The Dawn Star (11 page)

“He'll be all right,” Mel said, as much to reassure herself as her mother. “He could soften up even Taka Mal's iron queen.”

“That's what I fear,” Chime said. “Then what, after he trespasses against the House of Quaazera?”

It was a good question. Mel didn't have an answer.

Be wise, Uncle,
she thought.
Be wise.

Drummer awoke alone. The candle had burned down, and someone had set a glazed basin and a pitcher next to the stump. Jade was gone. He lay on his stomach, thinking about her. How could she be so tough in public and so soft in bed? Maybe that was why she put up a shield with every one; her softness was her vulnerability. One mistake and she could lose her throne.

His contented smile faded. One mistake. Him.

Drummer groaned and rolled over, throwing his arm across his eyes. What had he been thinking? What if she told Baz or that shadow-on-shadows king of Jazid? Baz would probably want to do a lot worse now than just chain Drummer in a pit.

She won't tell.
He couldn't bear to believe anything else. Surely she knew what would happen if she revealed the truth. Nor would it go poorly only for him; she would endure censure as well, from Baz, from Ozar—

No! He swore vehemently, remembering, and sat up fast. Ozar had
proposed
to Jade. She couldn't marry that sadist. Besides, he already had a wife. Two, in fact. Surely that was enough. It wasn't even legal in other settled lands.

“Not with Jade, you don't,” he muttered.

He felt nauseous. Maybe he needed food. He went to the table and found the pitcher full of water. Soap carved into a dragon rested by the basin. He didn't have a razor to scrape off his stubble, but his beard had never been heavy, and it was blond, so it didn't show much yet. He washed up and dressed, trying to look civilized. Then he tried the door. To his surprise, it opened.

Outside, a hall stretched out, ivory and topaz, with arches that framed the corridor. Arched doors, all closed, appeared at intervals. Drummer hesitated in his doorway. Despite its elegant decor, it was obviously a cell. Had they forgotten to lock him in? Perhaps Jade had sent away his guards. This could be a trap.

He stepped into the hallway. No one appeared, so he headed toward the hall where they had held the feast. When he thought of all the food he had missed, his mouth watered. It was hard to believe a few spells had so overwhelmed him. Last night he had imagined he might wield exceptional mage powers, but in the light of an ordinary day, he felt foolish for harboring such thoughts. Surely someone would have noticed by now if he was a powerful mage. Not that he had ever made spells for people; they just seemed to happen, especially lately.

A memory came to him. He had been dozing in an easy chair during a visit with Muller and Chime and overheard them discussing Mel's mage talent. Apparently it had been taking a long time to mature. Nor was it only spells. At seventeen, Mel had still been growing. It was a family trait. Chime hadn't reached her full height until eighteen. Drummer had been twenty-four. With things taking so long, he had hoped he would be tall. But no, he ended up average for Aronsdale, below average in Taka Mal, without the husky build his father and older brother enjoyed.

Maybe what he lacked in bulk he had in mage power. His assumption that men couldn't be real mages was based on what he heard from other people, but none of them were mages. He wasn't even sure what qualified as a “real” mage. Those he knew best were Chime and Muller, and neither had ever said he couldn't be like them. If it had taken him so long to grow, perhaps it had also taken his mage abilities a long time.

Drummer had lived his life like a leaf floating on the river, drifting from year to year. His abduction had jolted him in many ways; perhaps that stirred up his mage abilities. Historians claimed the powers developed as a means of survival among his people. If that was true, it would make sense that his responded when he felt his survival threatened.

The Topaz Hall was empty, its tables cleared, its floors swept and the musician stand gone. No hint of last night's festivities remained. Unfortunately, that meant no food, either. He found a pitcher of water and slaked his thirst, but that was it. Beyond the hall, he encountered two maids carrying linens and giggling with each other. They quieted as he walked past, and one smiled. He didn't understand why Jade had left him to wander. For all he knew, he could find a horse and leave. If he could manage; he hadn't paid good attention when his father had taught him about riding. He knew how, but he had wanted neither the expense nor the responsibility of owning a horse. In Aronsdale, he had either walked or bargained for rides in someone's cart.

After last night, though, it was no longer so easy to consider leaving. He didn't know what to think. Maybe it had been a dalliance for Jade, before she took the politically expedient action of marrying the Atajazid D'az Ozar. Even Drummer, who made it his business to be apolitical, could see the advantages of such a union. Although never enemies, Jazid and Taka Mal had never been strong allies, either. But they had reason to unite against Cobalt. And here Drummer was, a hostage for Cobalt's good behavior, as if the Dark Prince were capable of good behavior.

Neither are you,
Drummer told himself. If he thought Jade would throw away all that power so she could have him, he was an idiot. She had used him last night, and if he was lucky, she wouldn't tell anyone. Nothing held him here.

Drummer didn't want to leave his glittar, but he couldn't risk returning to his rooms where someone might catch him. He had no idea where to find the stables. He roamed through a maze of arches, pillars and corridors until he came out into a courtyard. Five children were playing chase around the fountain that burbled in its center. When he entered, they all stopped to stare at him.

“My greetings,” Drummer said cheerfully. They clustered together and watched him with wide eyes.

He slid his hand over his vest and secretly ripped a topaz off the cloth. Then he strolled over to the children. “What do you have there?” he asked the oldest boy, a fellow of about nine.

The boy tilted his head. “What did you say?”

Drummer had a hard time understanding his accent, which he suspected worked two ways. He spoke more slowly. “There.” He indicated the boy's ear with his right hand, letting the children see his palm. The topaz was hidden in his shirt cuff.

“Nothing!” the boy said.

