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eighteen years ago, but he no longer called on his power for fear he would harm those he loved.
    Legend claimed that Mel’s cousin, King Jarid in Aronsdale, was a violet mage—the color that granted the power of life—but Mel suspected the tales were embellished because of his royal heritage. He was far more likely an indigo. Violet mages were possible, in theory, but she doubted any person could actually wield such a force and survive.
    Mel wasn’t certain how to define her abilities. Before her marriage, she had never done any spells above green, and she had drawn power only from two-dimensional shapes, which gave a spell less strength than those with three dimensions. But last year, she had called forth a blue spell, and done it with a sphere, the highest shape. She struggled to control her power, though. High-level spells burned her out, and it took days to recover.
    Now that Mel no longer lived with her parents, she had no one to train her. Cobalt’s people considered her a witch, an object of suspicion. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit, and she hid her spells, wrestling alone with powers she didn’t know how to wield. So often she felt inadequate. Sometimes she wanted to write her parents or Queen Iris and entreat them for help. But she always recovered her sense before she sent such a letter. They and their mages had more important matters to attend than the floundering of a confused young woman. If she failed or succeeded, it was her responsibility, not theirs.
    Mel’s breath caught as their party clattered into a courtyard of the Diamond Palace. Cobalt seemed to crackle with a dark energy, as if he were calling up defenses against this heartlessly beautiful place. Its towers rose above them, white against the sky, and stable boys ran to meet them across the crescent-shaped yard.
    After they dismounted and handed their reins to a groom, Cobalt took her through a doorway framed by pillars the size of tree trunks. The tip of its arch was twenty feet above the ground. Her power stirred, nudged by carvings that bordered the arch, circles and hexagons stained Chamberlight blue.
    Mel had a sudden memory of her first blue spell. Cobalt had hurt his hands from striking a wall over and over, until the ragged bricks shredded his skin. It happened after he found Stonebreaker hurting Mel. He couldn’t strike the king of the Misted Cliffs—so he vented his fury on a wall. Although Mel had mended his physical injuries, no blue spell could heal the wounds in his heart.
    Today they were entering Stonebreaker’s realm, the icy center of his kingdom where Cobalt would face his dying tormentor.

    Drummer jolted awake as the wagon bumped to a stop. After fourteen days in the tedious silence of his guards, any change was welcome. He opened his eyes into the dim sunlight that diffused through the cloth sides of the wagon. His captors had left his wrists tied too long, and his arms ached. Three of the fake merchants were in the wagon, one peering out the back and the other two guarding him. Some cretin had taken off his boots while he slept and bound his ankles as well.
    Drummer scowled at the man who sat on a bench across from him. “You must all find me fearsome indeed, that you need so many warriors to guard an unarmed man whose hands and feet are tied.”
    â€œYou talk too much,” the man said, his voice drawn out in the accent of Taka Mal.
    â€œWhere are we?” Drummer asked.
    â€œHere,” the man said.
    â€œThat was helpful,” Drummer grumbled. When the guard dropped his hand to his sheathed dagger, Drummer closed his mouth.
    The man at the back of the wagon moved aside as someone opened the flaps. A man was standing outside. “You can go in,” he said.
    Drummer squinted out and glimpsed a wedge of sky. Onion towers and stone walls the color of amber gleamed in the rich sunlight. He swore under his breath. He knew of only one structure built from