The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

battle, Your Grace.” Krej’s tone was anything but meek or submissive. Instead he glared into Darville’s eyes, daring him to disagree. Daring him to draw his own sword and fight out their grievances.
    “Since time began, the Kings of Coronnan have led our armies to victory. I will follow in the footsteps of my esteemed ancestors. Interfere at your own risk, Krej.” Darville took up the challenge.
    “A compromise, Your Grace?” Lord Andrall pushed his way between the rivals. “You may choose your own advisers and we will crown you king on the day you marry the Princess Rossemikka.”
    Darville yanked his gaze away from Krej. He had to think. The Council had backed down, offered what he really wanted, once he’d asserted his natural authority. But could he still marry the princess? She had betrayed him. Just as Krej had.
    A prince could trust no one. No one but himself. Knowing that, he was forewarned and forearmed.
    “I will not have a queen whose first interest lies with Rossemeyer. Nor will I have a wife who dresses like a trollop, exposing herself to all eyes.”
    “Speak with her, please, Your Grace,” Andrall pleaded. “Get to know her a little. Inform her of our customs.”
    “She accused me of being as murderous as King Simeon.”
    “She asked if you were a sorcerer. King Simeon is the only known monarch capable of magic,” Andrall added.
    “Though how he throws magic in SeLenicca when no one else can remains a mystery,” Krej said, still holding his sword.
    “I intend to find that out. If we are ever to control magic again, we, the mundanes, must understand it as well or better than our magicians.” Darville allowed his shoulders to relax a little.
    “Just speak with her, Prince Darville. Perhaps she was told to say those words to throw us into this very turmoil. Perhaps she didn’t know how her accusation would upset the Council. ’Twould be typical of Rossemeyer’s tactics.” Andrall continued pleading his case.
    “After I consult with Senior Magician Baamin, in my private study, I will consider speaking with the princess.” Darville righted the throne and solemnly sat in it. “My lords, we have lost a battle. ’Tis time to mobilize relief forces and plan a new strategy.”
     
    My rival has not nearly the control I was led to believe. The meeting between Darville and Rossemikka was a disaster, just as I planned. But I compelled her to say those damning words. I controlled her from the beginning. Not my rival.
    Kings and regents are all fools if they think they have real power. They will all look to me once I let them know I manipulate one and all.
    But first, I must bring the new ninth to the capital. Temporal power means nothing if our rituals are incomplete. I can wait no longer to bring Brevelan into the coven.
     
    Jaylor carefully wiped Brevelan’s fevered brow. She was so tiny and so pale, her fragility tugged at his heart even more than her strength did.
    One of the field rabbits nudged her ear from the other side of the bed, offering his own slight comfort. At her feet a greenbird twittered in sympathy. In his agony, Jaylor couldn’t appreciate the love these creatures held for his wife.
    “Don’t you dare die on me, Brevelan!” he ordered through the knot in his throat.
    “So fierce, my husband? What happened to the weak shell of a man who doubts his own recovery?” Her last words were muffled by a rising groan. She clutched her rounded belly as if to contain the pain.
    “Shouldn’t you have one of the women with you? I know nothing of midwifery and little of healing.” Jaylor dipped the cloth in the basin of cool water. No fever flushed Brevelan’s skin, but she radiated heat in waves from her discomfort. The hut was sweltering. Jaylor was chilled to the bone.
    The illness had come on her suddenly, while they went about their daily chores. One moment Brevelan had been singing to her flusterhens. The next she was writhing on the ground in pain. Jaylor had scooped her up, cradling her against his heart. Panic had frozen his mind.
    Only Yaakke’s prodding had given Jaylor sense enough to bring Brevelan inside and dispatch the boy to the creek for fresh water.
    “A midwife could not help me. Shayla is in labor three moons early and therefore so am I.” She groaned again, rolling to her side on the wide cot.
    “Shayla! Brevelan, are you in contact with Shayla?”
    “She never left me.” Brevelan spoke through gritted teeth.
    “Do you know where she is?