The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Baamin swallowed in increasing doses, the old man’s temper was as vile as Janataea’s or Uncle Rumbelly’s. But he never directed his anger and frustration toward Rosie. Some lord named Krej and a dragon called Shayla were the victim of Baamin’s acid tongue.
    Rosie wished she could use words as effectively as the elderly magician. Quite frankly, she liked Old Baamin. She would visit him today and take her time getting there.
    Everyone would understand if she became lost in the dark passageway that led from the palace, underneath the river, to the University.
    Endless nooks and crannies within the palace corridors invited exploration. Over the past fortnight, Rosie had discovered many of them. The corridor she followed ended at a blank wall. Backtracking a little bit, though, revealed a concealed doorway and access to a tunnel. Rosie loved the tunnels.
    She ran her sensitive fingertips over the stone wall to her left. A drop of water splashed on her face from above at the same time she was trying to avoid a shallow puddle at her feet. The perpetual dampness within the long spiral staircase was a nuisance. But the smells that lingered in the stale air were so interesting and the tunnels harbored the most unusual shadows.
    She wound her way deeper down the stairs than she had ever been before. The dark silence suited her.
    A mouse scurried toward her from the opposite end of the long curving tunnel. It stopped short within a few feet of her. Whiskers and nose bounced up and down. The mouse looked behind, as if deciding which direction was safer. Barely an instant later, it dashed past Rosie and into a crack between two of the wall stones.
    Curious. Tiny creatures were supposed to run from her. There must be someone or something coming this way. She hoped it wasn’t the cat. Rosie would willingly face Janataea’s increasingly unpredictable moods rather than that cat.
    Every time she came within a few yards of the multicolored creature, Rosie felt sick to her stomach or dizzy, or both. Frantically, she searched the tunnel for a means of escape. The mouse’s crack was too small for her human body.
    The scrape of leather on stone sounded in the distance. A shoe or a boot. The footfall came again to her ears. Heavy and slow. A man’s tread, moving with care over the slippery dampness.
    The flicker of a torch on the walls reflected a huge shadow of a man just around the next curve of the tunnel. Her nose twitched and her tongue tasted the air. The smell of male sweat and horse and . . . something too elusive for her to grasp quickly, masked the man’s identity.
    Rosie froze in indecision. She didn’t have permission to explore the palace and its secret passages. But she hadn’t been told to stay in her apartment either. Should she run and invite pursuit and punishment, or stay and accept whatever reprimand the man chose?
    Before she could decide, the shadow moved forward, wavered in the uncertain light, and consolidated into the figure of a tall slim man. His golden hair hung free about his shoulders. Several days’ growth of beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He wore black leather riding clothes and a long sword at his hip. The torch he carried in his right hand was fresh and burned brightly.
    “Your Grace,” she whispered, as she dropped a curtsy. The cat wasn’t with Prince Darville. She breathed easier.
    “Princess Rossemikka? What are you doing down here?” His voice was curt, but not angry.
    Rosie shrugged. “Exploring. I was bored.” She didn’t dare look directly into his eyes. As she rose from her curtsy she made sure she took a step backward.
    “Then we do share at least one interest. I spent my childhood memorizing these passages. But you travel without a light?” He held his torch higher to illumine more of the tunnel.
    “I didn’t think to bring one.” She put two more steps between them. Moisture filmed her upper lip and her back.
    “Are you one of those rare individuals who can see in the dark?” Darville sounded envious.
    How was she to explain that she didn’t exactly see in the dark? Her perception was more a matter of knowing where she was and what her next step should be. All of her senses guided her, not just sight. Rather than put the complicated thought into words, she lifted one shoulder in the age-old gesture of indecision and moved farther away from him.
    Her nose twitched again in the tunnel’s shifting currents of air. She smelled blood on the prince. Old blood, not