The Dawn Star by Catherine Asaro Page A

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.
    â€œYour 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.”
    â€œHe 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.
    â€œWill you join us?” she asked her husband. Perhaps they could salvage this awkward moment.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œWhat look?” She was painfully aware of Kindler listening.
    â€œLike 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.”
    â€œOh. 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.
    â€œSo.” Cobalt considered the messenger. “You come from Applecroft?”
    Kindler spoke in the formal cadences of Harsdown. “I do, Your Majesty. I bring you a message from King Muller and Queen Chime.”
    Mel waited for Cobalt to respond. She didn’t think he was being deliberately rude. In his youth, he had avoided the royal court here, and though he had probably learned its ways, he was far more at ease with his soldiers than in the palace.
    When Cobalt said nothing, Mel inclined her head to Kindler. “We thank you for carrying the message. What news do you bring?”
    Lines of strain showed on his face. “It is your uncle Drummer.” He set down his goblet. “Queen Vizarana has taken him hostage.”
    Mel stared at him. “What? No, that can’t be.”
    Cobalt barely moved, just leaned forward a small amount, but his contained energy was so intense the air seemed to vibrate. Mel would never have thought the color