The Dawn Star (17 page)

Trouble, indeed. It was an apt word, but no guard could protect her against the kind of trouble Drummer 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.

He slowly opened his eyes. “My greetings…” he whispered.

“You foolish man,” Jade murmured, furious and terrified. “What were you doing, running off to the Rocklands?”

“Baz…?”

“We'll fix it,” she said. She glanced at Mica. “How serious is his illness?”

The healer was staring at her, but she quickly found her voice. “He has the patters.”

“Patters?” For saints' sake. Most people caught that as children. The name came from the way small children curled up with their parents, seeking pats of comfort during their illness. Patters came with a terribly high fever and nausea that lasted several days. With rest and liquids, the child usually recovered. It could be fatal, though, if not treated—and running around in the Rocklands sure as blazes wouldn't help.

Jade knew Aronsdale children didn't catch all the same illnesses as those in Taka Mal. Drummer's body might not have the strengths of someone from Taka Mal to fight the disease.

“Will he get better?” Jade asked.

After a pause that lasted too long, Mica said, “I think so.”

Jade knew too well how to interpret that pause and response. Mica was afraid for her patient and didn't want to tell her queen.

Jade brushed the sweaty blond curls off Drummer's forehead and spoke to him in a soft voice she rarely used. “You really were sick that night at the banquet.”

“I guess so,” he whispered.

“Why did you run away?” Dismay welled inside of her. “You made a pact with me. A Topaz Pact. How could you break it?”

“Pact?” His breathing rasped. “I don't understand.”

Didn't he know? It had never occurred to her that he might not realize the significance of their agreement. He was a queen's brother; she had assumed he would understand. “You promised not to leave the palace.”

“I did?”

“That night, after you left the banquet. We talked about the pact. I said it meant you would stay put. You agreed.” She hesitated, unable to remember if he had actually said yes. “At least, I thought you did.”

“Jade…I thought General Quaazera would kill me.”

A harsh voice came from behind them, and the scrape of metal on leather. “Why would I do that, minstrel? What have you done with my queen that would justify your execution?”

Jade jumped to her feet and whirled around. Baz stood there, his face red, his curved sword drawn and glittering in the sun. His words leaped at her like daggers. “You trusted him with a
pact?
What possible reason could he have given you to believe he would honor that trust? And why, my
untouchable
cousin, is a common-born minstrel from Aronsdale calling you by your personal name?”

Everyone around them had frozen in a tableau, staring at her and Baz—the soldiers, healer, grooms, stable hands, palace guards. Baz was breathing hard, and she knew he was one beat away from murdering their Aronsdale hostage.

“My cousin.” She spoke with exquisite formality, knowing Drummer's life balanced on her words. “Goodman Headwind is unfamiliar with our customs and does not realize he may not use the queen's familiar name or the implications associated with that familiarity.” Which was true. That those implications happened to be true was better left unsaid. “As to the pact, I misjudged his intent.” With a silent apology to Drummer, she said, “I was misled by his apparent weakness and assumed he couldn't venture beyond the palace. His smooth ways led me to believe he would honor the agreement. I was wrong and am humbled by my mistake.”

No one moved. A horse snuffled and went silent. Far away, a redwing cried. Every person there knew Drummer's life hung on whether or not the general of the army, possibly the future king of Taka Mal, would accept her words. No one was watching the west gate. And so no one saw another man enter the yard—until he stepped past Baz and fixed Jade with an icy stare.

“You lied to me,” Sphere-General Fieldson said. “To torture and threaten the life of my queen's brother are acts of war.”

T
he blood drained from Jade's face. “Sir, you misunderstand.”

“Stop it, Samuel,” a hoarse voice said behind her.

Bewildered, Jade turned around—and found herself eye-to-eye with Drummer. He looked ready to crumple, but he was standing. Those rasping words were his, what the illness had done to his golden voice. Jade wanted to reach out, but if she touched him, even just to help him stay on his feet, Baz might finish what he had started when he drew his sword.

“Your Majesty.” Drummer spoke with formal cadences. “I apologize deeply if my lapses in courtesy during my illness have offended you or any member of your court.” He looked past her to Fieldson. “And Samuel, for the sake of the Azure Saints, I am neither tortured nor dead. Just sick, which is no one's fault.”

Jade didn't know how he managed that entire speech when he was on the verge of collapse, but he said it beautifully. And who would have thought that the sphere-general had a personal name as exotic as “Samuel.” She had never heard such.

“I apologize that my country gave you this illness,” Jade said. It was a bit silly to apologize for a country making him sick, but it was the first thing that came to her mind.

Mica was standing next to Drummer, obviously ready to catch him if he collapsed. Jade turned to her, “Healer, please have Goodman Headwind taken to your apothecary and see that he receives the best treatment.”

Mica bowed. “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”

Drummer didn't object as Mica and Javelin helped him lie on the litter and pulled its flapping sides closed to shade him from the sun. Fieldson and Baz watched with suspicion, and Jade didn't think either was fooled by the little play she and Drummer had put on. But she suspected neither knew whom to accuse of what.

