The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

twice, then a third time for good measure. With each blow his hand tightened until it was a fist that connected with her eye. Her lip split, too. She tasted the copper of blood and fear. She tried to push him away.
    “No. Please, no,” she begged.
    “Got to teach you who’ll be master in my house,” he laughed and belched again. “Can’t have you thinkin’ you know anything but what I tell you.”
    Without another word he captured her small useless fists in his free hand. His grip was as punishing as his kiss. His leer traced every inch of her barely shrouded body. Once again he crushed her mouth.
    She could feel bruises forming. The small pain in her face and hands built and traveled to her shoulders. Her chest and stomach cramped in fear. Instinctively she drew her knees up in protection.
    Still forcing her hands above her head, he used his weight to wedge her legs down and apart.
    He was heavy. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her pain and fear mounted and spread. She sensed her emotions swelling into an empathic cloud that formed outside her body, filled the room, and echoed from floor to ceiling. A scream escaped her lips as her fear magnified itself again. The listeners laughed. Her husband shuddered, breath burst from his mouth in a soundless explosion. He collapsed across her.
    Her imprisoned hands didn’t respond to the sudden slackness of his once too-tight grip. His inert weight across her body hindered any movement. When she finally levered away, her vision was transfixed by his protruding, staring eyes, the spittle and blood on his lips, the ugly black blotches on his face.
    Deep within her the healing instinct demanded she reach out and dissolve the blockage to his brain. Her fear of him overrode that instinct. He was dead already. She could do many things to help him, if he still lived. But no pulse fluttered against her tentative touch, no breath stirred his graying beard.
    The sounds of the people waiting at the door retreated. They must have believed the deed done and so lost interest.
    Brevelan was alone with the man her radiating emotions had killed. . . .
     
    “Is that why you ran, little one?” Darville chuckled as he enveloped her in one of his possessive and protective hugs.
    Even Jaylor was smiling.
    “You didn’t kill the man. He killed himself.” Jaylor added his own strong arm to the embrace. Mica was there, too, butting her wet, bedraggled head against Brevelan’s chin.
    “You’re wrong, both of you.” There was still one thing Brevelan needed clarified. “Part of my healing talent is to take a person’s fear and pain into myself and give them back the strength to fight their ailment.” She swallowed hard and looked away. “On that night,” her voice dropped in shame, “I couldn’t take away his need for anger. I felt it and it terrified me. Instead of giving him peace and gentleness, I gave him fear—agonizing, paralyzing terror. I was like Jaylor’s glass. I took my small emotions and made them bigger. So big his mind couldn’t handle it and forced his body to die.”
    “Perhaps,” Jaylor mused. “More likely there was a weakness in his body that would have killed him the next time he felt any violent emotion. He sounds like a man who couldn’t live without anger and couldn’t live with it.”
    “Remember the spotted saber cat, Brevelan,” Darville interjected. “It refused all contact with your mind. That man was so filled with anger and hate he wouldn’t have accepted your gentling even if you could have broken down his barriers.”
    Love from all of them poured over her.
    Brevelan stood straighter and stronger for that love. She hadn’t realized how strong was their bond. While she thought she had only relived that fateful night in her mind, they had shared the entire experience. Just as they had shared the magic when they broke Krej’s diverting spell. Just as they had shared the flight of dragons the night Jaylor had returned to them.
     
    Baamin continued to mull over the alliance the kingdom of Rossemeyer wanted with Coronnan. The promise of trade and mutual military aid hinged on the marriage of their princess, Rossemikka, to Prince Darville.
    He read again the document Boy had purloined from Krej’s desk. Though couched in pleasantries, the language of the missive clearly outlined the consequences if the alliance failed.
    How would the Lord Regent respond to this offer and the impending arrival of two ambassadors? He didn’t