The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

possibilities.
    “If I could escape,” Mikka thought out loud, “I could seek out these women and enlist them to my cause. If I returned with an army at my back, I could supplant Uncle Rumbelly.” Childish dreams at best. Escape was out of the question.
    Mikka’s prison was one level below the top watch platform of the tallest tower in the castle. There was a sheer drop to the bottom of a rocky cliff from the single, arrow-slit window. The guard outside the door was well armed and loyal to her uncle, even if Mikka could open the massive planks of wood.
    “A foolish notion, Mikka.” Janataea began to pace the circumference of the room, widdershins—opposite the path of the sun. Little furniture impeded her progress. There was only a cot for sleeping and a single stool for sitting. Not even a hearth interrupted the smooth lines of the walls.
    “I know. I was only wishing.” Mikka sank onto the cot. She wasn’t willing to give in to despair yet. But her hopes were fading fast. Rosse butted her head against Mikka’s chin and purred her sympathy. The princess reached a loving hand to her pet.
    At least she had Rosse to keep her company. No one in the castle was willing to suffer the cat’s temper tantrums if they were separated for long. That was why Mikka had given the cat part of her own name. As long as Rosse was with her, Mikka felt . . . well, she just felt better.
    “There is no evidence such a nation of women warriors truly exists.” Janataea was staring at Mikka in an odd way after her third circuit of the room. “Yet there may be a way for you to escape.”
    “How?” Mikka looked up with excitement, as well as a little trepidation.
    “There is magic in your family,” Janataea stated flatly.
    “Magic, bah,” Mikka dismissed the subject. “Leave the incantations and prayers to feeble old men and priests. Strong men and knowledgeable healers are the answers to Rossemeyer’s problems.”
    “Then why did you ask to Sing? ”
    “Because Singing is the one thing they could not give me.”
    “On your mother’s side, the magic is strong,” Janataea continued. “Lord Rumbellesth started training as a magician when he was very young. But he gave it up because his power didn’t come fast enough, or full enough. He enjoys a different kind of power now.”
    “He enjoys making other people miserable. But that won’t help me escape.”
    “Still, there is magic in your family. You carry the potential in your body, either for yourself or your offspring.” Janataea had narrowed her restless pacing and was examining the princess with a critical eye.
    “Tell me what you are plotting,” Mikka urged.
    “Your bond with the cat is very strong. She is almost a part of you.” Now Janataea was dipping into the folds of her skirt pocket for a little leather bag she always carried. “The cat has the freedom of the castle. You do not.”
    “So?”
    “So you and the cat will exchange places.”
    “I can’t very well go creeping about the castle on all fours, expecting people to believe I’m a cat,” Mikka snorted.
    “You could if your soul was in the cat’s body, and Rosse’s less rebellious personality was in yours.”
    Stunning possibilities rolled over Mikka. As a cat, she could prowl the castle, spy on anyone. She could even leave the grounds, go into Erda’s market stall unescorted. And if she could go that far, she could leave Rossemeyer’s desert plateaus altogether. Perhaps she could travel west, across the mountains to find a nation of women warriors who would welcome her strength and intelligence, instead of reviling her.
    “Let me think about it.”
    “Do not take too long in the thinking. The dark of the moon is only days away. That will be the best time to make the exchange.”
    Three days later, after a diet of stale bread and water, and no exercise for mind or body, Mikka knew she had to take drastic measures to escape.
    “How?” she asked Janataea, without preamble on the evening of the dark of the moon.
    “First you must fully relax, my princess,” Janataea crooned. “Lie down on the cot with Rosse on your chest.” Her words took on a lilting quality, unlike anything Mikka had heard emerge from a female throat.
    Mikka obeyed. Rosse curled her tiny brown body into a ball for a nap. Her one white eye and ear were barely slitted to observe the ceremony.
    Janataea pulled nine candles from her pockets. She placed eight of them around the bed where Mikka lay. The ninth she