Jade spoke to both generals. “Let us continue our discussion inside, where it is cooler.” Including their tempers, she hoped.

A muscle twitched in Baz's cheek. Never taking his gaze off her face, he slid his sword into the curved sheath on his belt.

Jade let out a silent breath. She caught a barely visible relaxing of Fieldson's posture. The others in the yard stirred, looking after the horses or carrying Drummer's litter. Jade lifted her hand, inviting Fieldson and Baz into the palace. It appeared that, at least for today, no one would lose his life—or hers.

The atajazid paced along the Obsidian Hall. He had come to his fortress in the Jagged Teeth Mountains to think. Shade watched from the niche where he sat on a stool carved from onyx and inlaid with mother-of-pearl imported from the Misted Cliffs.

“What do you think?” Ozar asked. “She wishes to say no. But she hesitates.”

“What I think,” Shade said sourly, “is that if Queen Vizarana agrees to marry you, General Quaazera will skewer you with a shish-kebab stick.”

Ozar smiled. “I believe the general would rather skewer his beloved queen. In more ways than one.”

Shade arched an eyebrow, but he refrained from commenting on his sovereign's inelegant humor. “She won't marry him. She won't marry you. She likes power too much. She won't give it up.”

“Ah, but that makes wresting it from her all the sweeter.” Ozar reached the end of the hall, a wall of black stone, and stood considering it with his hands clasped behind his back. Then he turned and resumed pacing. “She hopes to negotiate with Cobalt Escar's envoy, using that Headwind boy as a bargaining point.”

“Boy?” Shade waved a bony hand with skin like parchment. “I thought he was a girl.”

“They are weak, these Aronsdale and Harsdown men. They let their women run them. If they were all like this Drummer, it would be easy to defeat their armies. Unfortunately, there is Cobalt Escar.” He reached the end of the corridor, another black wall, and turned to Shade. “Vizarana wishes me to ally with her. If her need is dire enough, she will accept my conditions.”

“The need does not appear dire enough.”

“It would if Escar attacked Taka Mal.” Ozar thought of the Taka Mal queen. She was a taunt to his life and beliefs. “It is a simple exchange—I get Vizarana's throne and Taka Mal survives. With our forces joined, we can defeat Cobalt. Take his lands. Even the combined armies of Aronsdale and Harsdown won't be enough to stand against us then.”

“They might ally with Cobalt if you attack him,” Shade said. “His wife is a Dawnfield. And heir to the Jaguar Throne.”

Ozar grimaced. The words were a sour taste. “I can't fathom this business of giving a throne to a woman. It invites problems.”

Shade's voice rattled in the dry mountain air. “I have heard Cobalt's wife is like a man.”

“Behaves like one, maybe.” Ozar walked over to him. “I saw her when she was a child. She was unbearably beautiful. All that yellow hair. And blue eyes. Very strange. But attractive.”

“Perhaps she hasn't aged well,” Shade said.

Ozar slowly smiled. “Perhaps we should find out.” He continued down the hall. “Chime Headwind is an offense against nature. Such a woman should be in a man's bed, not his office. But at least her husband rules Harsdown. The same won't be true when their daughter takes the throne.” He stopped at the wall and tapped a code on the polished surface.

A clink came from within the stone. When he tapped more of the pattern, more clinks reverberated, stone pins hitting stone pins. He pushed the wall, and a lopsided section slid inward. When he leaned his weight into it, the section moved forward. He was making a tunnel. A scratching came from behind him, the noise of Shade struggling to his feet, followed by the rustle of footsteps.

The slab Ozar was pushing swung ponderously aside. It opened into a chamber over a thousand years old, built by one of his ancestors. The chamber had been modernized, but it retained its original function as a place to question prisoners. Manacles and chains hung on the walls. The spiked objects on the tables had only a thin layer of dust, and the whips remained supple. The cell was in excellent condition, ready for use.

Shade came to Ozar's side. “You have a plan.”

“You asked what would provoke Cobalt Escar to attack Taka Mal,” Ozar replied. “The House of Quaazera has already kidnapped his wife's uncle. Perhaps they will take his wife as well.”

“Ah.” Shade's eyes glinted. “And when Escar finds out they have mistreated her?”

“I imagine he won't like it,” Ozar said mildly, studying a rack across the room.

“This plan of yours has a problem.”

Ozar spoke wryly. “It has many.”

“If she is here,” Shade said, “why would he think Quaazera took her?”

“How would he know?” Ozar walked to a table and picked up a metal rod with serrated edges. “Especially if he's told that the House of Quaazera abducted her, just like her uncle.”

“And when his wife reveals the truth?”

“She will say nothing.” Ozar tapped the rod against his palm, lightly, so the serrations didn't rip his skin. “Sadly, I'm afraid she won't survive her treatment at their hands.”

Shade didn't look surprised. “Quaazera will deny it.”

Ozar turned to him, suddenly angry. “The Quaazeras condemned themselves when they took her uncle. My spies say he ran off and almost died in the Rocklands. Escar is far more likely to believe Taka Mal committed this atrocity.” His voice hardened. “Especially when he sees her body.”

