The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

seemed to snuggle into the woven carpet that surrounded the desk. She searched the room for something, then finally looked directly at Darville.
    He was amazed to see the hazel-green eyes flip from a slitted pupil to round as she stepped into the brighter light of the candelabra on his desk. Darville glanced down at Mica, willing her to look up at him. He had to see if the girl’s eyes were an illusion, or the exact opposite of his pet’s.
    Mica purred a little louder, arched her back into one of her massive stretches, then peeked above the rim of the desk to see who had joined them. “Merow?” Her little nose quivered in excitement.
    “Is that a cat, Your Grace?” Rossemikka’s voice cracked in fear. She stiffened in the center of the carpet. Her balance shifted forward onto her toes, as if prepared for flight.
    Her subtle shift in posture sent the light glinting on the streak of white hair at her temple. This couldn’t be the woman of his dragon-dream. The woman in Shayla’s cave hadn’t had that blatant streak in her hair.
    Legend claimed such a mark to be a witch’s brand. Long, long ago, before the Stargods came, witchwomen were said to be marked by the rigors of their initiation into the coven.
    Mica twitched her tail once before leaping to the center of the desk. “Mmbbbrrt!” she chirped and rattled her teeth, as she did while hunting. Her back claws raked Darville’s thigh in her haste to meet the princess.
    “Keep it away from me!” Rossemikka backed toward the door. Her slitted eyes, wide with terror, never left the cat.
    “There is nothing to fear from Mica.” Darville was bewildered by the woman’s reaction. “My pet is merely curious.”
    “Keep it away!” she cried. Her arms came up to shield her face as Mica crouched for another leap.
    “Calm yourself, Princess. Mica is merely curious. As you should be. I’m told this cat is a twin to the one you lost.”
    “My little cat was not so vicious.”
    “Mica? Vicious?” Curious she was, a nuisance at times, and a loving companion. But Mica vicious?
    “NO!” the princess screamed and ducked faster than Darville’s eyes could follow as the cat launched toward her. Rossemikka scrambled for the doorway. Mica landed clumsily on the flagstones beyond the carpet. She lay there a moment, stunned by the shock of her landing.
    Without another word, Rossemikka fled the private study of the king. Darville was hot on her heels. He barely noticed Mica scuttling into the shadows to nurse her wounded pride and jarred body.

Chapter 8
     
    B revelan stared at the roof tree of her hut. For the moment it was in focus. Quite an ordinary beam of wood, except for its age. The hut had been here, nearly intact for over three hundred years. It had sheltered many generations of witchwomen. The villagers claimed the hut and the clearing had been empty for a dozen or more years before Brevelan had claimed it, a little over a year ago.
    When Brevelan had needed a place to hide from her witch-hunting home village and family, the clearing had called to her, drawing her ever south until she had stumbled across the threshold. Frightened and confused, she had remained hidden for several months until the villagers had needed a healer.
    Now she needed help and healing. The child was draining all of her strength. There was nothing left of her to fight the magic that chained her to an invisible dragon.
    A new pain clawed at her belly and her back. The room swam out of focus. A scream started in the back of her throat and died there. She hadn’t the energy to push it out.
    For the blink of an eye Brevelan saw all of the auras around every object and being within sight.
    Jaylor was all blues and reds, with hints of crystal and copper. He was weighing his staff in his hands, as if judging the temper of the wood. His colors spread out and included his favorite tool.
    “Jaylor, you mustn’t try to sever the bond to Shayla,” she whispered. The pain receded, leaving her limp and sweating. “Your heart won’t support the magic.”
    “You can’t hold on much longer, Brevelan. I have to do this for you or die trying,” Jaylor insisted.
    Brevelan fought the next wave of pain, rose with it, rode it to its crest, then tumbled back down to the reality of the hard bed in a small, smoky hut. It would be such bliss to just let go. Allow the blackness on the edges of her vision to take over, sink into the oblivion that beckoned her.
    “I love you, Brevelan,” Jaylor