems. If she missed the opening or arrived in inappropriate clothes, it would be taken as an insult by the people here. She had a chance to ease their hostility toward Cobalt, and she didn’t want to bungle matters.
Unrest had simmered in Shazire since the invasion, especially in the capital. In the ten days she had been here, Mel had made inroads in setting a better image for the Chamberlight presence. It had to do with diplomacy, kindness, and attention to detail, and it didn’t hurt that she had a more appealing demeanor than her husband. She didn’t want to hamper those efforts by appearing to scorn a celebration of such local importance.
Mel sped around the corner, into view of the royal suite—and groaned. Tadimaja was waiting outside the large double doors.
She slowed down. “Tadi, surely it can wait.”
“I am terribly sorry, Your Majesty.” He bowed nervously. “It’s about the trainers for the horse show. We have to sign the scrolls for their payment.”
“We can’t. They have the scrolls. And they aren’t here. They went to the plaza for the ceremony.”
Tadimaja winced, his sharp features scrunching up. “Their tender is down at the stables. With the scrolls. He insists he will take their horses and leave if he doesn’t receive your seal. He thinks my staff is trying to cheat him.” He looked mortified. “I truly am sorry. It is my fault. I mixed up their contract with one for the fire jugglers.”
Mel inwardly swore. She couldn’t go to the ceremony dressed as she was now, in a flimsy tunic and harem pants. The clothes were comfortable but hardly appropriate for tonight’s pageantry. “Can you get the scrolls while I’m changing? One of my maids can bring them in. I’ll add the Chamberlight seal and you can take them back to Goodman Barker.”
Lines of concern creased his face. “Yes, of course.”
Mel recognized his expression. “Why won’t that work?” She felt seconds drizzling away like sand through her fingers.
His worry lines deepened. “It’s just…”
“Tadi, please. I must hurry.”
“Barker doesn’t trust you. If you don’t come, he may leave.”
The last thing she needed were rumors she had cheated Barker. She pushed back her tousled hair. “All right. Get my bodyguards and meet me here in five minutes. Let Clerk Abacus know I can’t meet him on my way to the plaza.”
He hesitated. “Yes. Of course.”
Damn! She knew that look. “Tadi, what is it?”
“Your bodyguards went to the main entrance to meet you.”
Why the blazes had they gone there? “We were supposed to meet in the Hall of Oceans.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded miserable.
Mel made her decision. “It will take too long to reach the stables. If Barker leaves, we’ll have to live with it.”
He cleared his throat, hesitated, then said, “Of course.”
Mel sighed. “But?”
“I am but a simple servant, Your Majesty.”
“Tadi, just tell me.”
“Barker will spread tales of deceit.”
She knew he was right. But worse tales would spread if she spoiled tonight’s ceremony. “I don’t have time.”
His face brightened. “I know hidden ways through the palace. Very fast. We will get there in no time.”
“Hidden passages?”
He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Keeping on a few of the old guards has its advantages.”
“So it does.” Maybe she could make it after all. And she was curious about these hidden ways. “Show me.”
“Right away!”
As they hurried along the corridor, she said, “Do you remember when I came here with my parents, when I was six? I always asked you about secret tunnels. You never breathed a word.” She pretended to scowl. “Shame on you.”
“Now you know,” he offered, smiling.
They ended up in a secluded alcove shaped like a royal-bud blossom. Tadimaja traced his fingers along a molding at waist height. Mel struggled for patience while he pressed and pushed various ridges. “Tadi, it’s taking too long—”
“I’ve got it!” He tapped a molding, and pins clinked inside the wall. With a grunt, he pushed. A slab moved inward with the scrape of stone on stone, then swung aside to reveal a dark space.
“There!” He turned to her. “This will take us to the yard behind the stables.”
“We need a light.” She had no shapes to make spells.
“I know the way. Just hold my belt and follow me.”
This was making her uneasy. “I don’t think so.”
“Your Majesty—”
“No. Please give my regrets to Goodman Barker.” Mel spun around. If she ran fast enough back to her suite—
A blow slammed her head. She staggered and barely stopped her fall. Twisting around, she raised her arms in a defensive move. Tadimaja’s face contorted in a snarl Mel had never seen from him before. Behind him, a lanky man with sun-weathered skin was leaving the passage: Barker, the master horse trainer. Motion blurred in her side vision, and she jerked her elbow up
barely in time to block the lunge of a wiry man, another of the trainers, as he came at her from the left. Her head was spinning from the first blow, and the slippery silk of her clothes hampered her. Harem pants were made for lounging, not fighting.
Mel kicked up her leg and caught Barker in the side, knocking him into the passageway. As Tadimaja backed up, Barker yelled at him, and the wiry man struck Mel, knocking her forward. Tadimaja tried to grab her arm, but Mel turned the move against him. She caught him on her hip and rolled him over her shoulder, then brought him down hard onto his back.
Barker aimed a blow at Mel’s head. As she blocked it, the wiry trainer grabbed her from behind. Tadimaja was struggling to his feet, and Barker caught her arm. Mel could hold her own against one of them, maybe two, but three? They had a great deal of strength, and the wiry one moved even faster than Mel, negating her biggest advantage over fighters who outweighed her in muscle.
Someone wrested her wrists behind her back. As he bound her, Mel shouted for help. Normally people would be in the halls: her guards, a maid or butler, a member of her staff. Tonight no one answered. Tadimaja could have arranged to have the halls cleared, but she shouted again anyway. Surely someone would hear.
Barker shoved a cloth in her mouth and Mel spit it out. Moving fast, she kicked him in the stomach. He gasped and doubled over, his face knotted. Tadimaja—Tadi, her lifelong friend—slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped back against the man who had bound her wrists. Before she could recover, Tadimaja forced the wad back into her mouth and tied a gag around her head to hold it. She felt as if she would choke. She struggled, but Barker had recovered enough to grab her legs. While she fought them, Tadimaja took off her sandals and Barker tied her ankles.
“Come on,” Tadimaja whispered, urgent. “We have to go.”
Barker grasped Mel by the waist and heaved her over his shoulder so her torso hung down his back and her legs down his front. Then he strode into the dark passageway. Mel yelled, but it only came out as a muffled grunt. She struggled furiously, pounding her feet against Barker’s front. The trainer swore and hit her across the thighs.