The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

We must bring her home to Coronnan.”
    “She is in labor as we speak. She could not fly back, even if she were willing.” The pain eased and Brevelan lay on her back, panting with exhaustion.
    “ ’Tis you I must save, beloved. What can I do to help?”
    “We must find a way to sever my tie to Shayla. I have not the strength or the will to do it myself.”
    “Perhaps the child is ready to come after all. Perhaps his growth was accelerated, like the baby dragons, by all of the magic that was thrown near the time of his conception.” Jaylor felt a moment of hope. As much as he feared the birth, dreaded discovering he might not be the child’s father, he was excited by a new life. If dragon-dreams were to be believed, then this was just the first of many children who would fill this clearing with laughter.
    “The babe is not yet ready. Trust me, Jaylor. Our son must wait his turn. ’Tis merely my magic responding to Shayla. The bond must be severed.”
    “But how? I have no magic left in me. Even if I did, I’m not certain I have the stamina to throw the simplest of spells.” Jaylor hung his head. The nightmare of his magic filling Krej’s great hall visited him again and again. The terror, the pain, the exultation of the greatest spell in modern times was too much for a single man to live with.
    Guilt threatened to wash away the little niggles of power he had been nursing lately. What if his next spell really killed him, as his last one almost did? He was just beginning to find reasons to live again. Reasons like Brevelan and the baby.
    “I have to try the spell, Brevelan.”
    “You can’t,” she whispered in fear. “A spell of that magnitude would kill you. I couldn’t live if you died.”
    “You and the babe mean more to me than my life, Brevelan. I have to try!”
    “Find another magician. Guide him, but don’t risk yourself.” Her voice was growing weaker.
    Jaylor dribbled a little of the water into her mouth. She lay quiet a moment, waiting out another pain.
    “Yaakke can summon Baamin. If the three of us link through the glass. . . .”
    “Baamin cannot find Shayla. He has tried often in the last six moons. I think we must bring my father into the spell. He is closer to the dragon throne than I. His bond to Shayla should be strong, if he would only search for it.”
    “No! How could you think about allowing Krej to work magic again? I won’t permit his presence anywhere near you.”
    Brevelan sighed deep and long. “Then I will die and the babe with me.”
     
    The Princess of Rossemeyer stood framed in the doorway to Darville’s study. The candlelight caught in her golden hairnet and shimmered around her brocade gown. At least this gown of hazel-green was more demurely cut than the one she had worn earlier. But she still revealed much more of her bosom than Darville believed proper.
    “I am told I owe Your Majesty an apology.” Her voice was husky, as if she had been crying, and she refused to meet Darville’s eyes.
    Her hands fluttered restlessly, seeking something to occupy them.
    “In Coronnan I am addressed as ‘Your Grace.’ ” Since she wasn’t looking at him, Darville allowed himself the luxury of drinking in her beauty. The sight of her only brought depression. She was the woman in his dragon-dream, yet he could never trust her, never love her.
    He didn’t stand to greet her as court manners demanded. Mica purred in his lap beneath his desk. Some of the weight in his gut dissipated with her quiet rumbling. His hand dropped to pet her silken fur.
    “Your Grace, I apologize for my unwitting remark earlier.” Those constantly moving hands found a mote of dust on a globe and brushed it away.
    “If you didn’t know my Council holds little regard for magicians, especially lords who are also magicians, then the apology is accepted, the insult forgotten.” He forced the words out. This was what Baamin had advised. Do whatever was necessary to keep the girl close and under observation. He didn’t have to marry her immediately. There was still time to evaluate her and the treaty.
    In other words, stall.
    “So easy, Your Grace? I expected punishment.” Her gaze flew upward in startlement.
    Her hands were suddenly, unnaturally, stilled.
    “Are you often punished, Rossemikka?” Sympathy for the young woman sneaked into Darville, an emotion he didn’t want to feel.
    “My . . . my uncle does not approve of me.” The princess took a step toward him. Her slippered feet