The Dawn Star (8 page)

T
he Atajazid D'az Ozar was in his study, standing by the bookshelf, when the tap came at his door. He looked to see Shade, his Master of Scrolls, in the entrance. Ozar's bodyguards flanked the archway, but when Ozar nodded they let the elderly man pass. Hunched and gaunt, Shade wore long robes patterned with diamonds of white and black. He was past the age when most scroll masters retired to an easy life in the royal court or a country estate. Shade had never expressed a desire to leave, and Ozar valued his services, for his loyalty and for his expertise in keeping Ozar's correspondence, both current and in the royal archives.

Even bent over, Shade was a tall man. Yet he came only to Ozar's shoulders. Aronsdale kings married for mage power; Taka Mal for beauty; Blueshire for love; and the Misted Cliffs for political expediency. In Jazid, they selected for physical power. Ozar descended from a long line of sovereigns who chose queens for strength and height so they might pass those traits to their sons. They desired intelligent women, too, for the most successful warriors were also strategists. Ozar's two wives had served him well in that regard, bearing him three strong, quick sons, and also five daughters.

In matters of pleasure, Ozar preferred his concubines. He had recently bought a young one from a merchant who sold only to royalty: himself, Stonebreaker Chamberlight, and, many years ago, Varqelle Escar. Varqelle was dead now, and Stonebreaker far away, so Ozar had his pick of the best girls. He would have been with his newest right now if he hadn't had so much work.

Shade knelt with effort, his robes crinkling.

“Rise, friend,” Ozar said. He was tired enough that he would have been tempted to sanction anyone who interrupted him this late at night. But he trusted Shade. If the scroll master disturbed him at this hour, he had good reason.

The older man stood as laboriously as he had knelt. “You honor me with your presence, Magnificence.”

“What news do you bring?” Ozar asked.

Shade offered him a scroll. The Chamberlight sphere glinted on the parchment. “This just arrived.”

Frowning, Ozar took the scroll. “Who was the carrier?” He knew of none that would disturb a Master of Scrolls this late at night rather than waiting for a proper audience the next day.

“One of your officers who lives as a fisherman on the coast of the Blue Ocean,” Shade said. “He rode from the Misted Cliffs in less than a month.”

Ozar raised his eyebrows. What could send his spy hurtling from the western ocean to Jazid at such great speed? He pulled off the blue cord and unrolled the scroll. It was a message sent to him only, from his officer. He read it—and read it again.

“Thunder and wind,” Ozar muttered.

“Bad news?” Shade asked.

“It would seem so.”

Shade waited.

“Chamberlight died,” Ozar said. “His grandson sits on the throne.” Cobalt Escar. The Midnight Prince was now a king.

Shade seemed to sag, and Ozar suspected that if the scroll master hadn't been in the presence of the king, he would have sat down. Ozar knew how he felt. He wanted to sit, too, after receiving this unwelcome news. Neither of them did, of course; it would have shown weakness, like a woman.

Ozar paced his study, thinking. “Do you still have the letter from Queen Vizarana in Taka Mal?”

“Yes, Your Magnificence,” Shade said.

“Good.” Ozar swung around. “I believe it is time I respond to her gracious request that I visit Taka Mal.”

Shade said nothing. They both knew Ozar had deliberately waited to respond. Let the brazen wench stew. He could guess what she wanted: to pool resources. If they worked together, they could push Misted Cliffs merchants out of their export territory; if they combined armies, they could stand against Cobalt the Dark. The latter purpose had suddenly taken on more significance. They would be less tempting to Cobalt if they presented a united front.

So far, Cobalt hadn't given signs he intended to invade either country. Ozar had sent four hundred spearmen to Shazire during the war. Cobalt could have executed those who survived, but instead he accepted the men willing to swear him allegiance. Although he imprisoned those who refused, their captivity consisted of living on an island, and he allowed their families to join them. Nor had he executed the former royal family. He sent Zerod here, offered a truce, and apparently planned to let Zerod's wife and son join him in the Summer Isles, where the deposed prince now lived. All in all, Cobalt's actions didn't indicate a man intent on hostilities.

However, he hadn't allowed the spearmen to return home, which would have offered a better assurance. Nor had he signed any agreements beyond the truce, which had expired several months ago. Now Cobalt had ascended to the Sapphire throne. By itself, the Misted Cliffs was the most powerful country in the settled lands. Add the realms Cobalt had conquered, and it begged the question of whether he was a king or an emperor.

Ozar didn't like it. Cobalt had earned his dark reputation. He was honor-bound not to attack Aronsdale, but his thoughts were surely turning to the rich desert lands—Jazid and Taka Mal.

“It is time Vizarana and I talk,” Ozar said. “I must do something about her. She sits on the Topaz Throne acting like a man, which she so very obviously isn't.” Vizarana Jade was like a warrior's sex fantasy. She was also a vexation. Having to deal with her as an equal was maddening. Only by combining forces, however, could they stand up to Cobalt. The Chamberlight king might have more men and resources, but his disparate forces had never trained together as a whole and were unfamiliar with the terrain in Taka Mal or Jazid.

“She is a handful.” Shade licked his lips. “You cannot deal with her as commander of the Taka Mal army. That takes the word ‘unseemly' to heights beyond patience.”

“Yes, well, being conquered by Cobalt Escar would be even more unseemly.” He crossed his arms. “Is that cousin of Vizarana's still in charge of her army?”

“Baz Quaazera. Yes.”

“Why the hell hasn't he married the woman and locked her up?”

“Apparently she refuses.”

“He should do it anyway.”

“She has powerful backing from her army. At the moment, more backing than her cousin.”

“But not more than I do, eh?”

