The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

talons.
    “Are you forgetting that I also stole the dragon throne and transported it here?”
    “But you couldn’t get the Coraurlia,” Janataea lashed out at her brother. “If you’d gotten the Coraurlia, Darville would have been proved unfit to rule. You’d still be regent.”
    “Darville has already slept with her. What makes you think her body will accept my seed over his?” Krej sounded testy as he yawned.
    Relief flooded through Mikka. If Krej were that tired, he might leave her alone long enough for her to escape.
    “Rosie’s body will accept you because she isn’t in season yet. Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest, the cat within her will be ready to breed.”
    “She’s a woman, for Simurgh’s sake.” Krej invoked the winged god who had been relegated to demon status, along with blood sacrifices, with the coming of the Stargods. “She becomes fertile every moon.”
    “She’s also a cat who becomes truly fertile only once every six moons. The other flow is false as long as the cat is trapped in that body.” Janataea paused. Soft footfalls indicated she was pacing closer to the door.
    Rosie pulled back, seeking a place to hide in the bare room if Janataea chose that moment to open the door.
    “Zolltarn reports that the cat, Mica, was lost in the void during their ritual,” Janataea continued. “Mikka can never influence Rosie again. Therefore, she’s more cat than woman. Trust me. Lay with her tonight and your offspring will rule the three kingdoms.”
    “I could rule the three kingdoms myself if I follow my own plans. Then maybe someone would let me sleep.” He yawned again.
    “Maman reviewed those plans and discarded them. The coven would still be outlawed by the Commune.”
    Janataea sounded near hysteria. That was when she inflicted the direst punishments against the princess. Rosie panicked, nearly losing contact with the other mind in her head. Mikka clung to consciousness, straining for mastery over the cat’s instincts to hide.
    “Damn the coven,” Krej shouted. “The silly magic games you play have done nothing. The breakup of the nimbus of dragons, the distrust the Council holds for Darville, Simeon’s marriage to Miranda, everything we have worked for was achieved through me. I am the real power in Coronnan. I have the dragon throne. I command all the troops. I will rule. And I will lay with the chit when I am ready, and not before.”
    Mikka shrank back from the door. She had to get away before Krej recovered. She’d kill herself before she allowed him to touch her.
     
    “Master magicians,” Jaylor confronted the members of the Commune outside the Council Chamber. “Before we enter this room, to serve as advisers and protectors of our lords, there is an issue we must address.” Leadership and responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t really want to do this. But he must.
    Twenty pairs of eyes jumped from the open door of the chamber to the Senior Magician, standing several feet behind them. Jaylor wished he could read the thoughts behind those eyes. Then he wouldn’t have to use this awful spell to unmask those disloyal to the Commune and Coronnan.
    “I agree, we must deal with the apprentice Yaakke’s accusation that some of us have borrowed magic. But not here, Jaylor.” Slippy stepped to the front of the pack of magicians, arms crossed, face set in determination.
    “This is a matter for the Commune, not the Council,” Lyman reminded Jaylor.
    “I disagree. The Council should have a say in the disposal of anyone who has borrowed magic from a rogue, a rogue with treasonous intent,” Jaylor affirmed. And the Council needed to know the cost of supporting men who borrowed magic and advice from such a wicked rogue.
    “Magicians have always been subject to the Commune only,” Zolltarn reminded him.
    “And so they will be. I ask only that the Council observe our justice and be advised.” Jaylor stepped back a little more to give himself the space he needed.
    The dragons said this spell would work. It had to. He had no other choice. If the Commune were going to survive, he had to root out the traitors now, no matter the cost.
    He lifted his staff over his head, aiming the tip at the assembled Commune. Blue truth, fueled by Coronnan’s elemental forces, darted from the end of his tool. The mist of the spell spread out into a cloud over the magicians’ heads, then sank downward like so much blue rain. Magicians, priests, and healers were all