Mel didn’t know how long she stood with the ancient forces blasting through her. Aeons seemed to pass. Gradually she comprehended what had happened.
The fighting had stopped.
With a groan, Mel tried to release the spell. It dragged off the ball, trailed down the spikes, and sparked into the air. She couldn’t stop swinging the flail; it would fall down her arm and tear apart her limb. So she did what it was meant to do; she swung it hard and struck her target—the ground. It shattered rock where it hit, and spikes bit deep into the ridge. Cracks spidered out from the impact in an explosive burst.
In the sudden silence that followed, Mel could hear her ragged breathing. She jerked the handle and pulled the ball free. With the spiked weapon hanging at her side by its chain, she straightened up and looked out at the shattered battlefield. Everyone who could run had left. Those who remained, and who still lived, were huddled on the ground. Nothing stirred.
Except one man.
He was racing toward her on a giant black horse, beneath the blazing dragon.
Across a splintered land, beneath a lurid sky, Cobalt rode. Whatever demon had cracked open the world could destroy him as easily as a horse flicking a gnat off its haunches. But he didn’t care—for he saw the figure on the ridge, her molten hair streaming around her body, and he knew that either the Dawn Star Goddess truly had descended to earth, or else his wife had come back from the dead to create the monster of all spells.
Cobalt stopped below the ridge. He jumped to the ground and set his palm against Admiral’s neck. “Wait for me.”
The horse nickered, but he stayed put. No path led up the sheer, rocky walls of the ridge, so Cobalt grabbed a handhold and climbed. He didn’t feel the exertion. He didn’t care when footholds crumbled beneath his feet or his hands slipped. He would climb this ridge, and nothing would stop him.
Finally he reached the top. He pulled himself up and stood facing the woman.
Mel.
She stared at him, her face streaked with dirt, her hair wild, her armor battered, gripping a profoundly ugly flail—and he wanted to shout, to grab her, to crush her against him, to roar his joy to the Dragon-Sun above them. Since he had never learned how to express such emotions, he did all he could do, which was say, “You’re alive.”
She was watching him with a strange expression, as if she were dying and full of joy at the same time. “So are you.”
He had so many words for her, he jammed up and could say nothing.
“By the Saints, Cobalt,” she said. “What have you wrought?”
“Vengeance.”
“For me.”
“Yes.” He touched the armor where it covered her abdomen. “And our child.”
She put her hand over his. “Our child lives.” Her voice cracked. “And so do I.”
The battle madness that had gripped Cobalt since he touched her bloodied silks finally released its grip. He made a choked sound and grabbed her into his arms. Mel groaned, and he could only guess what had driven her these past days. He saw the welts on her neck and hands, and knew he would find more under her armor. Ozar may not have whipped her to death, but those silk clothes had been on her when the atajazid bloodied them. His dismay and fury poured out of him, but then another emotion replaced them, something so much more powerful that it humbled and terrified him. He didn’t know how to name it, except to call it love.
Mel put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. They stood that way, high on the ridge, while the dragon faded in the sky. He bent his head over hers, and for one of the only times in his adult life, Cobalt the Dark wept.
27
Empire
Wind keened across the Rocklands and past the balcony where Jade stood. She clenched her spyglass and took a shuddering breath, the first she was aware of since that moment when the Dragon-Sun had roared in a sky of fire, and lightning had torn apart the world. Never in her life could she have imagined those sheets of jagged light sweeping the land, sweeping the battlefield free of soldiers.
Until today, she had never truly believed the Dragon-Sun existed. Yet no legend spoke of a rain of lightning. She had heard music, Drummer’s music, but so mournful. She had seen him create tricks with light, yes—but a gigantic dragon in a red sky? Even that, by itself, she might have believed. But not that plague of lightning.
The armies below had retreated, and Aronsdale had stopped its march. People were trickling across the field, tending the injured and taking the dead to bury. Jade couldn’t stop staring at the ridge where two figures had stood, silhouetted against the red sky. A dark warlock and his warrior goddess. They were gone now, Jade didn’t know where, but she knew the world had changed.
