The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

him, is getting worse. If we can’t reverse the damage tonight, I’m afraid he might die.” Jaylor choked on the words.
    “I need my staff.” Yaakke “listened” to the loft. No one remained up there, awake or asleep. Another croak from Corby seemed to confirm the absence of patrons above the private rooms. Yaakke wondered briefly where the bird was, and if it truly was speaking to him.
    The long walking stick appeared in his hand. Transporting things through the void from one place to another was easy—transporting people was hard. The distinctive grain of the oak staff from the Sacred Grove was already beginning to twist from the magic he had forced through it. “And our errand with the king is so urgent, I’ll transport us.” Yaakke halted in his tracks. He closed his eyes a moment and sent his pack to a concealed corner of the stable. He could retrieve it from there later without arousing suspicion. While he was at it, he might as well get an apple from the barrel in the cellar.
    “No transports.” Jaylor shook Yaakke’s shoulder to keep him from sliding into a deeper trance. “The spell is too dangerous. The last time I used it, I nearly got lost in the void.”

Chapter 4
     
    Y aakke peered over Brevelan’s shoulder as she stirred herbs into a steaming pot stolen from the palace kitchens. Brevelan and Queen Rossemikka knelt on the floor before the hearth in the royal bedroom. Whenever instructed, Yaakke repeated the words of a spell Brevelan gave him, infusing power into the words and thence into the healing mixture. The conversation between Jaylor and King Darville intruded into his concentration for making the hot poultice. He forced his mind back onto the symbolic power behind the words while still half-listening.
    “You shouldn’t have risked coming here tonight.” King Darville sounded weary and excited at the same time. His coronation day had been a long series of exhausting formal rituals culminating with the dragon’s blessing. By ancient tradition, he now ruled by Dragon-right. No one could contest his possession of the crown.
    Yaakke desperately needed to start his journey to meet that same dragon. He also needed to impart the information about the smuggler—if anyone would listen. Flusterhen feathers quivered in his belly.
    “Have you ever tried arguing with Brevelan?” Jaylor answered his king and friend with a chuckle.
    “Not since Krej enchanged me into the body of a golden wolf and I tried to bring my freshly killed supper into her hut,” Darville replied. Laughter tinged his voice, too.
    “Then you know I had no choice but to sneak her in here by way of the tunnels.” Jaylor’s restless eyes surveyed the room.
    Yaakke had already searched the room for signs of eavesdroppers. There weren’t many hiding places left in the apartments since the new queen had cleared away the clutter of generations.
    “Take off your tunic, Darville.” Brevelan stood in front of him, a steaming bowl in her hands. Noxious fumes rose from the contents. Yaakke and Queen Mikka stood right behind her.
    “Help him, Jaylor, please.” Mikka lifted her slanted eyes to plead with the Senior Magician. Her pupils were round now. Yaakke had seen them slit vertically when her cat persona dominated her body. “My stubborn husband won’t admit how much the burns still hurt him, or how difficult those fitted tunics are to get out of. Now if court fashion allowed him to wear a decent robe. . . .”
    “The court is already outraged at your foreign costumes, my dear.” Darville struggled upright, but his smiling eyes never left the expanse of bosom showing above her gown. A place Yaakke hadn’t dared allow his own gaze to linger.
    “And I have difficulty coping with the immodesty of unveiled hair and skirts that reveal the ankles! A woman’s breasts are a source of pride. And when I have proved my ability to bear and nurse a child, I intend to decently and proudly display my breasts.” Mikka stared her husband down, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. Her fingers flexed and curved like cat’s paws. Her very long fingernails scratched at the velvet nap of her skirt.
    Mikka had participated in a binding spell to heal Jaylor’s warped magic. By accident she had joined with her pet cat. Her dual personality was the Commune’s most closely guarded secret—except for the transport spell.
    Yaakke yanked his eyes away from Mikka’s catlike caress of her gown to Darville. He noted how the