The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

crate. She gestured for a gawking sailor to pile up more crates to form a crude staircase. Then, holding onto the mast with one hand and the ambassador’s shoulder with the other, she proceeded to climb to Rosie’s perch.
    Rosie glared at Janataea only briefly before peering upward again. Unfortunately, her governess was between her and the mast, the easiest way up.
    “Tell me what secrets cloud your eyes, Princess?” Janataea retrieved a hairbrush from her pocket and indicated she would gladly brush Rosie’s hair.
    “Why do those fish follow the ship? They seem to want to play with us.” Rosie continued looking at the fish rather than at Janataea. If she looked at her governess, she would have to reveal every thought in her head.
    “Legend claims the Stargods banished the priests of the old religion to the sea.” Janataea settled into a sitting position next to Rosie. She waved the brush tauntingly. “The mandelphs are the descendants of the workers of old magic, trying desperately to return to the land so they may worship their god properly. They seek to play with us to lure us into allowing them to climb aboard.”
    “A sad legend.” Rosie wanted to ask why the priests and their magic had been banished. She didn’t dare. That would lead Janataea to probe deeper into her thoughts.
    Janataea sucked in her breath. “Speak to me, Princess, or I will throw this brush into the sea.”
    Rosie ignored her. She loved to have her hair brushed. But right now, keeping her thoughts her own, no matter how trivial, seemed more important.
    “You have allowed your hair to escape your snood. ’Tis indecent. Speak to me of your thoughts or I will leave you to the not-so-gentle attentions of every man on board this ship!” Janataea stood up, perfectly balanced on the spar. She seemed larger, more dominant than usual.
    Rosie shrank back to avoid the coming compulsion to obey. “I am told that in Coronnan the women cover their breasts, but allow their hair to fall free,” she excused herself.
    “And they are a dying race because the women cannot nurse their children when they need to. False modesty is beneath you, Princess. Cover your hair and tell me what troubles your mind.” Janataea spun a new spell with the lilting cadence of her words. Her pale blond hair was caught demurely beneath a silver head covering, almost the same color as the locks it restrained. Her breasts were full and round, spilling above the deep neckline of her gown. In Rossemeyer, Janataea was considered the ultimate in feminine grace and beauty.
    Rosie dropped her eyes to her own chest. She was eighteen, fully matured, and her breasts were small and pointed, barely feminine at all. Maybe Prince Darville wouldn’t like her lack of endowments. Then she could return to the safe familiarity of her window seat in the castle.
    But no, Darville needed Rossemeyer’s armies. He would marry Rosie, whether he liked her or not.
    Rosie felt herself weakening under Janataea’s will. She looked to the land that was looming off to her right. The closer they came to Coronnan, the stronger she felt. She was soon to be the wife of the Prince of Coronnan. One day she would be queen. Keeping her thoughts private seemed imperative.
    Janataea’s words grew into a song, weaving around Rosie with insidious tendrils of will-sapping lethargy.
    “Tell me your thoughts. Tell me what instructions the ambassador gave you. Tell me how you will ensure Rossemeyer’s domination over your new country.”
    “I am to seek out the one who defies my husband,” Rosie found herself reciting in a monotone. “I am to kill him because he will ally with SeLenicca.”
    “Krej!” Janataea hissed in alarm. “The Lord Regent believes King Simeon of SeLenicca will honor such a treaty. More fool he,” she muttered almost to herself.
    “Then I am to poison the leader of the magicians. The Commune of Magicians must never again be allowed to advise my husband against Rossemeyer.”
    “Oh, my,” Janataea giggled. “Marvelous idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of that? Hee, hee,” she tittered in growing laughter. “Such wonderful fun to bring old Baamin to his just deserts. Krej has been trying to do that for years without success. But you and I will succeed. Won’t we, my little princess? First we will make him grovel. Hee hee, ho, haw haw!”
    To Rosie’s dismay, her dignified governess laughed long and loud. She laughed so hard she had to grasp the mast for support. Her