Footsteps thudded behind her—she knew that tread—
Jade whirled around. “Baz!”
He was holding his helmet under his arm. Grit covered his armor and the dark stains on his hands chilled her. This wasn’t the cousin she had known all her life. But he was alive.
They embraced, and tears slid down her face. When they separated, his cheeks were wet, too. He tried to smile and failed.
“We must meet,” he said. “All of the leaders in this war. You, Chamberlight, Onyx, Dawnfield.”
“And Drummer?” Her heart felt as if it stopped. Waiting.
“I haven’t seen him.”
Jade managed to nod and keep her calm, though she wanted to run wildly looking for him. Her country had to come before her consort, and until she faced Ozar and Cobalt, she wouldn’t know what that meant. She set her hand on her abdomen, wondering what heritage remained for her child. “Who won?”
Baz exhaled. “I don’t know. Cobalt went to fight Ozar.”
“Two monsters facing each other.”
“I’m not so sure.” He spoke quietly. “Cobalt could have killed me. He didn’t.”
Jade didn’t believe for a moment that the Midnight King had shown her cousin mercy. “You would have killed him.”
“No.” He lifted his sword hand and flexed his fingers as if they hurt. “He was inhuman. Faster and stronger than any man. I’ve never seen the like.” Grimly he added, “I hope I never do again. He let me live, Jade, for I couldn’t have bested him. No one could.”
A knock came behind them. Turning, Jade saw a sergeant in the doorway, worn and battered. He had an odd look, one she couldn’t read well. It wasn’t fear. Sorrow? He bowed deeply. “I am sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty.”
Jade heard the tension in his voice. “You have a message?”
“Downstairs,” he said. “Your officers are returning.”
Jade’s pulse surged. She and Baz went with the sergeant down the tower stairs. He led them through the tiled halls to a side entrance of the citadel. When Jade saw who was there, she cried, “Ravi!” and broke into a run.
Spearcaster was talking with a group of men, battered but very much alive. He turned as Jade called, his face creasing with a smile. She flung herself into his arms and the aging warrior hugged her. Jade didn’t care if it was inappropriate to embrace her military officers. She was too happy to see him alive.
“Well, damned and dust,” a grouchy voice said. “Don’t I get any of this squeezing, too?”
Jade pulled away from Spearcaster to see Firaz glaring at her. Laughing and crying at the same time, she hugged him as well. Her generals looked like hell, but they had survived.
Except…she looked around. “Is Slate with the army?”
Spearcaster exhaled and Firaz glanced away.
Baz came to her side. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” Jade stared at him. “Damn it, no!”
Spearcaster spoke quietly. “He died as he would have wanted, Vizarana. On horseback, defending Taka Mal.”
Tears ran down her face. Moisture showed in Spearcaster’s eyes, even in Firaz’s. She didn’t understand how people from the Misted Cliffs could be so restrained. She wanted to weep her grief to the stars. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
“And Dr
ummer?” she asked.
As soon as they all exchanged glances, her heart lurched. Spearcaster hesitated. “Vizarana—”
She felt as if her world stopped. “Tell me.”
“We had word that he left Ozar’s camp disguised as a Jazidian soldier. But—” He seemed to run out of words.
“But what?” She didn’t want to hear, didn’t think she could bear this, but it would be even worse not to know.
“I just got the report.” Spearcaster laid his hand on her shoulder and spoke softly. “His body was found at the base of the cliffs. He apparently fell from a cave.”
“No,” Jade whispered.
His voice caught. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” She hugged herself, arms around her abdomen. “No!” He couldn’t be gone, not her golden light. “It can’t be him!”
Firaz spoke gruffly. “One of our men identified him.” Miserably he added, “I so much wish I could say otherwise.”
More tears ran down her face. She hated Cobalt and Ozar with a passion that filled her heart. They had taken her husband, and she wanted them to rot in a thousand hells for eternity. Now they would try to take her throne and her heir. She would kill them first, or die in the attempt, before she would let them wrest from her the legacy for her heir, the child born of the only happiness she had truly known.
