The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

around and she’s hurt. I think it’s a wing. She can’t fly. She needs us!”
    Baamin passed the message to whoever was on the other side of that glass.
    Mica nosed open the door. Her purr filled Darville’s heart while Baamin consulted the glass again, now speaking, now listening. Darville scooped up the insistent cat.
    Instead of letting her perch on his shoulder, he cradled her warm body against his chest. Stroking her silky fur soothed him. He fell into the rhythm of her rumbling music. His eyes glazed, and he lost focus.
    The face and voice of Brevelan appeared clearly in the glass.
    “Break the summons, Baamin. We have been observed.” Lines of worry folded around her eyes.
    Darville’s heart swelled with joy and pain at the sight of her. He loved her so much! She could have been the perfect princess for him.
    But no, Brevelan had chosen Jaylor. She had her reasons. He knew them, understood them. Deep inside he wept for the loss of her.
    Mica’s purr stopped. The image of Brevelan disappeared as quickly as it had come. The cat butted her head against Darville’s chin seeking the same comfort he did.
    “Brevelan, who has the power to invade this spell?” Baamin asked.
    There was no answer.
    Baamin whirled to confront Darville. “Did Krej take the witchbane this week?”
    “I watched him swallow it yesterday,” the prince affirmed. Lord Krej went along with the treatment in his usual half-joking manner. He had convinced all but a few skeptics on the Council and Darville that he, Krej, was the victim of the prince’s malice rather than the perpetrator of dire magical plans against the kingdom.
    “There is no antidote to witchbane and no one else in this kingdom has exhibited enough power to invade one of my spells.” Baamin scratched his chin in thought.
    “Could Krej have hired a foreign rogue?”
    “If so, we must find him before he corrupts or masters us all.”

Chapter 4
     
    J anataea’s voice roused Princess Rossemikka from her nap. “The time has come, Princess. You must put on your cloak and go down to the ship.”
    Rosie picked up her ball of thread and began to untangle her last cat’s cradle.
    “Come, Rosie,” Janataea coaxed.
    Rosie unwound herself from her curled sleeping position, still puzzling the knot in the center of her work. She should resist Janataea’s orders. There was something wrong with the command. One look at the older woman’s eyes dimmed her flicker of perception. Compelled by an overwhelming need to obey Janataea, Rosie dismounted the seat with a small jump.
    The deeply rooted compulsion sent her to stand one pace in front of her governess. One pace. No more. No less.
    Janataea draped a cloak of oiled wool over Rosie’s shoulders, then lifted the girl’s thick braid to the outside. The governess’ hands were soothing as they stroked the plait smooth and coiled it into a concealing head covering. Rosie leaned into the caress. “Hmmm.” Her throat vibrated with pleasure.
    Outside the castle, a fresh breeze touched Rosie’s face. She lifted her head and sniffed the bright morning air. Salt. The wind was coming from the sea. A storm would crash upon the shores of Rossemeyer’s protective cliffs by sunset. The two river valleys would receive the blessed rain. On the high plateaus where everyone lived, nobles and peasants alike, the wind would howl and fling sand with punishing force.
    Little if any rain would relieve the dry desert air. But the people of Rossemeyer would huddle within their dwellings and wait for the storm to pass.
    Every ship in the harbor would be well out to sea by the time the storm ripped into the harbor with murderous waves. Rosie would be on one of those ships.
    “I don’t want to go,” Rosie protested Janataea’s guiding hand. She turned and tried to slip through the governess’ grasp.
    “Of course you want to go, Your Highness. You sail to meet your new husband.” Janataea was insistent.
    “I have no need of a husband. Men frighten me. I won’t go.”
    “You will or we’ll both be burned as witches. You heard your uncle. Think about me if not yourself, Princess Rossemikka,” Janataea hissed with anger. “Think about your mother!”
    Rosie blinked at her governess. “Why isn’t my mother here to see me off?” Rosie ignored Janataea’s words and tried to slip past her again. She twisted her body into impossible thinness. But her governess was used to her ways.
    “Queen Sousyam is not well. You know she has not