Alarm flashed across Shade's face. “You would force her into marriage? Surely that would start hostilities between Jazid and Taka Mal.”

“Who said force?” Ozar rolled up the scroll from the Misted Cliffs. “She needs my army. I will offer it—on a condition.”

Shade's eyes glinted. “She will make a beautiful bride, Your Magnificence.”

“So she will,” Ozar murmured. “So she will.”

The messenger knelt to Mel, and a chill went through her. No longer was this someone else's darkly seductive custom; she would live this way for the rest of her life. Stonebreaker haunted her thoughts. It would be too easy to let this title corrupt her.

The man wore her father's livery, white and purple, a welcome sight. Mel recognized him as an officer from her father's army. She dearly missed her home, that place of light and laughter so different from this chilly world.

“Please rise,” Mel said with warmth.

The messenger stood, his dusty travel clothes out of place in the Reception Hall, almost as out of place as Mel felt in her gown.

He spoke formally. “My honor at your presence, Your Majesty.”

“You are welcome in my home,” Mel said. He was young, hardly older than her. Although he was trying to appear confident, he was obviously exhausted.

“You must rest,” Mel said. As much as she wanted to know what drove him here with such urgency, courtesy required she see to his comfort first. “Would you like food and drink? A place to relax and change?”

“Thank you. I—thank you.” He seemed barely able to stay on his feet. “If I could just sit for a moment?”

“Yes. Of course.” She indicated a sofa with cushions of white brocade with gold flowers. “Please join me.”

He hesitated, looking from the pristine furniture to his dust-covered body.

“It's all right.” Mel smiled. “I used to annoy my father no end by tramping around in my riding clothes and sprawling on the sofa with my boots on the table.”

He chuckled, his face relaxing. “I recall him grumbling about it.” He suddenly seemed to remember himself. His face reddened. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty.”

“I know.” She started toward the sofa, then glanced back at him. Softly she said, “None was taken.”

He came after her, and they sat at a table tiled with blue circles. The shapes nudged her mage power. Without her intent, a green spell formed, and she
felt
his response to her, his appreciation for her hair, of all things.

Embarrassed, Mel cut off the spell. She touched her hair, which her sphere-maids had piled on her head and woven with sapphires. They seemed fascinated by its yellow color, so unusual in the Misted Cliffs. To cover her self-conscious response, she opened a gilded cage on the table. The sunbird inside trilled as she gently took it out. When she opened her palm, it perched there, its head cocked. Then it fluttered into the air and flew away, through an archway across the room.

The youth watched with bewilderment. “It's a summons,” Mel said. “The bird flies to the Welcome Chamber. Then the staff knows to prepare a meal for this room.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” He looked confused, and when she smiled, his cheeks turned red.

“I will have someone show you to a suite where you can change,” Mel said.

He was beginning to relax. “This is fine, ma'am.”

“Your name is Lieutenant Kindler, isn't it?” When he nodded, she asked, “Did my parents send you?”

“With much urgency,” he said. “They wanted to tell you—” He stopped as his gaze shifted past her shoulder. His face paled and he jumped to his feet.

Puzzled, Mel turned around. The welcoming staff shouldn't cause such a strong—

Oh. Her husband loomed in the archway, his dark hair wild, his eyes intense, his face fierce as he glared at Kindler.

“Your Majesty!” The messenger dropped to one knee, bumping the table, and bowed his head.

Mel stood up. “Greetings, my husband.” Cobalt couldn't help the way he looked, but it wasn't helping her put Kindler at ease.

Cobalt stalked to the divan and looked down at Kindler's bowed head. “You can get up, Messenger.”

Kindler rose to his feet. “I am honored by your presence.” His voice shook, though whether from fatigue or fear, Mel couldn't tell.

Mel feared Cobalt would answer,
No you're not.
Instead, he said, “Why does my father-in-law send you with such urgency?”

Mel almost groaned. It didn't take a protocol expert to see the discourtesy in demanding information from an exhausted man, even one who had been about to volunteer it, which she had thought Kindler was going to do.

Kindler cleared his throat. “King Muller bids you welcome, Your Majesty. He sends his condolences for the death of your grandfather.”

“He already did that,” Cobalt said.

For flaming sake. Mel scowled at him. It was true her father had sent condolences and salutations to honor Cobalt's ascension. He showed courtesy by opening his message this way. Mel wished Cobalt wouldn't be so oblivious.

“Will you join us?” she asked her husband. Perhaps they could salvage this awkward moment.

“I'm not hungry,” he said.

Mel was growing exasperated.
Oblivious
was kind.
Aggravatingly dense
was more accurate.

Suddenly Cobalt grinned, his flash of teeth lighting his usually somber face. “You have that look.”

“What look?” She was painfully aware of Kindler listening.

“Like you want to send me to bed without dinner.”

Her face flamed. Saints only knew how Kindler would take
that.
Tartly, Mel said, “We were going to talk, Husband.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.” He sat in a wing chair by the couch.

Relieved, Mel made an effort to relax. As she and Kindler resumed their seats, two maids bustled in, followed by a sunboy, a youth of about ten with hair falling in his eyes. The maids carried platters of meats, cheeses, and nuts, and a decanter of wine, which they set on the table. They bowed deeply to Cobalt and Mel without disturbing a single mote of the food. The sunboy returned the sunbird to its cage and clipped a treat to one of the bars. They all avoided looking at Cobalt.

Mel poured a goblet of wine for Kindler, her unspoken apology for Cobalt's behavior. After the maids poured for Mel and Cobalt, they and the sunboy withdrew. Cobalt drained his goblet and thunked it on a table at his side. Mel sipped hers, and Kindler sat back, still wary in his manner.

“So.” Cobalt considered the messenger. “You come from Applecroft?”