“Are you sure?” With his palm closed, Drummer let the topaz slip into his hand. He reached behind the boy's ear and touched the skin. Then he withdrew his hand and opened it. The topaz glittered in his palm. “You're sprouting gems.”

“Hai!” The boy gave a whoop. “How did you do that?”

Drummer grinned. “They must grow with your hair.”

One of the girls giggled. “Sparklies don't grow in hair.”

The children all gathered around Drummer. A thought came to him, spurred by the circular fountain. He wasn't certain how to make spells; usually they just came to him. But it seemed to work when he thought of shapes. He held his palm open to the sky with the topaz sparkling in its center.

“Behold!” Drummer said with a flourish. He concentrated on the shape of the fountain.

Nothing.

The children waited, earnestly trying to behold something. Feeling foolish, Drummer wondered what he had done wrong. Maybe the fountain wasn't a pure shape. Looked like a circle to him, though.

“It feels good,” one of the girls said.

Drummer blinked. He did feel good. Healthy, glowing, awake, refreshed. Of course. Orange spells eased pain. Since none of them were in pain, it just made them feel better. It wasn't a particularly dramatic effect, though.

He offered the topaz to one of the girls. “Can you hold this for me?”

She took it with special care. “I won't let anything happen to it, Your Highness.”

Highness? They thought he was a prince. He supposed it was a logical assumption given his clothes and unusual coloring. They probably figured he was visiting from Aronsdale. Which was sort of true, though it hadn't been his idea to come here.

Drummer pulled a big ruby off his vest. It was probably worth a small fortune. Balancing it in his palm, he focused on the fountain. He thought of red things, apples and strawberries and blushed cheeks. Red spells made light—

A column of red light shot up from his hand.

“Saint Rose almighty,” Drummer muttered, stepping back. The light came with him, connected to the gem in his hand. He didn't want to drop his arm for fear the light would strike the children.

“Look at that!” one of boys whooped, while the others oohed and aahed in appreciation.

Drummer stared up at the column. “Stop,” he whispered, terrified. His palm was heating up. He curled his hand around the ruby and the heat intensified. With a gasp, he dropped the gem. It clattered on the ground and the light vanished.

The children scrambled for the ruby, and one scooped it up.

“Don't touch it!” Drummer cried.

“Do more!” a boy said. Another shouted, “Do that one again!”

He took a shaky breath. Apparently the gem was harmless again. He spoke carefully, so they would understand his Aronsdale accent. “I'm afraid I can't this morning. I have to go.”

With undisguised disappointment, they gave him back the topaz and the ruby. A small girl looked up at him. “Will you visit again?”

“I hope so.” For the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have a child like that. He looked around at them all. “I was hoping you could tell me how to find the stables.”

Most of the children looked uncertain, but the oldest boy said, “I don't know how to say. But I can take you there.”

Relief swept over Drummer. A child guide was the perfect solution. The boy wasn't likely to get Drummer in trouble, and if people saw an adult with a child, they were less likely to be suspicious than if he were wandering around on his own.

Drummer swept a deep bow to him. “Thank you.”

“Can we come, too?” one of the girls asked.

“Not today,” Drummer said, smiling and looking apologetic.

The girls giggled and ran off, but not before Drummer overheard one whisper to another, “He's handsome.”

His guide rolled his eyes. “Girls.”

Drummer chuckled. “Just wait a few years.”

The boy took him into another wing of the palace, keeping up a stream of chatter. They were, Drummer realized, in a servants' wing. The boy's clothes were well-made, nicer than any Drummer had worn at his age, but they weren't extravagant, which suggested his parents were on the palace staff. It could explain why the boy hadn't hesitated to be his guide. He wouldn't challenge someone he believed was a prince. Discretion and accommodation protected one's livelihood; Drummer knew that principle well, after having followed it most of his life. He suspected the staff here knew a lot more of the palace goings-on than most people realized.

He didn't want his guide to get into trouble for helping him. When the boy took him outside, into a lane between this wing of the palace and a wall, Drummer drew him to a stop. They stood in the arch of the doorway.

“How much farther is it?” Drummer asked.

The boy motioned to where the lane curved around the palace. “Just after you turn the corner.”

“I can find it from here.” He gave the boy a conspiratorial look. “Listen, I have a secret for you.”

“A secret?” His gaze widened. “What is it?”

“Princes aren't supposed to do magic tricks.”

“Why not?”

Drummer tried to think of a reason. “It scares people.”

“Why?”

“They don't understand it, I guess.”

“That's dumb.”

Drummer laughed, though he wasn't so sure it was funny. That last spell had shaken him. He could have burned himself. When his niece Mel had visited Aronsdale last year, she had confided in him that her legendary spell at the Battle of Alzire had been only light, without heat. That had been a large spell, one much more demanding of power than his pillar. Apparently on a smaller scale, he had enough power left over to make heat.

“Will you make me a promise?” Drummer asked. “You're a grown-up fellow. I can trust you.”

The boy drew himself up straight. “Certainly, Your Highness.”

“Don't tell anyone you saw me or that I did spells.”

“I won't.”

Drummer clapped him on the shoulder. “You're a fine fellow.”

After his guide ran off, Drummer walked up the alley and turned the corner. A courtyard lay ahead of him, and stables lined its outer wall. Grooms, stable boys, light-bringers, and hay-sweepers bustled with their work in the yard. A man with a rake was passing the alley. Seeing Drummer, he froze, his face startled. Then he knelt, the rake held awkwardly in his hand.

I have to get out of these clothes,
Drummer thought. He was drawing too much attention. Neither Chime nor Muller expected people to kneel to them. Aronsdale was more formal, though, and people knelt to royals at the court there.