The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

night she died. Would she have committed suicide on the night she expected to gain enough gold to feed you all for a year or more?”
    Confusion clutched Katrina’s heart and mind. She turned her back on the man and knelt at the altar again.
    “Go away. I must think on this. I don’t trust you.” She bowed her head until she heard the man walking away.
    A long-fingered hand grasped her upper arm in a vicious grip. She jerked away, ready to scream at the stranger to leave her alone.
    “So this is where you hide.” Owner Brunix knelt beside her, crossing himself in the accepted manner as he lowered his long body onto the stone floor.
    “Not even you can deny me the right to say a prayer for the queen.” Katrina dipped her head and closed her eyes. Her heart throbbed in her ears. Her skin burned where he had touched her. Had he seen her with the stranger? Would his jealousy drive him to such anger that he forced her to his bed again?
    “Pray? Is that what you do for so many hours each evening?” he whispered in her ear. His breath fanned a stray tendril of her hair, just in front of her ear.
    She shuddered and leaned slightly away from him.
    “You have no reason to love our queen, or her outland husband,” Brunix said. “They deserve your curses, not your prayers.” Katrina schooled her face to immobility, her thoughts whirling in confusion. Had her mother truly promised to sell the shawl? Who was the stranger and why was he so desperate to get the shawl?
    Silence sat uneasily between them.
    “You are an educated man, Owner Brunix. What do those runes on the wall tell you?” Did he know more of them than the limited feminine alphabet used in keeping mercantile records?
    “Nothing. The Stargods wiped out all knowledge of that form of writing. They considered it a service to Kardia Hodos, along with eliminating a plague and erasing the cult of Simurgh. But the three who descended from the stars were ignorant and considered all of the ancient gods and their arcane knowledge as one with the bloodthirsty demon Simurgh. We lost many unique and special parts of our culture. A thousand years have passed and we are not likely to reclaim any of it.”
    “But surely there must be a legend of old text that preserves the meaning of those symbols, else they would have been plastered over or sanded into oblivion centuries ago,” she protested.
    “Legends about a prophecy of doom persist. Yaakke, son of Yaacob the Usurper, is supposed to bring about the disaster.” Brunix shrugged. “Why are you so interested, my Katrina? I thought you were lost in prayer for our queen.”
    “Beauty and symmetry,” she answered too hastily. “I would like to incorporate some of the runes into a design—bed hangings or perhaps a table runner.” Deep inside her, Katrina knew the sigils conveyed a message. An important message. She had to be the first to interpret it so she knew who to tell and who to avoid.
    “Not bed hangings, please. The prophecy of doom might carry over into . . .” Brunix rose hastily, turning his back on her. “City curfew is upon us. The factory curfew is long past. You will return with me now,” he ordered. “I don’t remember giving you permission to leave the factory.”
    “But you did! You told all of the lacemakers to say our prayers for the queen.”
    “I told my employees, not my slave. Such a flagrant disregard of the rules requires punishment. No breakfast for you tomorrow. If I dared, I’d deny you sun break as well.” He grabbed her arm again, hoisting her to her feet. His fingers remained clamped just above her elbow as he propelled her out of the temple.
    As Katrina stumbled in Brunix’s wake his words echoed through her mind.
    Yaakke, son of Yaacob the Usurper. A prophecy of doom?
    What could be worse than what she endured now?

Chapter 22
     
    R ejiia contemplated a water droplet on top of her viewing glass. The circle of gold-rimmed glass lay flat upon a tripod above a short candle flame. The water tended to enhance her visions of distant places and events to come.
    Lately all she saw was death and destruction converging on a single point. There clarity ended and symbolism took over. Three feathers for the Rovers. A black bird for the dragon nimbus. Unnatural red flames must be the coven. What could the frothy sea foam covering it all stand for? Surely Rossemanuel’s death by poison wouldn’t be represented by that symbol. The eels that provided the oil to bind the ingredients