“Come.” She steeled herself. “We must face these kings who would destroy my country.”
They met in the Narrow-Sun Hall in the Citadel of the Dragon-Sun: Escar, Onyx, Quaazera, Dawnfield. Men filled the room and guards stood posted around the walls. Few empty chairs were left at the great circular table.
Cobalt strode into the hall alone, in full armor, except for his helmet. He brought no generals. This was the man who had set out to conquer the known world and dared face a vengeful goddess. His dark eyes burned with a fire that would incinerate them all.
Jarid Dawnfield, the Aronsdale king, arrived with his son Aron, both tall and strong, though beside the Midnight King no one looked as imposing. The Aronsdale generals had strange names and geometric ranks. Jade brought Baz, Spearcaster, Firaz, and Fieldson. Dusk, the General of the Onyx Army, came with four of his generals—and without Ozar.
When they were seated around the table, Jade glanced at Baz and just barely tilted her head toward Dusk. He shook his head slightly, his face puzzled.
Jade addressed the assembly. “We cannot commence without the Atajazid D’az Ozar.”
“His Majesty is injured,” Dusk said. “He cannot attend.”
A murmur went around the table. His news startled Jade; she hadn’t expected Ozar to fight.
Cobalt’s unusually deep voice rumbled. “Ozar is dead. I cut off his head.”
A silence followed his words. No one seemed to know how to respond. Then Spearcaster said, “You have proof of this claim?”
Jarid Dawnfield spoke. “I saw them fight using my spyglass. What Cobalt says is true.”
Jade couldn’t absorb it. Dead? Ozar had inflicted this war on them with his brutality and his greed, but he had also been a strong leader. Such a painful irony that his death freed her from her oath to marry him. It no longer mattered.
No. It mattered. Her marriage remained. The child she had made with Drummer would sit on the Topaz Throne.
Jade regarded Dusk from across the table. “I would call the lack of a head more than an ‘injury.’”
Dusk met her gaze, but he spoke wearily. “The injury is to all of Jazid.”
“Do you represent the House of Onyx?” she asked.
“I do. The atajazid is only seven years old.”
Jade hadn’t realized Ozar’s heir was that young. Jazid would have a child king for some years. She spoke formally. “We honor the memory of the Atajazid D’az Ozar and welcome his son to the Onyx Throne.”
Jarid spoke. “The House of Dawnfield honors the memory of the Atajazid D’az Ozar and welcomes his son to the Onyx Throne.”
Dusk exhaled, his tense posture easing, and relief showed on the faces of his officers. “We thank you,” he said. A politician might have added more, but Dusk’s answer was enough.
“No.” Cobalt’s voice rumbled. “The House of Onyx is defeated by the House of Chamberlight.”
Jade silently swore. She had feared this. “You claim the Onyx Throne?”
He met her gaze. “And Topaz.”
“You did not cut off my head,” Jade said tartly. “If you try to take my throne, tomorrow we will go to battle again.” She leaned forward. “You may call down the wrath of the Dragon-Sun himself, but I will never relinquish my title.”
“Your men will not fight,” Cobalt told her. “Not after your dragon roared in the sky.”
Baz spoke sharply. “They will fight.”
“If mine refuse,” Jade told Cobalt, “so will yours.”
“Why?” His hard gaze never left her face. “The goddess of the Dawn herself supports them.”
“No!” The voice came from behind Jade.
They all looked up, and as Jade turned around, her breath caught. Mel Escar stood in the doorway like a warrior queen out of the ancient legends. She wore Jazidian armor and an iron breastplate. Welts and gashes covered her bare arms, and her yellow hair fell in wild curls around her body, down to her waist. She had the face of an avenging angel.
Mel walked into the room, never taking her gaze off her husband, and he rose to his feet. Mel stopped in front of him. “I will not be used for a war.”
Incredibly, he didn’t challenge her. Jade thought he had forgotten the rest of them were in the room. He stood, taking in the sight of his wife as if she truly were the Dawnfield goddess.
