The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

designers. Her presence frightens off all but the most desperate. I have tolerated the ghost for three years in hopes of possessing you, body and soul.” Still holding her arm he captured her mouth in a savage kiss. The heat of his body, the moisture of his mouth and the fierceness of his grasp brought shudders of revulsion to her knees and shoulders.
    She wrenched free and turned her back to him. Hastily she wiped her mouth dry. The taste of him lingered.
    “Why is it that everyone in your factory has seen the ghost of my mother but me? I have heard she might have been murdered by the palace guard and not committed suicide.” Katrina refused to look at him. “Tattia is supposed to haunt me, not your workroom. And yet I am the only person who has not seen or felt her presence. Perhaps she haunts those who enslave me?”
    “That, my dear Katrina, is a question only your mother can answer. And perhaps King Simeon. Would you like to ask him about it? Tell me the secret of the shawl!”
     
    Jack stopped off a transport barge cloaked in a delusion of sandy blond hair and watery blue eyes. The few people he’d met on his journey south to Queen’s City had taught him early that dark-eyed strangers were not trusted in SeLenicca.
    Men who talked to birds weren’t trusted either. Corby had instructions to keep his distance on this trek.
    Jack had made good time, once he found the River Lenicc. People and goods moved down the river on a daily basis. Hardly anything or anyone moved upriver. Almost as if the waters drained the interior of life along with its soil as it roared to the sea.
    No timber remained to hold the soil in place. Without the timber to cut and float down to the capital for sale, the people had no livelihood. They hadn’t the knowledge to nurture the cleared land and turn it into crops or pasture land. Only a few had the courage to try.
    So Jack joined the flood of people pouring into the capital looking for work, for food, for hope.
    The streets and pathways nearest the docks were crowded with swarms of hungry people. Ragged children held up pitifully thin arms, entreating a bit of bread or a coin. Skinny young girls with eyes too large for their faces exposed their breasts in the age-old invitation to sell their bodies in hope of earning enough to keep them alive one more day.
    None of them wore lace, wove it, or spun thread. He hadn’t time to help all those who tugged at his heart with their pleas.
    Swiftly he moved away from the river district and the grasping poor. Two streets inland brought an entirely different scene. Steed-drawn litters moved up and down broad thoroughfares. Elegantly dressed ladies with servants strolled along clean wooden sidewalks. Shops displayed the wealth of the world for sale to the few wealthy nobles.
    Jack observed from the shadows. Lace abounded in this district. On clothing, decorating windows, as coin in the shops. All of it was attached to something or someone and none of the pieces was large enough to patch Shayla’s wing.
    When he looked closely, he realized that large numbers of the people were trading well-used pieces of lace for food. Few others bought or sold any of the bright trinkets or furnishings on display.
    He headed uphill toward the palace. Fraank had said the best lace was made in the palace—supervised by the noble ladies of Queen Miranda’s court.
    Two men wearing the black uniforms of the city watch fell into step behind Jack. His spell of delusion covered only his hair and eyes. He didn’t want to waste energy cloaking the rest of his body. What had seemed decent quality clothing in the country was too rough and simple for this wealthy neighborhood.
    Too late to change the spell. The guards increased their pace to overtake him.
    Jack stopped and turned to face the men. “Good sirs,” he greeted them politely. “I’ve been sent with a message for one of the palace lacemakers. Perhaps you could direct me?” He refrained from tugging his forelock. That subservience seemed out of place.
    The black-garbed men halted in confusion.
    “Country folk aren’t allowed in the palace,” the taller of the two guards informed Jack.
    “Give us the message and we’ll pass it on to the palace guards. They’ll see the lady receives your words,” the other man added as he eased behind Jack, fingering iron manacles that hung from his belt.
    Jack shuddered at the small clinking sounds the chain made with each movement the guard made. He’d had