The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

against her scalp her facial bones seemed devoid of flesh. The platinum crown set with priceless jewels was so heavy that Miranda’s thin neck strained to support her head. Her white and silver ceremonial gown did nothing to enhance her complexion.
    “She looks unhappy,” Katrina murmured. The gradual hush that fell over the crowd echoed her sentiment. “So unhappy with her husband she’s withdrawing the Edict of Joint Monarchy. Rumor claims she’ll sue for peace with Coronnan when she deposes The Simeon.”
    Peace was an idea that met with mixed popularity. The unemployed and homeless, who flocked to the army, loved the war effort. Merchants, who imported arms and supplies, profited. The widows, orphans, and other victims of the war hated it. Katrina couldn’t forget the war had caused the trade embargo with Coronnan that led to P’pa’s bankruptcy.
    She fingered the lace shawl she’d retrieved from her father’s house during her first year of slavery. The gleaming white fibers added a festive touch to her plain skirt and vest on this day of celebration. It should have adorned the queen.
    “Oh, the little princess, all dressed in purple and silver!” Iza continued her litany of praise. “Isn’t she pretty, Katrina? I think she’s the prettiest little girl in the whole world.”
    A purple canopy carried by four half-naked slaves rose above the princess’ open litter. She was too young for even the most placid ponies. The little girl smiled and waved shyly at the crowds of people gathered along the wide Royal Avenue.
    A sickly child, Katrina thought. Waxy skin, too pale to be fashionable, and too small for three years old. Her hair shone in the sunshine, red highlights obvious in her four thin plaits, too short to join into a single braid below her neck. Queen’s City hadn’t seen much of the princess. The queen, too, had remained mostly in seclusion these last three years. King Simeon was the only member of the once-beloved royal family much in evidence. And he wasn’t loved by many. Certainly not by the families of his Solstice victims or those who had lost men in the endless war against Coronnan.
    Three once-proud men, former military heroes who had secretly sought peace with Coronnan, followed a troop of elite military guards in the parade. Raw wounds marred their naked backs. One man’s face had been beaten until his left eye was permanently closed. He dragged his left leg painfully. Soon they would join the criminals sacrificed to Simeon’s god at the next solstice. Unless Queen Miranda removed her husband from power before then.
    Why had the queen tolerated his cruel religion all these years? Or was she so isolated in the palace she didn’t know? More likely, Simeon had bewitched her so she couldn’t intervene and outlaw his sacrifices.
    Rumors from the palace suggested the bewitchment was waning, though.
    Katrina had trouble maintaining interest in the parade of dancing steeds with ribbons plaited in their manes and haughty noblewomen flaunting three plaits and fortunes’ worth of Tambrin lace on their gowns.
    Katrina searched the faces of the slaves for Fraanken Kaantille. P’pa wasn’t carrying the canopy. The little flame of hope died within her heart. Royal servants were born into slavery and knew their lot in life. They were treated well and trusted. Criminals, prisoners of war, and traitors, like her father, were sent to die in the king’s galley ships or in the mines.
    “I could buy your freedom from Neeles Brunix if you gave me that shawl,” a man said quietly into Katrina’s ear.
    She looked around startled by his unsuspected presence. The man wore a hooded cloak that shadowed his face. The voice was familiar. Where had she heard him speak before?
    “What?” Hope kindled a tiny light in her mind. Freedom! “Why?” She damped any possibility he could truly offer her freedom.
    “That shawl is valuable. More valuable than your slave price.” His voice barely reached her ears.
    “Does this offer include employment once I am free of Brunix?” Once he released her, the factory owner wouldn’t allow her to continue working for him. Not unless she shared his bed. What use freedom at the cost of the shawl, the only tangible link to her mother she still had?
    “I have not the resources to help you beyond the purchase of your slave papers.” The man bowed his head, increasing the shadows around him.
    “I have no use for freedom without a promise of employment.”