His eyes flicked to her torso and back to her face.
Ah, no. Jade suspected she was the only one in the room who fully understood that look—for Drummer had often done it to her these past few days. It felt like a dagger in the grief she was barely keeping at bay. Saints help them, the Midnight King would soon have an heir.
“If you go warring tomorrow,” Mel told her husband, “it will be without me.”
Everyone remained frozen. Mel might be the only human being alive willing to naysay Cobalt the Dark in front of such a council. What would he do now that she refused him in this public manner? Incredibly, he didn’t threaten her or raise his hand in violence. He simply inclined his head. Mel nodded, then stood by the chair at his right and faced the table. No one protested her obvious assumption that she would participate in the war council.
The Midnight King turned his burning gaze onto Jade. “If you insist on going into battle tomorrow, our men will die. Relinquish the throne and you will spare them.”
Jade rose to her feet. He terrified her, but she wouldn’t be cowed. “I will never relinquish my throne to you.”
Dusk also stood up. Jade could guess his thoughts. Cobalt had killed Ozar. Whether or not he had a valid claim to the Onyx Throne became a moot point if no one could stand against his army.
“Perhaps we should discuss this more,” Dusk said.
Jade felt a sinking in her stomach. Without Jazid, she had no chance. She didn’t know if even their combined forces could resist Cobalt’s well-trained army.
Jarid Dawnfield stood up. “If you pursue the Topaz Throne, you will face my own men as well as those from Taka Mal.” He met Cobalt’s gaze. “My army is whole and fresh.”
Relief swept over Jade, and she sent a silent thanks to the Dragon-Sun. Jason Windcrier must have made it through after all.
Cobalt stared at Jarid with an expression that at first Jade thought must be anger. Then she realized he was more puzzled than anything else. “Why would you fight for Taka Mal?” Cobalt asked, baffled. “That has never happened.”
“We have a pact with the House of Quaazera,” Jarid said.
Cobalt frowned at him. “How could you have a pact?”
“Because of me,” a voice said.
Jade whirled around. A man stood in the entrance to the hall, his clothes covered with du
st, his shirt ripped, his boots cracked, his hair tangled—and he was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.
“Drummer!” Jade cried the word as her heart leaped. She ran to him, and he strode toward her, and she didn’t give a flaming sun if it looked undignified. When they met, she threw her arms around him, and he held her close, his arms tight around her. She wanted to laugh, then cry, then shout. He kissed her, and Jade returned the kiss with fierce joy.
General Firaz’s curmudgeonly voice came from behind them. “If you two are done, do you think we could continue?”
Jade drew her head back from Drummer, tears pouring down her face. “They told me you were dead.”
He touched her cheek, his expression tender. “Just knocked out. Acrobats learn how to fall without hurting themselves.”
Jade wanted to kiss him again. It was all she could do to restrain herself. Instead, she drew him to the chair next to hers. Half the people at the table were already on their feet, so she stood with Drummer facing them, defiant—and overjoyed. Even if Cobalt hadn’t set a precedent here by having his consort attend the war council, Jade would have brought hers to the table.
Mel raised an eyebrow at Drummer. “It appears, Uncle, that your time here hasn’t been boring.”
He smiled like the sun. “My greetings, Mel.”
“You do not look as if anyone was torturing you,” Cobalt growled.
Baz jumped to his feet. “No one here tortured anyone!”
“Would you all sit the blazes down?” Firaz said. “I’d really rather not conduct this meeting on our feet.”
Everyone blinked at him. Then a rustle came from around the table as everyone took their seats. Jade wanted to sing, and she barely held in her exuberance. She and Drummer would have time for that later. Plenty of time. Their whole lives.
General Dusk spoke to Jarid. “Quaazera had a pact with Onyx. Queen Vizarana and her consort agreed to an annulment. The atajazid supported the Taka Mal army because the queen agreed to marry him. We have witnesses to this pact.”
“You’re married?” Mel’s astounded voice rippled across the table. “Drummer, what have you been up to?”