Free The Dawn Star by Catherine Asaro

spirits.
    Quill stepped back from the brazier where he had lit the incense. No one else moved, not Cobalt nor Dancer nor the doctor nor the guards. Mel didn’t know what Stonebreaker had told Cobalt, but she had seen her husband’s anguish. He had never come to terms with his agonized memories. If Stonebreaker had exacerbated that pain on his deathbed, all the settled lands might pay the price of Cobalt’s torment.
    Dancer slowly lifted her head. She stood up, her face streaked with tears. Her dark eyes blazed, though whether in anguish or triumph, Mel didn’t know.
    Then the queen knelt to her son.
    Cobalt’s voice rasped. “What are you doing? Get up.”
    She rose to her feet in a graceful motion. “Hail, Your Majesty, King of Chamberlight and Alzire.”
    The doctor jerked as if someone had yanked him out of ice. Then he, too, knelt, stiffly, slowly. In her side vision, Mel saw Quill and the guards going down as well. Cobalt froze, clenching her shoulders, and her fear increased.
    It’s too late to show him honor, Mel thought. The damage has already been done. She had no illusions about her husband. He burned with the fire of a conqueror. If he never vanquished his inner demons, he would pour his anguish into the crucible of war and blaze through the settled lands. What cruelty had Stonebreaker bequeathed him from his deathbed? Nothing could ever appease Cobalt’s torment now, for from this moment on, nothing could ever force Stonebreaker to acknowledge his grandson’s worth.
    Mel feared Cobalt would drive himself until no place and no country would be safe from the Midnight King—no matter what price they paid in blood.

5
The Midnight Throne
    A fter two days with nothing to do except make futile escape attempts, Drummer wanted to climb the walls. His guards ignored his attempts to talk to them, so he had another desultory lunch by himself. The food was excellent, if unfamiliar, meat with curry, but as with every meal here, he ate alone. He was ready to shout with frustration at the loss of his coveted freedom.
    With no warning, Kaj strode into the parlor and dropped a cloth bundle on the divan. As he turned around, a flap of cloth fell off the bundle, revealing a gleam of golden wood.
    Drummer jumped to his feet. “My glittar!”
    Kaj grunted.
    Drummer grinned at the bad-tempered gambler. “I shall compose a song of gratitude for you.”
    â€œTry it,” Kaj growled, “and your harp will be in little pieces all around you on the floor. That’s what happens when you break something over someone’s head.”
    Drummer regarded him innocently. “Do people break things over your head so often that you know the pattern?”
    Kaj’s face purpled. “You are fortunate the queen wants you alive and happy.” He stalked from the room.
    â€œNice to see you, too,” Drummer said, but he waited until Kaj was gone.
    He sat on the divan and picked up his glittar. Its curving frame fit perfectly in his hand. He tuned the harp and was gratified to hear its mellow sound. They had even polished the wood and cleaned the strings. Apparently someone here appreciated fine instruments.
    Carrying the harp, he wandered through his suite, searching for a place to practice. None of the rooms felt right. Too confining. Finally he went to where he could feel fresh air on his face, a balcony he had missed his first day because it was behind a door that resembled a wall panel. The balcony was high up a tower, with a four-story drop to the ground. Drummer had thought for all of two seconds about trying to climb down and realized he valued his life too much. The wall had no handholds, fingerholds, or fingernail holds, and a fall from up here would splatter him all over the royal courtyard.
    He loved the balcony, though. He could look out over the palace and city. Quaaz teemed with life—vendors in the streets, carts rolling, children running, news