The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

his brow. His eyes would have told her the entire story—if he had raised them from the wine cups.
    “Let Yaakke know you are safe, then we must find Baamin,” he murmured around his clenched jaw, still not looking at her.
    “Not until you tell me what is wrong!” She forced her hand under his armor, as only she could do, to run an exploratory finger down his face. No fever. Some small physical pains, nothing worrisome. Just this tremendous sadness and . . . and fear.
    “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Still his voice didn’t rise above a whisper, nor would he look at her. She thought she saw a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth, but couldn’t be sure in the dim light.
    “I am a healer, Jaylor. I snatched you away from Death’s greedy maw when you poured your life into your magic to save Shayla. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
    “Don’t try, Brevelan. ’Twould kill me thrice over if you were harmed by my malady. Promise me you will not heal me with magic. Promise me!” Finally he looked up. A dark twisted shadow clouded his eyes.
    “If I promise to restrain my natural healing instincts, will you promise to seek another healer?”
    He swallowed in indecision.
    “I cannot risk anyone’s life and magic.”
    “Then I cannot promise.”
    “Brevelan, you must. Don’t you see that your life is much more important than mine?”
    “No, I don’t. Without you my life is nothing.”
    “And the babe? Think, Brevelan. Darville is the heir to the dragon throne. Lord Krej is next in the bloodline. Krej is your father. If Darville sired your baby, then he has an undisputed claim to be king someday. In these uncertain times, you dare not risk yourself or the baby in any way!” The drop of dark moisture became a slow trickle down his chin. His words were slightly slurred, as if his tongue were swollen, or badly bitten.
    “Your son’s claim will be disputed. I was born out of wedlock. This child was conceived before we wed. We will discuss this further after we have found and consulted with Master Baamin.” She rose from her crouch, not daring to look at him. Could the child ever fill the emptiness Jaylor’s absence evoked in her?
    Over a year ago she had fled from all people, family and strangers, seeking a solitary life with only the forest creatures for companionship. She had been happy in her protected clearing with a pet wolf the dragon had named Darville, with the cat, Mica, who had taken possession of the clearing before her, a few flusterhens, and a goat.
    Then Jaylor had burst into her clearing and her life. She could not go back to the clearing alone. Even if she had to tolerate all of the thousands of people here in the city and their rampant emotions, she would stay with Jaylor, heal him, cherish him, give him the children he deserved.
    “Where will we find Baamin at this hour?” She kept her back to Jaylor, lest he sense the direction of her thoughts. He could follow her thoughts without magic, as she could his, as they both could Darville’s.
    “In his study, or his chamber. Possibly the library.”
    She felt her husband approach and knew he reached a hand to touch her, then dropped it before contact could be made and her healing invoked.
    “You needn’t fear touching me, Jaylor.” Not so long ago she had feared his nearness. Now she needed constant doses of it. “Seek Baamin with your magic.”
    “I can’t.”
    “You have magic. I can see it in your aura. A small spell will help keep your heart strong, now that the blockage is dissolved.”
    “I don’t dare.”
    “You’ve resisted healing for over five moons. When will you accept the fact that your last spell didn’t kill you or your magic?”
    “You don’t understand!”
    Just then their packs and Jaylor’s staff clattered to the floor. Yaakke had sent them as soon as he was rested from the two transport spells—not that the boy ever seemed to need rest from any exertion. The staff rolled across the stones to Jaylor’s feet, like iron to a lodestone. But it wasn’t a smooth motion. The wood jerked and paused as if lopsided and topheavy.
    Brevelan stooped to peer at the focus for Jaylor’s magic. The wood grain was twisted and braided once more, as if Jaylor had been using it frequently. There was an odd pattern to the coils now. Two braids marched down the length of the staff, one twisting right, away from the other left-handed plait. She couldn’t think what would cause such an