Shade's gaze darkened, an expression that had given Ozar nightmares in his youth. “And when Escar descends in fury on Taka Mal, you will come to the aid of the nubile Vizarana. With conditions.”

“If it works, I get everything—Cobalt Escar's realms and Vizarana's throne.” Ozar struck the table with the rod, gashing its scarred wood. “The plan, however, has a flaw.”

Shade's frown deepened the web of wrinkles on his ancient face. “Getting Cobalt's wife.” He didn't make it a question.

“It won't be easy,” Ozar said. Even so. He had contacts he had been cultivating for years in many countries. Ozar spoke in a shadowed voice. “Nothing is impossible.”

Jade knew she should stay away from Drummer. He had lain in bed for three days, delirious or unconscious, fighting a fever that raged. She wanted to sit at his side every moment. If she did, though, everyone would see the truth. Baz didn't believe nothing had happened between her and Drummer, but he had so far had enough sense not to kill Drummer and start a war. Fieldson didn't trust her, and the guards she had posted at Drummer's suite made the general more suspicious. If she neglected her duties to attend their hostage like a love-addled girl, it would only inflame the situation. It surely violated some law of the spheres that Drummer mattered so much to her. But he did. She felt starved for him.

Jade spent the morning with her planners going over the upkeep of roads, bridges, footpaths, caravans, fire league, city jails, and the temples, where the people worshipped the Dragon-Sun and the spirits of the sky and sunset. Personally, Jade would have rather honored the sunrise, a more optimistic proposition, she thought. But the pantheon was what it was regardless of her preferences.

She met with Fieldson over a meal of spiced pastries and shrimp imported from the Misted Cliffs. The sumptuous food did nothing to pacify the taciturn sphere-general, who waited with impatience for Drummer to recover.

Finally Jade could take no more. After her midday meal, she slipped over to the Sunset Wing. Captain Javelin and grumpy Kaj were on guard at Drummer's suite. Going inside, she recalled the time she had found Drummer here, standing on his head with his legs scissored in the air as if that feat of athleticism were the most natural thing in the world. Beautiful, limber, dulcet-voiced Drummer, who sang like ambrosia. Now he was dying. If only he had stayed put. Javelin had told her of Drummer's resourceful trip across Taka Mal and his courage. Her minstrel had depths she doubted even he knew, and if he died, it would be a crime.

Jade found Mica in the parlor, at a table tiled with gold-wing mosaics. The healer was intent on a scroll that listed medicines they were using in Drummer's treatment.

“How is he?” Jade asked, standing next to her.

Mica looked up, her face drawn, and started to stand, until Jade lay a hand on her shoulder, implicit permission to dispense with formalities.

Mica settled wearily back into her chair. “We've given him malo herbs and cold compresses for the fever. Nothing helps.”

Jade's heart felt as if it stuttered. “Is he eating?”

“We've roused him enough to take liquids. Water. Broth.”

The room pressed in on Jade. She did her best to hide her intense reaction, for Drummer's sake. For his life. As she thanked Mica and headed to the bedroom, it was all she could do to keep from running.

Inside Drummer's room, Doctor Quarry was sitting by the bed, blocking her view of Drummer. Quarry was an older man, heavier than most, with gray-streaked black hair. He dipped a cloth into a basin on the lacquered nightstand, then wrung it out and applied it to Drummer's forehead.

Jade went to stand by Quarry. Drummer lay on his back with a gold sheet drawn across his chest. Given his fever and the heat, they had dressed him in the thinnest possible sleep clothes. The only light came from candles on the mantel above the rarely used fireplace. In their dim glow, his face was sallow, his cheeks sunken. Someone had shaved his scraggly beard, which made him look even younger and more vulnerable. His pale lashes glinted against his even paler skin.

She spoke in a low voice. “Has there been any change?”

Quarry looked up at her. “None.”

Jade managed a nod. She had to restrain herself from twisting the silk sash on her tunic. “I will sit with him for a while.”

Quarry looked relieved for the break. He didn't question the situation even if the queen herself offered to sit in for him. It was why Jade liked him; he accepted her as herself without questions.

The doctor left the room, his footsteps muffled on the Kazlatarian rug. As he closed the door, Jade settled stiffly in the chair. Then she thought,
Enough of this,
and sat on the bed. She laid her hand against Drummer's cheek. Saints, his skin burned! She moistened his compress again and laid it back on his forehead.

“Ah…” He sighed. “That helps.”

Jade froze. Then she leaned over him, her hand braced on the other side of his body. “Drummer? You are alive?”

His lashes lifted, unveiling his blue eyes. In that moment, Jade understood perfectly the desire of Taka Mal kings to seclude their women. Maybe it was in her blood, passed down by generations of desert rulers, but her wish to protect Drummer, to hide him away from any possible harm, hit her with such intensity it hurt.

“Your Majesty…” he said.

“Ah, love, call me Jade.”

“Where…?”

“You're in the Topaz Palace.”

“And Baz?”

She winced. “He is in a bad mood.”

“Are you all right?”